2016 was a bountiful year for angling books of every stripe and hue, not just in terms of quantity but in quality too. I read a school’s worth of the year’s bumper crop, among which there were many standouts, by virtue of interesting subject matter, by virtue of quirky, one-off take on angling, or––best of all–– by virtue of engaging prose. The year saw Marcelo Gleiser’s The Simple Beauty of the Unexpected: A Natural Philosopher’s Quest for Trout and the Meaning of Everything, Henry Hughes’ Back Seat with Fish: A Man’s Adventures in Angling and Romance, James Babb’s Fish Won’t Let Me Sleep: The Obsessions of a Lifetime Flyfisherman and Greg French’s The Imperiled Cutthroat: Tracing the Fate of Yellowstone’s Native Trout–just to name a few exemplars of the literature of power category––plus the superb scholarly anthology Backcasts: A Global History of Fly Fishing and Conservation, ably edited by Samuel Snyder, Bryon Borgelt, and Elizabeth Tobbey, and Tom Rosenbauer’s literate, tech savvy instructional guide Fly Fishing for Trout: The Next Level.
The appearance of any two of those might have marked 2016 as an excellent year by most standards. But that wasn’t all. There were riches on top of riches to be had. Every so often something truly special comes along that deserves more than the usual attention. Fly fishing guide, acclaimed poet, and teacher Chris Dombrowski’s Body of Water: A Sage, a Seeker, and the World’s Most Alluring Fish is that special book. Dombrowski’s prose is splendid, effortless, precise. It ranks with the best of Roderick Haig-Brown, Harry Middleton, David James Duncan, Thomas McGuane, John Gierach, and Ted Leeson. That is, in a category with our most acclaimed poets of fly fishing.
Body of Water is a hybrid, part way between meditative memoir, inquisitive biography, and documentary history. (It even sports a bibliography and list of sources and stimulants.) Like so much current “creative non fiction,” a porous, ambiguous genre, which relies on a deft melding of reportorial impulses and fiction-style techniques, Body of Water redefines Van Dyke’s old category of literature of power, updates it for our times. On the flats, the horizon is “so persistent,” Dombrowski writes, “you take one step toward it and it takes one step back.” He continues: “precisely where does the water stop and the sky begin? I reference this uncharitable point because the lines between biography, story, and myth seem even less definable, more arbitrary.” After this book it will be difficult to go back. It is the sort of shape-changing book that larger commercial presses might shun, but has found a perfect, fitting home at the respected Minneapolis-based independent publisher, Milkweed Editions.
Body of Water is mainly the story of David Pinder, Senior, the “sage” of the book’s title, who, until his somewhat too-hurried retirement in 1995 after 40 years, was head fishing guide at Deep Water Cay in the Bahamas (celebrating its 60th year in 2018), one of the premier saltwater angling destinations in the world (first built by Gil Drake and since then maintained under different owners). It is also the personal story of how Chris Dombrowski, the “seeker” of the book’s title, a Michigan-born Montana trout guide, became obsessed with angling for bonefish, the titular “world’s most alluring fish,” and in the process came to know and admire Pinder (and his talented kin). One of Dombrowski’s friends tells him, “’you ought to come meet David. He’s the guy that started all of this.’”
In coming to know the elder Pinder and his impact on Bahamian bonefishing, Dombrowski creates a brilliant portrait of the whole surround of island culture, history, society, race, economics, labor, and environment. This is genuinely intelligent, penetrating work and the book is freighted with gritty details and numerous dives into a welter of back ground presences, occurrences, tides, and cross currents. It is about fishing, but so much more, too. Dombrowski is the real deal, both as a guide and a writer, who reads water and other texts deftly. He pulls no punches and in doing so he creates a resonant angling ecology, in which––viewed properly and mindfully––nearly everything is related to everything else.
Luminous is the word that comes to mind in gauging this book. It is infused with the restless, ever-changing light of the flats, now radiant, now opaque: “…the water looks like a window filled with cerulean light but laid down horizontally, a seemingly infinite pane.” Or this quick portrait of a bonefish: “Now its sides are star white, chalky, its location perpetually vague and mirroring whatever surrounds it until it tilts, nose down, to root a bellicose crab from a burrow. Then its sloped back and dorsal fin cut through the surface, light shellacked, announcing its location to the airy world.” Those are a few of many similarly evocative descriptions of land, sea, and fish, and I am betting there isn’t a YouTube video around that can surpass them for visual acuity. Sometimes it takes language to embody what is most prized.