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Hey Matt, you live on the East Coast. How are you putting your life back together after the 5.8’er? – Levi S.
Though as an advice columnist, I enjoy playing God with people’s lives, I don’t pretend to speak for Him. But when an unlikely 5.8 earthquake originates in Virginia, shaking a dozen states and several Canadian provinces, and that is only the second biggest disaster story of the week (after Hurricane Irene), then I think it’s safe to say that if God doesn’t want us all dead soon, He’s at least toying with the idea. And who could blame Him for bringing the judgment to a people who’ve kept “Keeping Up With the Kardashians” on the air now for six seasons? Sow the wind, reap the whirlwind.
That said, I’m still recovering from the Three Seconds That Changed The World. I’ve learned from covering previous natural disasters, like Katrina, that what is most important in the aftermath is for survivors to share their stories. So I’ll now share mine. I remember standing there, and next thing I know, I saw a bridge shaking. That’s pretty much it. As I said, it was only three seconds. End of story. Except, as I later found out, I was one of the lucky ones. Plenty were far less fortunate, like my neighbor, whose Yankee Candle fell off the mantle and shattered. (Why, God, why?)
As someone who covered the Haiti earthquake, and who has even brought out the tin cup on behalf of Haitian victims, I think it’s time for self-centered Haitians to start reciprocating, and to share their earthquake relief. Do you have any idea how much a 2-wick Fluffy Towels™ Yankee Candle large tumbler costs these days? Try $25.99, before tax. To put that in perspective, since the average Haitian makes about 2 dollars a day, that’s about two weeks worth of salary. Expensive. So pony up, Haiti. We scratched your back, now you scratch ours.
Sir, have you any suggestions of how to minimize user group conflicts among tubers and wading fisherman on Blue Ribbon trout streams? I await your response with baited breath. — Dr. Trout
Well, nobody likes to be a scold. As I’m fond of telling my children when we see “no fishing” signs as we blithely traipse past them while toting our fly rods, “Ignore them.” No man or government can claim ownership of a river. We should all be free to enjoy the endowment of God’s natural resources. And if private landowners or Parks & Rec officials disagree, they can take it up with my Lord and Savior. That said, there are few things that fly fishermen dread more each summer than what they call the “tube hatch.”
Since trout don’t have the luxury of running down to Food Lion, they generally hold against current, looking to feed on the aquatic conveyor belt of nymphs, mayflies, terrestrials and other snack foods washing their way. So imagine their alarm when in the midst of chow time, they see you — selfish tuber — with your lumpy, mottled keister sausaged into unflattering swimwear, holding a shiny can of beer, with your god-awful DayGlo Crocs sloshing overhead like a wounded otter. That would be enough to scare most humans in scuba gear to the bottom for two or three hours, at least. A fish might never recover, electing to stay under his rock until he expires after pulling the full Karen Carpenter.
As someone who owns a small fleet of kayaks and a stand-up paddleboard, I like spending time on moving water as much as anyone. But since good trout water, particularly in the mid-Atlantic, is much scarcer than good tubing water, there are all kinds of worthy arguments for banning tubing on Blue Ribbon trout streams, or for at least regulating it to within an inch of its life so as to cripple the commercial tubing menace. After a recent spat broke out between fishermen and tubing rental outfitters who bus large numbers of tubers to otherwise pristine waters on one of my own home trout rivers, the Gunpowder in Maryland, my friend and Gunpowder Riverkeeper Theaux Le Gardeur (who also owns one of the nation’s great fly shops — the Backwater Angler in Monkton) has eloquently made most of these arguments.
Theaux can tell you, as he has recently told the Baltimore Sun and the local Country Chronicle, how old-timers now complain of tubers who treat the river like a Cancun strip club during spring break. They wreck the good-times family vibe by getting drunk, leaving trash everywhere, and even urinating riverside. (Though to be fair to rowdy tubers, I’ve been known to do that last bit myself. As I’m not about to go in my waders. ) Additionally, as Theaux has pointed out, a high volume of tubers can be extremely detrimental to the river — accelerating stream and channel erosion, causing potential loss of spawning habitat, and leading to pressure to remove woody debris that serves as vital fish cover.
Public safety types also complain that tubing leads to drinking, and drinking and tubing lead to drowning. This, to be honest, doesn’t concern me, since drowned tubers mean fewer tubers (we all grieve in our own way). What does bother me is that tubing is a stupid pastime. I’ve done it, and have enjoyed it, at least until I nodded off. As being a successful tuber doesn’t even require maintaining consciousness (hence, the large number of inebriated enthusiasts). So it’s time to face facts, lowly tubers: God made rivers for fishing. If you want to swim, go to your local lake or ocean. If you want to aimlessly bob while drinking, go sit in your bathtub or above-ground pool and pop an Old Milwaukee. But don’t traumatize thousands of fish simply because you’re too lazy to pick up a fly rod or lack the ambition to paddle a canoe or kayak. I therefore beseech tubers, have some respect for both fish and fishermen. But also consider that this is how you look when practicing your craft.
Which is to say, ridiculous. So if possible, find some self-respect as well.
Matt Labash is a senior writer with the Weekly Standard magazine. His book, “Fly Fishing With Darth Vader: And Other Adventures with Evangelical Wrestlers, Political Hitmen, and Jewish Cowboys,” is now available in paperback from Simon and Schuster. Have a question for Matt Labash? Submit it here.