One of my favorite things about being away from the world on a trout stream or a bass river is that it gives me a needed break from my day to day struggle to be able to hear and communicate. My hearing is very poor and even with two powerful hearing aids; it still takes a lot of work and continual staying on my sensory toes in order to get along.
Don’t get me wrong.. This is not a tale about “poor, poor me” or an exercise in self-pity. I’ve been living with severe hearing loss for a long time, over 30 years and truth be told, I do pretty well given the extent of my loss. Everybody says so from my audiologist to my long-suffering and patient wife who constantly has to repeat herself to me. It’s a point of pride with me. I work hard at being able to hear and for the most part, I am successful. I don’t want anybody’s pity. I am among the most fortunate of men in so many ways. I refuse the yoke of self-inflicted martyrdom.
Still, there’s no denying that a portion of the reason I so love being out on the water and away from the world is the absence of unbidden noise. On the water, there are no ringing phones to answer and then struggle to understand the sounds coming out of the earpiece. There are no televisions that suddenly pump out a dose of double volume into my already over-amplified ears when the ads come on. And there are no screaming kids, no accidentally activated car alarms and nobody is yelling; “customer service to housewares!” at 90 decibels out of a speaker directly over my head when all I want to do is find the 75 watt bulbs.
Out on the water, there are only the sounds of the stream sliding by and falling from rock to rock, the high whisper of the wind in the trees and the occasional angry chatter of the blackbird or kingfisher whose business I have interrupted with my presence. I do not feel ambushed by these sounds as I do by so many of the sounds in the busy world. I welcome them as a part of the natural world I love. They are soothing to me and a portion of the necessary recharging and restoration of serenity that allows me to return to the sounds of the busy world.
I have a “hearing hat” that I often wear when fishing. It isn’t a special hat designed for people with hearing loss. It’s simply a hat with a full 360 degree brim. I have one with a ventilated crown for hot weather and another of military surplus origin and sturdy cotton/poly construction. I spray this one with silicone so that it keeps rain away from my hearing aids, for a while anyway. This is important because fish will often become active when it starts to rain and I don’t want to have to quit just because my hearing aids are in danger of shorting out. Both these hats cup sound to my ears, enhancing my hearing and helping me to pick up noises of which I need to be aware. Noises like approaching thunder or the warning snort of a nearby bear. I’ve been unexpectedly soaked more than a few times and have also encountered a few bears when I didn’t have my hearing hat on. Pushing aside a streamside bush and seeing a bear at about 40 feet tends to concentrate the mind as well as weaken the knees. I always wear my hearing hat when I’m in bear country. I think it makes a difference and even if it really doesn’t, believing it does makes me feel better.
Despite my hearing problems, I don’t believe the things I seek or the reasons I seek them are really any different than most of you. We all desire refuge from time to time, a calm harbor where we can momentarily disengage from the things we grapple with on a daily basis. The act of being knee deep in the flow, working my way up a rushing trout stream, rod at the ready and looking for risers is my disengagement, my harbor and my restorative. The sounds of the water and wind in the trees are the music of my muted world. It is one of the most beautiful songs I know.
No comments:
Post a Comment