by Daniel Sisk

Created on: October 05, 2008

While my teenager and I struggled to interest any fish along the Deschutes River one morning, an osprey plunged into the water in front of us and lifted out a 14-inch rainbow squirming in its talons. I looked at Jason, and he at me, and we shook our heads. It seemed a fiberglass fly rod, synthetic fishing line, and a fake grasshopper were no match for thousands of years of natural instincts. I envied the bird's intimate connection with nature.

We eventually packed up, sans any proof of success, and headed home. Not having to feed my family by catching fish brought some consolation. And with my track record, I'm sure Jason found some relief in this, too.

As we winded through the sleepy Eastern Oregon wheat fields, I slipped in a CD, and Jason nodded off. As farming hamlets passed by and our air-conditioned cocoon zoomed toward a rendezvous with the interstate, it occurred to me how technology insulates us from the organics of living. Every new man-made wonder puts more distance between us and the unprocessed world from which we once emerged. Swept forward by what we call progress, it seems we risk forgetting old comforts, like the tug of a native trout, the rush of a wild river, and sweeping high desert stretching from sun-up to sunset. Good thing we took a lot of pictures.

But there's so much you can cram into an iPod. And Second Life, the online virtual world limited by your imagination and available disk space, can't quite get there. As a result, the bond between humans and nature quietly slips away. So, while we're all off beautifying our MySpaces, no one's left to keep watch, check the heart beat, sample the taste and texture of the planet we once called our mother. No wonder ozone holes, acid rain, and shrinking coral reefs crept up on us so easily. I guess we were zooming ahead too fast to notice.

Native Americans had an intimate connection with nature. And they had what we might call a sustainable economy - that is before the Europeans bulled them over on the way to the future. These organic people took what they needed, paid their respects, and used nearly every last bone. There was a bond between man and nature, and a rhythm as well. But now it seems we're getting out of sync. Of course, they weren't perfect. No human society is. Still, their landfills didn't brim with electronic waste, and you can bet they knew where their food came from.

Not that I'm advocating a return to the simple life, but maybe the light of history illuminates a path: intimacy, moderation, sustainability. Trouble is, the first one's getting to be a stretch. At least that's the conclusion of University of Maryland Professor Sandra Hofferth who noted a 62% drop in outdoor activities for 9 to 12 year-old kids from 1981 to 2003. I guess blasting digital aliens is hard to compete with.

So we lecture our kids, drag them away from the Xbox, and take them into the wilds when we can. Maybe, in some small way, ancient friendships can be rekindled. Maybe the next generation can extend a hand to an old pal. Maybe, there's still time - if a father's words are worth heeding.

But on the Metolius in Central Oregon, the fishing didn't improve. And after two days of losing 20 bucks worth of flies to the shrubbery and not a nibble to show for it, my two boys were ready to take up gillnetting with me as the anchor. One evening, another osprey glided up and then down the river looking for dinner. I wished him luck. It's tough being a dad.

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