By Zach Harvey
Does Rhode Island really need its own fishing magazine? This question has been ricocheting around the open spaces of my oversized noggin since Mike and Lisa approached me back in December with news of their intent to launch this thing.
Among a riptide of other related mental debris, I keep thinking about the jolt I got at age, say, nine, when I realized that it was Thursday, that the copy of the Projo Iâd kicked halfway under the rhododendron in the driveway contained something of utmost personal importâsomething for me. Thirty feverish seconds later, after Iâd sufficiently mangled all the boring parts of the paper with clammy fingers, Iâd close in on the Sports page, rifle through it looking for the familiar layout of the âHot Bitesâ column. The fact that âWeekapaugâ or the âHarbor of Refugeâ might as well have been in Southeast Asia for how often I fished them did nothing to dampen my profound excitement over news of âteen-sized bluefish.â I will declare my own fish-writing an unconditional success if any 500 words of my own copy are read as carefully–or as many consecutive times with semi-religious devotionâas I read Tom Meadeâs weekly columns in those years. My one gripe, now as then, is that the columns just arenât long enough.
The next thought process involves the rest of the available pool of fish-writing. Iâm generally a pretty engaged reader, especially the stuff related to my own interests. The exception is the stuff that relates to fishing. Specifically, I have less-than-zero interest in most of whatâs written about places or species outside my own immediate range. Itâs not that I donât care about it. Itâs that when I read the words âroosterfishâ or âbarramundi,â a reflex fires and I promptly fire whatever publication Iâm holding across the room. Iâm afraid itâs a Rhode Island thing, some distorted sense we native sons of the Ocean State have about distance. Itâs the same instincts that give me vertigo and nosebleeds when I drive north of the Tower (the North Kingstown/South Kingstown line). Rhode Islanders have some very specific notions about the term âlocalâânamely, that if it happens outside the state, it might as well have happened in Australia.
Itâs not that Rhode Islanders in general have some hard-wired disdain for other states, other countries; itâs that we love what is our own to the extent thereâs not much headspace left over for all the stuff in the âelsewhereâ categoryâespecially in our fishing. One major perk of living in this state is having immediate access to such a wide array of species and an incredibly diverse expanse of prime habitat. One major drawback is thatâfor reasons obviousâeverything tends to come âinto bloomâ all at the same time. In June, there simply arenât enough hours in a day.
The irony, of course, is that our state government has done next to nothing to promote the very resources that define us. Itâs amazing that the Ocean State treats the industry most involved with its marine resources like some halfwit nephew whoâs not allowed in the house when companyâs over. Itâs always amused me, the number of tourist who describe our lands and waters with some variation of the âundiscovered gemâ idea. From a tax revenue standpoint alone, itâs beyond foolish that the best investment/ revenue opportunity our own Economic Development Corporation could identify was Kurt Shillingâs ill-fated tech enterprise.
Among other things, we need this magazine to do what the state never hasâto serve as a junction point between our fishermen and the rest of the world, and a vehicle to celebrate the incredible wealth of world-class water within our boundaries. As conflicted as I get at certain points about broadcasting all âmyâ pet spots to the larger world, Lâil Rhodyâs status as a pace car in the race toward 80-percent unemployment has tuned the economics in my life to dull-roar levels. I love an uncluttered ocean, but I think itâs about time we started putting the word out about the advantages of fishing our shoresâdespite our state governmentâs tireless efforts to keep our tourism draw a top-level-clearance secret.
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