On observation, by Guest Author: Alexandra McNeal
photo by Lawson Builder
The anticipation of seeing the stuttering tip of a rod or hearing the zip of line peeling off a reel has always left me giddy with excitement. The adrenaline of hooking into a fish, no matter the technique or species, usually results in shaking hands and a racing heart. You might say I’m addicted to it. After that initial rush wears off, the contrast of those moments before and after the bite always stand out to me. Long moments of waiting and watching are suddenly punctuated by the chaos of landing the fish, removing the hook, taking a quick picture if desired, and getting the fish back in the water (or the cooler) as fast as possible. Sometimes, the moment comes and goes with such haste, I sit in the wake of the release a bit stunned as to what all just happened. I imagine the fish feels much the same way.
It’s so rare we get to interact with any marine life - outside of diving or an aquarium - and in the muddy waters of the lowcountry, hook and line are essentially the only way you can meet our aquatic brethren face to face. I try to make the most of those brief seconds and really observe the fish, taking in the minutia that is otherwise missed in the fray. The circlet of a red drum’s iris can be a mountain range of gold and amber, the blues in the tip of a tail can hint at what that fish has been dining on, and their rainbow of iridescence is something you can only see when the light hits their scales just so.
I’ve learned from this practice of conscious observation that you can actually make time slow down – and I’m not just talking metaphorically. If you’ve read or watched enough science fiction, underneath all the fantastical plots about space and time is a kernel of truth: that time is elastic and can be altered by things. One of those things is gravity. Time passes faster on top of a mountain than at sea level because the closer you are to a gravitational pull – the slower time moves. In addition to gravity, there are other things than can distort our perception of time. The attention and awareness we give to something has been proven to create time-based distortions. In short, the perceived duration of an event is lengthened when that event is subject to the full focus of our attention.
Now, I’m not saying you will create hours of extra time from being laser focused on a fish, but you can create a meaningful moment during an otherwise hurried experience. For all the enjoyment we get out of fishing, I think giving that animal our attention and our appreciation is the least we can do.
It's no secret that the skill of observing the natural world is something that our modern culture is no longer practiced in. Our attention is spread so thin, with screens vying for it at every turn, and when our food comes from the shelf instead of the forest, what need do we have to pay attention to animal signs or the fruiting of native plants? What was once second nature has now become something that we must be mindful of, lest we lose ourself between the digital world and the monotony of a domesticated routine.
To drive home my point, let me ask you, when is the last time you noticed a plant? I don’t mean just something green you passed by recently. When was the last time you noticed a plant enough to call it by its name?
The tendency of humans to no longer notice or differentiate the plants in their own environment has become such a pervasive issue that two botanists, Elisabeth Schussler and James Wandersee, coined the term “plant blindness” to describe it.
What does it matter if society has developed a blind spot for plants? There are actually quite a few unfortunate consequences that come from our lack of attention. Most conservation efforts tend to be concentrated on animals, particularly charismatic megafauna (elephants, lions, pandas, etc.), and plant research almost never receives the same amount of funding that animal focused projects do. Despite the fact that plants form the foundation of most food chains, are the source for countless live-saving medicines, and provide priceless ecosystem services, botany and horticulture programs at universities around the country have had to close their doors from lack of students and lack of money.
The heart of what I want to communicate here is that the practice of conscious observation inevitably cultivates gratitude and appreciation. By cultivating gratitude and appreciation, we begin to form a relationship with something – be it a fish, a plant, or an entire landscape. The people who interact with and form relationships with our resources are usually those who most resolutely protect it and, in today’s world, we desperately need more people developing relationships with flora, fauna, and places. People will fight for the things they love, but how can you love something if you don’t even know its name? Without encouraging public literacy of the natural world, we will slowly lose our best advocates to protect the land, educate future generations, and to speak up against development, pollution, or overharvest.
So, the next time you feel overwhelmed by the fleeting pace of life or think you don’t have time to stop and smell the roses, remember that you have a super power. You can choose to make time slow down. Even just a few seconds of your attention is enough to identify that wildflower, watch a spider spin its web, or look a redfish in the eye and see the multitudes they contain.
