My bedroom is decorated with old fishing magazines. I love the art of the old mags and hate the busy-ness of fishing magazines today, which are littered with breathless lies, like "37 Surefire Way to Catch Bass!"
I also love the articles inside the old magazines, which weren't a whit about promoting tackle and were largely about how it felt to be on the water, dancing with fish, blessedly alone or equally blessedly with friends and family. There is still one vestige of the old magazines and that is Gray's Sporting Journal, whose writers plumb what it's like to work with a Springer or Pointer, knowing it's your last, bittersweet time because knees and eyes don't last forever, or how it feels to loft fairy flies to rising bass beside your son or brother.
Today's magazines are all P.T. Barnum and no T.S. Eliot. As fishers, we are attuned to language, as we're attuned to water and woods. I heard this when I went north with 19 musky fishers for a week. One was a retired fighter pilot. A couple rode Harleys. One was a ex-football player. Another a bouncer and yet another a race car driver. They were manly men, but all used language in surprising ways: They were sometimes raw, often funny, but nearly always they expressed with concision and precision. Each strove to capture and convey what they'd seen and felt on the water because those moments mattered and will matter even more when we're too arthritic to cast and catch. Those callused men wanted our trip to last, so they went into the burrows where words bunker and wrestled them out.
I see that here at bassresource.com too, a love of language that is necessary to say what we saw and felt this fishing day.
C'mon, Field and Stream, fishers are poets, not marks for carnival barkers!