Message for.....

This was written by someone on the KyaakbassFishing.com site. Thought everyone would appreciate it. Gives a little insight into the folks we help and have fun with –


No, this ISN'T addressed to the kayakfishermen who founded and participate in the
"Heroes On The Water" program. Those guys have set the bar incredibly high for all of
us, and have earned my utmost respect. But this isn't about them.

This letter is addressed to YOU---the fallen warrior who is out there somewhere,
in a bed or a wheelchair or a Stokes frame, or trembling with effort as you try to
pull yourself along those rails, or trapped inside the neverending nightmare of
Traumatic Brain Injury.

I'm going to speak from experience here, little brother. My time on the line came long
ago, in another unpopular war in another troubled time. Unlike you, I walked away
without much damage---physically, anyway. But eight years ago last month, I got a
REAL good taste of what many of you are going through now.

I got between an amped-out escaping mental patient and a little old lady, and I got
(according to witnesses) just about every square inch of my head used for a soccer ball
for just under three minutes. I got the helicopter ride, and the brain surgery, and two
heart attacks on the table, and then my lungs gave out, and the only way they could save
me was to induce a coma and warehouse me up on the ninth floor. And when I finally did
come to, I was a monster and a spaz and a mutilated gimp. And the doctors told my family
that I had a five-percent chance of living even a year.

But you already know about that stuff. And you probably know about all that crap they
(mercifully) tell our families about comas, and that you're weren't in a tunnel of light,
or a place that smelled like Mom's warm cookies, or on the happy rainbow butterfly planet.

And, if you're reading this, by now you know ALL about Pain-with-a-P. And doubt. And despair.
And looking in the mirror and seeing Frankenstein staring back. Or opening your mouth and
hearing only the wrong words coming out. Or about not laughing---or even smiling---for
a long, long time.

And now some certifiable maniac is suggesting to your doctors that they put you into a
kayak(!) with fishing rods and sharp hooks, with limbs gone or not working, or your own
brain betraying you every chance it gets. Maybe you're worried that you will look odd or
foolish to others (you won't), or that you will make mistakes (you will, and none of us
will give a tinker's dad'gum or a second glance, because that's how WE learned).

Maybe you think you can't cut it anymore. Really? You've been through TWO Hells now, the Hell
of recovery, and the one that put you there. You had the BOXCAR-sized stones to step up and
take one for your country in some godforsaken dungheap---and, God love you for it, you STILL
probably blush or get all flustered anytime someone refers to you as a hero.

Kayakfishing isn't Jesus. It won't sprout a new limb out of that stump, it won't make you
look like Brad Pitt or dance like Fred Astaire, and it sure as hell won't make the many
ungrateful low-lifes in our society even give you the time of day. I don't know what it will
do for your body or your brain.

But what it WILL do is SHOW you---right down in the center of your heart, in the very core of
your being---that the world is NOT all cordite and torn flesh, or needles and bandages, or the
long anguish of clawing your way back, or watching others carefully avert their eyes, or going
through the rest of your life feeling like an X in a world full of O's.

The world is also the dappled sunlight of a quiet cove. It's the heart-stopping awe of a
great blue heron or an osprey whispering by just above your head. It's plunging your hand into
the cool, clean water of an ageless river and literally feeling its tirelessly beating pulse.
It's the heart-hammer of a hookup, the happy shouts of "Fish ON!" from your true brothers,
the little shudder of joy that goes through your spirit when you catch-and-release, knowing
that you have protected a fragile treasure for yet another generation.

DO IT, brother! GO with those guys! They're all just like you---they're crazier than Larry, Curly
and Moe, they're harder to kill than Dracula, they've got absolutely NO quit in them at all, and
many of them haven't got enough unscarred hide left to make a decent wallet. And they'll show you
how to take a big, honkin' bite out of life and let the juice run down your chin, and laugh like
a drunken monkey the whole time you're doing it.

Your brother,

Clinton S. Tyree

(((((((MULTIPLE CLAP AND "ROCK ON" IMOTICONS THAT I DONT KNOW HOW TO DO)))))

 


Here i did it for us both cobrak..

SG

NICE!! 

  Great post DD........

For some reason I have this vision of a "Point Break"-like scene with Bodee explaining the zen of surfing to agent Utah in the last few paragraphs.

"It'll change your life, man..." 

Ah, the Point Break mention.  Somewhere deep in the Bay area, a man is stirring.  He knows that, upon his website, the sweetest of all movies has been mentioned.  He will soon be here, touting the merits of said film and how it all really does apply to kayak fishing - ergo - life.

90 seconds Johnny. That's all I ask for, just 90 seconds of your life Johnny, that's it. This is our tatic, is we strike fear. Once you get them peeing down there leg, they submit. Also about fear, fear causes hasitation, and hesitation causes your worst fears to come true.

WOW................. That's some potent prose!
I can't say I'd given their situation more than a passing thought before.