TIGHT LINES
THE WISDOM OF YOUTH
with Andrew Spencer
My grandfather had, among other things, a favorite poet. Ogden Nash was, to his mind, the greatest writer to ever put pen to paper. And I don't think it was a matter of the quality of Mr. Nash's writing that was so appealing. Rather, I think it was that the two of them shared a similar sense of humor. Case in point, Ogden Nash is credited with being the first person with any sort of name recognition to say, "Growing old is inevitable. Growing up is optional." Words to live by, kids. Words to live by.

Matt Hubbard listens to what the bluefish says: go fishing whenever you can.

And speaking of growing old and growing up, every year at about this time - "this time" being back-to-school time - I think how great it would be to be young again. You know, back in the days when your biggest worry was who you were going to sit next to during lunch? At least that was my biggest worry in school, which might explain my less-than-stellar high school biology grade. But enough about my shortcomings. Let's get back to talking about being young.

I've managed to reach that chronological milestone in my life when things start hurting. And I'm not talking about the post-football practice aches and pains from high school. I'm talking about joint pain, lower back pain, the whole deal. Long story short, I'm getting old. And in case there was any doubt in anybody's mind about that reality, young local diva Alexandra Kopko was kind enough to point it out to me recently. Repeatedly, in fact. She's good like that.

So with my advancing age, my energy level seems to have dissipated a little. I'm not saying that I'm ready for Our Island Home just yet, but let's just say that the energy of youth has been replaced by the sluggishness of early middle age. Whereas ten years ago I'd be out carousing until all hours of the night, these days I'm asleep by ten.

I think that of all the things I miss from my youth, besides my hairline, I miss that youthful exuberance the most. But the thing with that youthful exuberance is that you don't realize you're losing it until it's gone. I mean, seriously, I thought that I was still young and spry and up for anything. But then, one day recently, it hit me, just like it so often does. I was sitting there, just minding my own business, and all of a sudden I realized that I'd lost my youthful exuberance. And you know what brought on this hideous revelation?

An invitation to go out fishing.

Back in my day, kids, we had to walk to school, uphill both ways in the snow, barefoot. And we were happy to do it. You know why? 'Cause that's where we learned about segues.

Friends and neighbors, I'm ashamed to admit that I recently thought about passing up an invitation to go out fishing. It was blowing thirty miles an hour out of the east. It was cloudy. It just wasn't a good day for fishing. But then I remembered an offer to a friend, a younger friend, to go out fishing on this particular day. I called him and said that we should really delay it, given the weather conditions. But he had a problem with that, namely the fact that he was leaving the island the next day. He'd be back, though, right? I mean, surely he's not leaving for the season. No, in fact, he was leaving for the season. And just to add a dash of gravitas to the whole situation, his next vacation was scheduled for 2010. I kid you not, people. Three years from now, young Matt Hubbard gets to take another vacation from the grind of surgical residency.

And just like that, I'm not feeling so regretful about doing so poorly in biology.

So Matt was desperate to go, desperate enough to endure pounding waves, wind, the whole deal, and all for the likely outcome of zero fish. The whole time we were heading out, I kept telling him this was a bad idea. I kept saying we were on a wild goose chase. Not to be deterred, Matt never stopped smiling. He was, dare I say it, enjoying the moment for what it was. He was showing that damn youthful exuberance. And that's when I knew I'd lost it.

We ended up on the south side of Esther's Island and caught six or eight bluefish. Nothing to write home about - unless, of course, you're writing a fishing column and your mother wants to read it but she's back home, but that's a whole different story. The point here is that young Dr. Hubbard, in the final throes of his vacation-induced exuberance, was a perfect example of the right attitude to have out there on the water. Yeah, the weather might not be the best and the fish might not be the biggest. But the whole experience is fun, and that's what it's all about, kids. So get out there and wet a line. I don't care what the weather's doing. You're not going to catch any fish sitting in your living room complaining about the wind.

And in case you need something to motivate you, think of young Matt, who would love to be fishing on Nantucket right now, but in reality he's stuck in a Cleveland hospital and he's probably gone 20 hours with no real sleep.

Oh, to be young again.

Tight lines. I