Late season outing got me thinking about what fishing would mean in a zombie apocalypse

Wow, this summer really got away from me. Seems like just last week I was in Clam Lake, Wisconsin during the longest days of the year, throwing a little hissy fit as musky after musky threw my lure, in a twilight that lingered so long it was still seeping into my dreams long after I'd drifted off to sleep. Before I knew it, it was July 4. The next day was August 1. Thunderstorms came, bringing pre-season football along with them, and cooler temperatures, a few nights downright chilly. The first glimmer of color winked on in the tree canopy around Labor Day, and just like that, schools were back in session.

I've gone out fishing just once since Clam Lake, since June...that's not how I like my summers to go.

Although I had to work this evening, I managed to sneak away for a couple hours to that trusty spot on the Chippewa River. I figured, a) the weather's going to turn eventually, b) I'm going to be old someday, and sneaking away for a few hours won't be so easy. Better do all the sneaking away I can, while I can.

I'm glad I did it, glad I went out of my way to sneak away. It was a gorgeous Indian Summer Sunday - crystal clear skies, temperatures in the mid-80s, but low humidity, so it was comfortable. Not much in the way of fish action, unfortunately, but with the trees re-casting the sunlight in a bright amber hue, and the only bugs I had to deal with being those Asian lady beetles (harmless little chaps, if annoying...), I didn't much care.

I was the only one on the river. At first that seemed unusual, especially for a weekend, but then I realized it's a football Sunday, and late in the fishing season, to boot. It's less seasonal anglers to be found out here now, more die-hards. And fewer of those, even, with each passing day.

PICTURE PERFECT - Although the fishing wasn't so hot, the day could not have been more perfect for angling on the Chippewa River.

And it was glorious.  Everything about nature seems quieter in autumn. The bugs have fallen silent, the wasps that wreak so much havoc as summer wears on have died off. Many species of birds have already migrated to warmer places, although there were quite a few seagulls about today, more than I'm used to seeing, actually. It must have been some kind of aggregation headed south ahead of the approaching winter, But their chatter got me thinking about Lake Superior, where I grew up and where that shrill peal dropping down from the sunshine defines a summer afternoon as reliably as the sound of waves lapping the shore.

At some point, I spotted someone moving on the other side of the river, which was very unusual.  The riverbank is not nearly as accessible as it is on this side, which very well might be the reason it's mostly a hangout for homeless people. I spot signs of them throughout the summer months - raggedy sheets draped over low-hanging branches providing some shade, fire pits still smoldering in the early morning (though there are no established camp sites), beer cans surrounding what looks like a red cooler, always stowed beneath a partially fallen tree. Every once in a while, I'll see someone over there, and you can tell - by the way they move, or sometimes by the way they don't move all that much - that they have nowhere else to be.

It's roughly a hundred yards across, and I could not make out details of the individual, couldn't tell if it was a homeless person or someone just being adventurous by conquering the side of the river that is overwhelmingly shrouded in trees and thicket. But the sight of a lone figure ambling slowly along the opposite bank, on a day when this was the only other person I saw, and with everything seeming much quieter than usual, reminded me that tonight is the Season 6 premiere of The Walking Dead, on AMC.

Oh yeah, I'm a fan. Almost from the beginning, The Walking Dead pulled me into the unlikely world of the zombie apocalypse primarily with its strong characterization.

LONE FIGURE - Although not visible in this picture, a lone individual was walking along the opposite bank of the Chippewa River, as it flowed placidly through Eau Claire on its way to the Mississippi.

I got to thinking - since nothing was jumping on my line - about what it would be like to be in that world...any apocalypse, zombie or otherwise...and how I would fare if what I was doing right now - that is, reeling in, casting out -  was not just something to do on a Sunday afternoon, but the deciding factor on whether I went hungry.

It was not the first time I've thought about an end-of-world scenario, or myself in one, but it was the first time I ever considered it in the context of fishing, and what it would mean if this fine pastime suddenly became a matter of life or death.

If the shit hit the fan, if the bottom really dropped out of everything we know of - and expect from - our society, if suddenly all bets were off and it was every man, woman and child for him or herself, I would - with thought put into what I could realistically carry with me - loot a pharmacy, a gun shop, a sporting goods store and a library, in that order.

In the pharmacy, I would load up on antiseptic/first aid products, maybe some ibuprofen or acetaminophen. Anything to help ensure that all-too-common cuts and abrasions didn't turn into life-threatening infections. I'd also load up on as many disposable lighters as I could find.

The gun shop would be an obvious stop, of course, but some thought would have to go into what I took with me. A rifle, and a handgun, I'd say, and as much ammunition as I could manage. But I'd want to choose weapons that were light-weight and accessible, not burdensome, and accurate from a distance. To be perfectly honest, if I want to be prepared for some future end-of-world scenario, the time to research guns is now, not as the sky is falling down around me.

In the sporting goods store, I would take a tent, another rod and some fishing gear, and lots of insect repellent. I would secure a very sharp knife, and then another. Boots. Gloves. A winter coat. A winter hat. Sunglasses. A water proof watch might be in order. Maybe two.

I think I'd still want to keep track of time.

In the library, I'd seek out books to help me understand the natural world into which I was about to find myself flung - a book on fishing, a book on edible wild plants (critical), maybe a book on field dressing animals, navigating by the stars, anything having to do with phenology. Also, the most recent atlas I could find. There would be no more electricity. No more Internet. No Google. No smart phones. No information superhighway. Whatever I could comfortably carry in a duffel bag to read and learn from would become my gospel. (I'd probably throw a novel or two in as well.)

Then I would find a waterway and head north, north of the Great Lakes, at least. I would want to survive. The whole point would be to go on living as comfortably and safely as possible, but on the periphery of whatever the world had collapsed down into. North of those Great Lakes, I would find a high point somewhere, some bluff or ridge, ideally within walking distance of a lake, and I would set up camp, and I'd sit and watch, and be vigilant. I'd prepare for the winters, rejoice in the summers, try to forge a peaceful co-existence, if not a working relationship, with the wildness around me. I would probably keep a journal (so can't forget pencils, pens and notebooks), and if anybody in the future who happened to find it could read it (decipher my handwriting), they would certainly get an eyeful.

Seriously, people think I'm a blowhard on these blogs, wait until they got a load of my post-apocalyptic musings. ;-)

Not everyone I know and love feels the way I do about the end of the world. Some people don't want to survive it, don't ever want to find themselves alive and kicking after the calendar needs to be re-set. And while admittedly, it's easy for me to sit comfortably in front of my laptop with a cup of coffee and write about what I would do if it happened, and to claim a rage to live in the face of such adversity, I truly believe that if all this comfort and idle time were taken away, I would want to live. If I were still able to walk, talk, and fight, I think I'd want to try to survive, at all costs.

FISHERMAN...OR WALKER? - I spent the afternoon pondering how I'd fare in a post-apocalyptic world where fishing wasn't a way to kill a Sunday, but instead a matter of life or death.

For me fishing is very zen; it's meditative. I like catching stuff, surely, and as I've said before, I've gotten better at it just in the last few years; I've tailored my lures and presentations to the habits of certain species, with pretty good results. I'm not an expert, but that's okay. I don't pretend to be, and in this world I don't need to be.

But in a Walking Dead scenario, I would have to be. I would have to catch something, or go hungry. I could be like Daryl Dixon, I guess, subsist on squirrels and possums with my crossbow...but nah, I don't have a crossbow, don't know how to use one, and shooting guns, I think, would be more about protecting myself than acquiring food. My protein sustenance would almost entirely come out of the water, and I would HAVE to be successful.

This afternoon, in such a scenario, I would have gone hungry. :-/

But this afternoon I didn't have to worry. This afternoon, I could hit a drive-thru on the way home, which is what I did.

Fish sandwich, just so I could say I caught something.

Ironically, the homeless people might be better prepared for the end of the world than most of us.