Fishing Roads of America

Rogers Pass: Source

Amid the fishing roads of East Cuhain, Albert Amber stakes his claim on a two lane dust off where traffic is occasionally dangerous enough to do your fishing for you. He only fishes Sunday afternoon – it's the only time he gets, when and if he gets it. And if he doesn't get it, don't even think about talking to him at the store or he may just make you regret it. His dog Samuel does not seem smart enough to be in on the escapade, he just knows, that when a fish is caught he gets his share. And all for a lousy four hours sitting idly by. Easy money.

Highway 1: Source

There are over 4,00 fishing roads in America. Some are signed, Most are not. If you find one, don't expect to know it, expect to feel it. The road fishermen know when to keep a good thing good. And a good thing good is a thing you have to find. For road fish traverse that inescapable confusion between liquid and solid. Between the habits of distant mountains and those of dreaming journeymen.

Nevada: Source

There are wild fisheries where road fish can be bought without so much effort, but most people in the know will tell you they don't taste as good unless you've caught them yourself. As Albert himself puts it, 'pull a line with a fish on the other end of it and you pull in a little piece of heaven.'

Highway: Source

However, the days of the big fish run are long gone, as road fish become rarer and rarer. So too do the fishermen themselves and the days when motels would be filled with eager fishing groups, swapping tips and trading exotic lures. Back then You can find everything fishing was the catchcall of the Universal Fishermen, a group that expanded the techniques of the common fisherman to something of a unwritten science. But as many have discovered the mathematics of fishing provides few solutions, only more problems.

Road to Prairie Rose State Park: Source

Albert prides himself on keeping alive the memories of those fishermen who previously fished at this same spot for many years. A small memorial by a cottonwood tree marks their names. Yet their catches live on, stuffed and decorating houses where the wallpaper is oily to the touch and dreams come in threes.

Highway 280: Source

Today, more often than not, highways are where the big game hunters prowl the night time air with long fiberglass rods that are hard to see, stretching as they do anonymously out of the trees and bushes. But Albert and many remaining like him still prefer to sit in the shade by a quiet road of a Sunday afternoon and wait for that one good bite. And if it doesn't come, well that as Albert would say raising a beer matter of factly, 'is why it is called fishing.'