the poetry of fly fishing
Canturbury Tales
Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour,
Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halve cours yronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open ye
(so priketh hem Nature in hir corages),
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;
And specially from every shires ende
Of Engelond to Caunterbury they wende,
The hooly blisful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.
When April with his showers sweet with fruit
The drought of March has pierced unto the root
And bathed each vein with liquor that has power
To generate therein and sire the flower;
When Zephyr also has, with his sweet breath,
Quickened again, in every holt and heath,
The tender shoots and buds, and the young sun
Into the Ram one half his course has run,
And many little birds make melody
That sleep through all the night with open eye
(So Nature pricks them on to ramp and rage)-
Then do folk long to go on pilgrimage,
And palmers to go seeking out strange strands,
To distant shrines well known in sundry lands.
And specially from every shire's end
Of England they to Canterbury wend,
The holy blessed martyr there to seek
Who helped them when they lay so ill and weak
First hints of Spring awakening on First Roach Pond in Maine
Geoffrey Chaucer may have composed one of the earliest Spring Summons to The Water in western literature though many may have overlooked it thinking instead that he was merely writing of a Pilgrimage to Canturbury to visit Tom Becket. I am fairly certain, however, that Chaucer was assembling all fly anglers to the Kentish Stour to seek the Fordham Trout now that the April rains had returned life to the winter lands. Of course, only 29 “anglers” RSVP’d and they were not all able to make it, and, of course, I may be mistaken about his intentions, but Chaucer quite effectively calls on me “to goon on pilgrimages” and join the “smale fowles maken melodye” on the Roach River there “the hooly blisful Brookie for to seke”.