Fishing for Something

I am a lucky rabbit. I have a wife and children who love me at least as much as I love them. I have an extended family that anyone would be delighted to have. I have good friends. I have a job that fulfils me and - after some years of a little above "just about breaking even" - my efforts are gaining appreciation in other parts of Sylvania and our income is reflecting this.

 

Why am I telling you this? It's because I want to draw attention to someone who has been a source of strength to me. A talented bunny who deserves for my gratitude to go on record. I speak, of course, of my best friend and songwriting partner Christian Snow-Warren.

 

Although our families have always been supportive, I am not so blind as to ignore the fact that songwriting is not the most lucrative of occupations. In Sylvania that isn’t supposed to matter, but when you want to give your family all you can, it's natural for doubts to sneak in. Chris Snow-Warren has never shown any such doubts and in the past has given me a figurative kick in the bobtail to get me back on track. 

The contract to write all the music for the musical interpretation of The Sylvan River was a big thing. You may recall that all the words were originally to be taken from the original epic poem, but I pressed for Chris to be included in the project. I'd argued that there were areas of the poem that needed supplementing, areas where the narrative was rushed, and my partner could provide the necessary lyrics to even this out in a style harmonious with the original text.

This went much better than we could have hoped. So much so that the scriptwriters for the musical have insisted on incorporating some of Chris's lyrics in their storytelling, giving him written credit.

I am delighted. 

Of course, we had to start somewhere. We read the script separately and delved into the original poem before meeting up at Chris's house to compare our thoughts.

 

  

It occurs to me that you won't know anything about the original poem. It's a Sylvanian classic, but if you're not from Sylvania... Anyway, I'll summarise.

The Sylvan River is the tale of a traveller following the route of a river, and descriptions of the people and events that he encounters on his journey. The poem is thought to be an allegory, signifying the growth of the traveller's character as he progresses through life.

Based upon the poem, a play was written and this attracted even more attention. It is still very popular. It is a great honour for us to be given the opportunity to contribute to the first musical based upon it.

And yet, it wasn't all straightforward. Thankfully Chris was, as always, an inspiration.

o 0 O 0 o

 

"I think it's the Fisherman's tale that needs the most work, pal," I said as Chris put down the draft script.

"It doesn't feature strongly in the main part of the original text either," said Chris, "yet it is important towards the end."

"Agreed. You've got Anton the Woodsman signifying strength, Uri the Hermit Scribe signifying the need to learn, there's... loads of characters, but John the Fisherman doesn't get the same coverage."

"And yet his contribution proves so important."

"True."

We lapsed into silence until Chris proposed an idea.

"I think he's worthy of his own theme. Something that re-emerges as background in later encounters." 

"A musical theme?"

"Why not?"

"Okay... some lyrics too."

"Definitely, but I'll have to think about that. Shame I don't know much about actual fishing."

I watched him as he was thinking. His ears wiggled as he deliberated on something. Minutes later, his eyes sparkled. 

"I'll go and see Clay Spotter."

 

 

o 0 O 0 o

Clayton Spotter is the most skilful fisherman in Mellowdene. Despite being brother to the socially active Harry Spotter he was a bit of a loner as a young meerkat, and it took his marriage to Annemarie van den Diere to bring him out of his shell.

The time he spent in self isolation gave him the opportunity to hone his fishing skills. Even now, with Annemarie working odd hours at the hospital, he still can spend hours awaiting his catch.

Chris Snow-Warren arranged to speak to him at the Mellowdene Dock snack bar after Clayton had returned from a meeting at the canal. He explained to the curious meerkat how he wanted to know the attributes of a typical fisherman.

Clay regarded him. "Well, I don't know if I'm typical."

"Humour me." 

"Alright. Fairly obvious I would have thought. Patience. Knowing the water. Not having an issue with being alone."

He continued to list attributes that Chris had already considered, pausing when Fenton Barker brought their drinks.

 

 

"I'm sure there must be more than that. You used to personally supply a lot of fish but I understand that's different now."

"That's right. I used to fish in bulk, but that was no challenge. At sea, nets, and all that."

"But not now?"

Clay shook his head. "I prefer fresh water fishing these days. I have an arrangement with the hill cats. They provide me with sea fish for the village, and I give them the special stuff in return."

"What's that?"

"Green finned smiler fish," said Clay, smiling himself.

"I've never heard of them," Chris responded, noting the meerkat's apparent joy.

 

"Few have. They're not easy to catch. They are a speciality food supplement that the Catsholme kitties adore. You need to understand your fishes to catch them."

"And you do?"

"I always have. I remember trying to explain it to Annemarie, but it was obvious she didn't get it. I've not found anyone who does, but I'd hoped she would. I ended up by telling her that I must be a weirdo. She simply laughed, kissed me and said that she loved her weirdo."

 

Chris laughed. "I won't comment on that."  

"Fair enough," said Clay, "but that way of thinking saves me a lot of work. I can go to the relevant stretch of water - which varies by season and weather - and locate the smiler fish. Four or five hours, no rushing around or hauling on nets. Half a dozen caught on a good day."

 

"And that satisfies the hill cats? It doesn't sound a lot for the amount of fish they provide the village."

"They are happy. The flavour is so intense, they only need the tiniest amount to supplement other food."

"Right."

"I probably wouldn't do any sea fishing at all if it wasn't for the Sylvanian Research Group."

That throwaway remark caught Chris by surprise. "What's their involvement?"

 

Clay looked at Chris, assessing him it seemed, before replying.

"I don't suppose it's a secret. They have a department assigned to the ocean."

 

"Go on."

 

 

The fisherman sipped his drink before continuing."Well, I used to fish close to the reef that borders the Ring of Sylvania. Large hauls. But I went beyond. Just a little way."

"Is that safe?"

"As I say, it was just a little way beyond. And safety at sea should be second nature to any fisherman worth his salt."

"Okay."

 

"The Research Group became interested one time when some unusual stuff came up in my net."

"What?"

"No idea. Something."

 

"You have to give me more than that."

"Well, I went because the fish tend to be bigger, but this wasn't that. I found a sort of box. Sealed, in pitted metal. Beyond that, I can't describe it. That's why I said 'something'."

"What did the Research Group say?"

 

"Not much, though that's nothing new. They did engage me to go out there again periodically. To see if I could catch anything else."

"Fishing for something."

Clay smiled again, leaning forward confidentially. "Sounds about right.  That is my job."

 

o 0 O 0 o

The meeting with the meerkat fisherman gave Chris the inspiration he sought. When he told me, we had our direction.

The narrative in The Sylvan River had the traveller meeting people, learning,  effectively searching for knowledge. John the Fisherman taught him patience, resilience, self-reliance. Attributes that were essential for the remainder of the journey.

Following that meeting with the Fisherman, the recurring music/lyrical theme was established. From that point, the traveller was "fishing for something".

The river twists, and each new bend 

brings mysteries; is there no end?

There's more that's worth accomplishing 

He thought how John had gone fishing... 

... for something. 

o 0 O 0 o