The most memorable thing about him was how much he loved his home. There was a lesson in that for me about appreciating this world, and the simple, beautiful things that are often tragically taken for granted. I had this impression that someone like that would always come out ahead, would always get the benefit of the doubt in the often cruel and sad ways of the world. Some sort of naivety amidst the jaded parts of me must have still existed in thinking that the good, gentle souls who simply exist in step with the Earth and "Do no appreciable damage to the world at large" as Gierach put it, somehow make it out alright. I wanted to believe they get to live the long, slow lives they wanted off at the edge of things, retirements that fade out into sunsets over saltwater flats or snow-melt riffles. That was the life Victor deserved, with all his grand kids around, all the snapper empanadas he could eat, and a lifetime of fishing memories to look back on as the sun drifted down again over the precioso. The fact that he didn't get that is what I'm sitting here trying to reconcile today. This world can be a right cunt.
So here I am trying to give him back a measure of what he was owed, with a eulogy for a fisherman, and hopefully kind thoughts from you all who might not have had the pleasure of fishing with him but still somehow, I'm sure, know the man in the way that all fisherman know each other. Since it is clear I do not understand the way this world works I certainly can't begin to make assumptions about the others, those that spin on just off to the sides of ours, but if hope is worth a damn I hope there's one with turtle grass flats and deep blue snapper holes, and I hope Capt Victor's running Lizbeth flat out right now, going fishing.
They don't wanna have to die