Fish and Fishing

Remembering Stuart Levine in Charlevoix

Stuart Levine, about 2010, heading out to fish

* I first published a version of this piece in 2020, and I would like to share once again what this friendship meant to me.

For me, getting to know Stuart began with seeing a boat, an old boat. From when I first visited the northern Michigan harbor town of Charlevoix in about 2005, I noticed and was attentive to a classic fishing boat. It was a lapstrake wooden-hulled motor boat from the late 1950’s, painted in a beautiful dark forest green. Yet, I was also attentive to the easy skill and confident style of the boat’s captain, an older man whose approach to open water I admired and wished to emulate. During my increasingly frequent summer visits to Charlevoix, I took note of this boat and its persistent captain, who obviously knew what he was doing when going in and out every day to fish on Lake Michigan.

After about seven or eight years of seeing him and his boat each summer, and having taken photographs of them during many of those years, I finally met Stuart. One morning, early in the summer of 2013, I saw that venerable boat in my marina. The next afternoon I saw it again, while her captain was tying her up, having come in from another fishing trip. Plucking up my courage, I walked over and introduced myself. I told him of my admiration for his boat and for what I had inferred from my limited observation about his daily practice. As it turned out, both Stuart and I loved old boats. And, serendipitously, Stuart and I hit it off. We were weekly correspondents, and fellow summer boaters from then on.

As time has shown me, I had encountered and begun to be acquainted with a person of remarkable ability, sensitivity, and enhanced intuition. From first knowing him, Stuart seemed to look beyond the apparent limitations of the present moment, attend to what might be hoped for, and reflect on how the future could really be different. As I came to see, Stuart’s approach to life was nothing like the proverbial person who ‘sees things through rose-colored lenses.’ Stuart’s optimism was grounded in a belief that a different and more positive future results from actually choosing to live in a different way now, not just from believing or hoping differently.

A great example of this aspect of his character took place one summer. Standing with him on the Charlevoix dock while he was stowing his fishing gear after an outing, I asked about all the fishing tackle and gear he left on the boat, openly visible to anyone who might come by. Stuart told me about a valuable fishing rod that he had once left on the boat in a similar way. Upon discovering the rod’s disappearance the next day, he wrote a letter to the editor of the local newspaper, describing the theft but saying that he would not change his usual trusting practice. He wanted to spend his summers in a community where people modeled trust, rather than self-protective fear.

I am reminded of an episode in a video by the former National Geographic photographer, Dewitt Jones (Celebrate What’s Right With the World). On assignment, Jones visits a living national treasure of the UK, a woman who was an acclaimed weaver up in the northern Hebrides Islands. Jones asks her, what do you think about when you weave? She responds by first saying, “I wonder if I will run out of thread!” Jones admits to being surprised by this. But then, she says, “When I weave, I weave…”

Stuart lit up when I told him this story, and he then said, “When I fish, I fish.” He told me that his delight was in the process, more than in the results. His comment then struck me, as it still does, as absolutely authentic to him. Even though this was a man whom the Michigan DNR highly regarded for having documented every lake trout he had caught and released for decades!

At a marina cookout in 2019, Stuart and I talked about the evolving challenge of evaluating college and graduate students in this current era. With several other boaters attentive to his comments, Stuart talked about his commitment to trusting his students. As always, he spoke positively about how placing trust in others encourages them to live into our imputed and projected hope for them. He often reflected on this principle with me, hoping to commend it. After all, it is founded (among other places) in Aristotle and in the Hebrew Scriptures. For what we practice, and live into, shapes who we are becoming. Stuart exemplified this insight.

And yet, at that cookout, as a less-wise and less-experienced former academic, I responded by describing my disappointing prior service on a national examination board. As he invariably would in such conversations, Stuart challenged my apparently less-than-positive view of such processes. He did this in a way that was shaped by his long life experience of having served as a reflective scholar. By his comments in conversations like this, he would disclose how he was both intellectually curious as well as spiritually sensitive. In this way, he showed how he was often a mentor not only for young intellects but also for older souls.

Stuart reminded me of some my favorite teachers. He did this by how he modeled a particular virtue. It was his disposition to value good questions over what often seem to be important answers. For me, Stuart was an excellent example of one who always encourages others to wonder, and then ask, “But, what is the question?” For when we come to appreciate the horizon of a beautiful question, we are then more open to discovering meaningful answers to which it may give rise. Stuart displayed an abiding curiosity about finding good questions. And this led him to discerning an ever-expanding body of insightful answers.

In one other important respect I would like to offer a tribute to Stuart. From time to time he would share with me words of respectful remembrance he had shaped in his effort to honor former colleagues, friends and students. His approach to this sometimes difficult task was compelling. For Stuart embodied a desire to recognize and express appreciation for the gifts, strengths and achievements of others, as a kind of spiritual practice in itself.

May Bard College and other teaching institutions always be blessed to have persons like Stuart Levine among their faculty and in their administrative staffs. And may we all be blessed to have a friend like him.

 

I first offered this tribute in memory of Professor Dr. Stuart Levine six years ago, who died on May 1, 2020. He was formerly a Dean and Professor of Psychology for many years at Bard College, Annandale on the Hudson, New York. Stuart’s cultural and spiritual roots were within Judaism, and Bard College’s early history was associated with The Episcopal Church, within which I was ordained as a deacon and priest.

Jason Sparks’ Artistic Adaptation of Tenkara Flies

If reading this by email, please tap the title at the top to open your browser for the best experience. Then, clicking individual pictures will reveal higher resolution images.

 

I discovered the handiwork of Jason Sparks through the writing of Jason Klass, a Colorado fisherman who has come to fish exclusively using the Japanese approach to fly fishing called Tenkara. Tenkara fishing has at least two distinguishing features, the first having to do with a difference from typical American fly fishing rods. Compared to familiar Western examples, Tenkara rods are very long poles, historically made of bamboo, along with a fixed-length line of roughly the length of the pole, and no fishing reel for the line. The flies used in Tenkara fishing are the second distinguishing feature. Tenkara flies, as in Jason Sparks’ beautiful example (above), generally feature hackle feathers (rooster and or hen) tied to the hook in a way that projects the feather’s barbs forward, toward the eye of the hook. This creates a pulsing motion when the fly is pulled against the current in a stream.

The anatomy of a fish hook. (Sparks prefers barbless hooks to facilitate ‘catch and release’ fishing)

The artistic design work of Jason Sparks, and his adaptation of traditional Tenkara flies, stress an intentional use of natural materials. In order to appreciate the originality of his flies, it’s worth considering examples of traditional Tenkara flies.

A traditional Tenkara fly tied by Dr. Hisao Ishigaki, a recognized authority on Tenkara fishing and fly tying

Traditional Tenkara flies are composed of three basic materials, a hook, thread, and part of a feather. The thread is wrapped around the neck of the hook, creating a base; thread-wraps then secure part of a feather to the hook; the feather is then spun around the shaft of the hook while perpendicular to it, thereby spreading the feather’s barbs. More thread is then wrapped around the shank of the hook, and tied off with a knot.

Almost all fly tyers make use of a vice, as depicted in the photo above, which holds the hook in place while the fly is created. One Japanese authority, Katsutoshi Amano, is famous for tying Tenkara flies without a vice:

Observing these aspects of traditional Tenkara fly design helps us appreciate Jason Sparks’ creativity and aesthetic sensibility, as he creates works of art that actually catch fish. His willingness to work beyond the usual parameters of Tenkara flies can be seen in his choice of hooks. Those employed by the two Japanese masters in the photos above feature straight shanks in the upper part of the hook.

Sparks frequently uses what are commonly called scud or nymph hooks, which have a long and curving shank, where the eye of the hook tilts slightly downward. A similar tilt can be seen in another type of hook he often uses, which has a traditional straight shaft of moderate length, but which also has a wide gap above the hook’s point and a somewhat squared bend between it and the shank. These various features can be seen in photos of Sparks’ flies included below.

In both the photo directly above, as well as the one at the top, we see Sparks’ use of a scud hook, yet with minimal added material on the hook’s shank. While many tyers match fly body materials with the size of the hook, Sparks finds that a hook’s size matters less than the presentation of the material attached to it. Further, by locating that material closer to the middle of the shank, it is easier to attach or replace the fly line (and leader) to the hook’s eye.

With his preference for using natural materials, Sparks likes to tie with silk thread, and he prefers naturally dyed woolen yarn from the Shetland Islands, given its variations of color and textured finish. With a yarn ‘body,’ and the spiky feather barbs wrapped around the hook, Sparks achieves very ‘buggy-looking’ flies:

Two points are worth noting about Jason Sparks’ flies. Though the examples here look large, they are actually not very big, being photographed closely to help us appreciate their detail and composition. His typical hook sizes range from an 8  to a 12 or 14 (in most cases less than an inch, and many considerably smaller). And, second, Sparks often directs the feather barbs both forward and rearward, in contrast to the usual forward tilt of many traditional Tenkara flies. These features can also be seen in the following examples:

Sparks also ties flies that are commonly called nymphs, suggesting the appearance of bugs in their larva stage of development. With these flies, we notice the absence of feathers, and a spare use of other materials such as Sparks’ preferred Scottish yarn:

Despite how much of the hook is exposed in these examples, Sparks contends that they are effective for fishing.

Jason Sparks is obviously a gifted fly tier and has made a significant artistic contribution to this avocation, which for some is also a form of employment. In contrast to the neatness and precision of his finished flies, Sparks’ fly tying desk resembles the workspace of many others who tie flies:

 

Readers interested in fly tying may wish to look at my prior post, The Beauty of Fly Tying, which may be accessed by clicking here.