Dr. James Wilden White
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Fish Tales

Short stories from a life time of fishing!

Podcast

Story in Gilgamesh to Gierach: 4000 Years of Fishing, Fish and Water Stories by the author, James W. White

2/12/2024

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What is likely the oldest piece of literature in the West is The Epic of Gilgamesh,1 a Sumerian-Akkadian poem, dating from the third millennium B.C.E.  The Epic is a 1200-verse poem about a man, Gilgamesh, King of Uruk, a city-state located in Lower Mesopotamia. King Gilgamesh may have actually lived. Tradition has it that he was two-thirds god and one-third human. By about 750 B.C.E, however, all the tablets containing Gilgamesh’s story were lost. That is . . . until unearthed in 1853 C.E. at the archaeological excavation of ancient Nineveh (Mosul, Iraq). 

The epic poem says that Gilgamesh was “the man who saw the deep.” His story is that of a tragic hero. In the poem, we learn that Gilgamesh, “the civilized man,” fought with Enkidu, “the wild man” of the hills who ate grass and ran like a gazelle. (Enkidu had been tamed by a prostitute, who also introduced him to beer and bread.). After their fight, Gilgamesh and Enkidu became the best of friends, perhaps lovers. Together, they went on many adventures as to “The Cedar Forest” of Lebanon.  There they slay the monster Humbaba. On one occasion they fight with lions. They also had to elude the clutches of the goddess Istar who lived by the mouth of the Tigris River and wanted to marry Gilgamesh. Rejected, she then sends a bull to slay the two, but they kill it. So she kills Enkidu.

When Enkidu dies, Gilgamesh is cast down and forced to consider his own mortality. He begins, then, a search for eternal life. His search leads him to distant mountains—the mountains of the rising and setting sun. Via a tunnel he goes through them to a watery shore. There, Siduri, the maker of wine, directs him to the ferryman Urshanabi on the Sea of Death.2 And, Urshanabi takes him over the water to meet Utnapishtim (“the faraway”) and his wife. The couple are the only ones on earth to escape drowning in a great flood. They survived by boarding an ark along with many animals. Afterward, they were given life eternal. Gilgamesh asks Utnapishtim to help him escape death, but the old man explains that he cannot do so. His wife, though, helps by directing Gilgamesh to go to the deepest part of the sea, where the Plant of Eternal Youth will be fovund. We read . . .
When Gilgamesh heard this he opened the sluices so the sweet-water current
might carry him out to the deepest channel; he tied heavy stones to his feet
and they dragged him to the water-bed. There he saw the plant growing;
although it pricked him he took it in his hands; then he cut the heavy stones
from his feet, and then the sea carried him and threw him on the shore. 3
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King Gilgamesh in the Depths
(Graphic by James C. Vandermiller)
​(Though the ancient text does not say it, Gilgamesh, I posit, went down and back up with catchable fish looking on!) Back on terra firma, he and Urshanabi head for Uruk. Enroute a serpent from the netherworld crawls out of a well and steals the treasured plant forever.4

Immortality lost, Gilgamesh then builds a great wall around the city, his compensatory memorial. Although most of the story is totally mythic, remnants of the wall of Uruk have been excavated and continue to be uncovered. More than by a wall, Gilgamesh achieved his true immortality through the poem that tells his story.

Thus, in brief, we have The Epic of Gilgamesh, the man who saw the deep.

Millennia later, men and women gone fishing have found considerable meaning when “walking beside still waters” (Psalm 23)—or waters flowing  freely, often deep. Anthropologist and natural-science writer Loren Eiseley says it well, “If there is any magic on this planet, it is contained in water.”5​

​1 Over the years, The Epic of Gilgamesh has had several translations and iterations. N. K. Sandars edited a version in the 1970s which was updated with new scholarly shaping for its 2014 and 2021 editions. On BARD (Braille and Audio Reading Downloads) I listened to it and, later, obtained a printed copy, it being: The Epic of Gilgamesh (London: Penguin Books, 2006). Only the Egyptian Book of the Dead, made up of ancient funeral prayers, is older than the story of Gilgamesh.

2 Cf. Charon, the ferryman in Greek mythology who takes shades of the dead across the River Styx to Hades.

3 N. K. Saunders, editor, The Epic of Gilgamesh (London: Penguin Books, 2006), p. 58.

4 Much of the above sounds similar to the later biblical story of Noah and the ark and also that of Adam, Eve, and the serpent in the Garden of Eden. Flood stories are told worldwide, China to Africa and beyond, the Roman poet Ovid having one in Metamorphoses.

5 Loren Eiseley, The Immense Journey (New York: Random House, 1957), p.15.
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The INCREDIBLE EMERGER June 13th, 2019

6/13/2019

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The INCREDIBLE EMERGER 
 
            That spring morning we were first to launch from the 3-Mile Access of the Big Horn River at Ft. Smith, Montana. The time was 6:30 a.m. My daughter Melissa and I pushed our Water Otters pontoon boats hard downstream to beach them below the elbow curve of Crow Beach. (Crow Beach is a big-riffles-then-bend hole.) We got out our nymphing rods to fish the regularly-productive drop-off shelf. Trout in the deep waters below the shelf come into this holding spot all day long. Here they feed on the bugs coming from the wide shoal above. As we loosened our rigs, we noticed the overcast sky, the swishing sound coming from the eddies, the occasional call of a pheasant, Widgeons flying up the river (later down it), paired geese waddling on Pelican Island across the shoal, and black cows munching new green grass on the north shore’s red bank. We were on the south side with the sun coming up on our backs. Lovely April day. It was cool but we were not cold.
            My first cast was close to the shoreline, in but a foot of water, and it got a take and a fish, a healthy Big Horn Brown of 16 inches. He took my top fly, an Orange Scud #14. Melissa came in next and was quickly connected to a fat Rainbow liking her Rootbeer Midge #20. We worked our way out a little deeper in the water and soon doubled on Rootbeers. This was great fishing.
            Upstream a big, black Angus steer came to the edge of the water and let out a loud bawl. The cows on the bank across the way responded plaintively. Our animal then entered the water on the shoal to cross over, but after a dozen steps into the strong current retreated to the bank, clearly frustrated. He looked at us, we at him.
            “Sorry, Bossy,” Melissa empathized. 
            Then I looked in the river section below the steer, along the shoreline and…voila!...there was a string pod of trout rising, taking flies on the surface, probably midges. They were feeding vigorously. I told Melissa excitedly, “It has been twenty years on this river since I’ve seen such a feeding line, clear back to 1985 or so when Ron Granneman found such a string for Bruce and me in the old Snaghole.” There they were: as close in as three feet from the shore, out to about fifteen feet, and strung out upstream for forty feet. Beautiful! Heads were coming up here, there, in tandem, two feet away from one another, in swirls, splashing, moving to take bugs, strong action, maybe 40-50 fish.   
            With Melissa still nymphing in the deeper water, I ran back to the boats and grabbed her already set-up dry rod, it loaded with a Hi-Vis top fly Baetis #18 and a Griffith’s Gnat #22 on the point. Two casts to the back of the pod, and I had a fine 15” Brown who peeled off downstream. After I landed and released it, I handed the rod to Melissa and went back to the boats to string my own dry rig.  As I hustled back, I heard her give a squeal and turned to see “Fish On!” She netted and released a 19”er--and took still another--as I loaded up my dry fly rod with a white-post parachute Blue Winged Olive #16 and a poly-wing Brown Midge Cluster #20. Then I was back in the game.
            We had enough casting space that we could both stand in the river and fish upstream side-by-side…and, side-by-side, we doubled, the fish taking either the top or the bottom fly indiscriminately. It seemed not to matter, though no Baetis were on the water yet. O my, what father-daughter delight! Fish up to 20 inches on dry flies. It doesn’t get any better. 
            Then trouble. The big steer, who earlier had tried to cross, headed our way. I was landing a fish downstream, so Melissa went up the bank to shoo him off. She succeeded and reported him to be “Cow #520” by his branded butt number and ear tag. Happily, the fish did not spook.
            By now we had worked our way about one-third the way up the pod--but no more than that. Almost as soon as we had landed a fish downstream and got our flies reinvigorated with Frog’s Fanny, the fish returned lower in the stream line. So it was like starting all over. Perfect. We doubled again. 
I thought, “This is going to take a wonderful while.”
            Wrong. 
Steer #520 reappeared. He decided again to try and cross, this time closer to our pod. He went out deeper into the current, well up to his belly. He hesitated, looked back, looked across, bawled, seemed to shake his head, the yellow ear tag flapping. Another step or two, and I fully expected him to be launched in the current, swept off his feet and swimming downstream. He was steady, though, and turned to come back. He came with the current, down river, right into and through our rising fish!  Eight hundred pounds of black blubber lumbering into and through our pod.
            Melissa exclaimed, “It’s an emerger!”
            “A FatNelson!” I cried. 
            We could not help but laugh…and laugh. Too funny. That wet, giant, dark Wooly Booger tromping through the school, throwing off water as he moved landward. Would that we had the camera! What a priceless picture we could have taken. Still, Black Beauty #520 has been indelibly imprinted on the memory. 
            Sad to say, our fish refused this emerger and spooked to deeper water.  
 
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