Otter Obsession

 Yesterday morning as I put on my Otter socks, a recent Christmas present from my sister-in-law, I realized that people now feel free to give me all manner of Otter things.  How this got started can only be attributed to my experience while fishing the headwaters of the Deschutes River in Central Oregon.  More about that later, but for now, let's look at how and why people get attracted to collecting specific things and why that passion is reinforced by their friends and family in the form of gift-giving.

I had a friend once who collected chickens.  She was so obsessed with this fetish that I found myself aware of anything representing chickens every time I went shopping.  Once in a while, but rarely, I gave her a chicken object.  It made me feel good to reinforce this obsession. The same went for an old girlfriend who collected penguins. She had a shelf full but no matter, people gave her penguins all year long.  My best guess is that when a person expresses such a strong feeling for a particular animal, bird,  or even a color, their friends take notice of such a strong response and are eager to reciprocate. It's a guarantee that your gift or thoughts will be appreciated.  Occasionally, the one receiving these contributions must tell everyone,  "No more, please." 

If you scan the Facebook groups, it becomes apparent that people collect all sorts of things.  It's clear, too that they have devised ways of displaying these collections.  The groups that collect what is euphemistically called "Black Americana" are particularly adept at displaying their passion.  Loads of Uncle Tom and Aunt Jemima's stereotyped figures adorn these pages, as well as sheet music, kitchen items, and various products of yesteryear.  The fact that these are often racist and vile images does not seem to deter these people.  In fact, it makes some of the items worth more because they have become more scarce and rare.  A huge market in old records is another collection area that has its own dedicated adherents.  This is an area where people can spend a lifetime trying to collect a complete set of something or everything released by a particular artist.  I once decided to see if I could collect every album in the RCA Victor collection of Vintage Series.  This was a group of albums released over 10 years in the Folk, Blues, and Jazz genres. I accumulated many, but one album,  "The Railroad in Folksong" still eludes me.  On the rare occasions, I think of it, I still search online or in record stores that still exist.  Obsession, mystery, or too much time on my hands? Your call.

II

I have a favorite spot to fly fish.  Over the years the place where the Deschutes River begins has become hallowed ground for me.  I first caught fish on the fly there, including my first brook trout.  Sometimes, my efforts were in vain and even when I did manage a fish or two, they were always small 6-inch rainbows.  Nothing wrong with that, but I'd seen bigger fish come from these waters. That all changed for me when a few years down the road, and higher up the learning curve I managed to bring two beautiful rainbow trout to the net from these waters. But my real high point came the afternoon when I luckily found myself alone where the river winds around a small island in the middle of a meadow.  It was late afternoon, and I was standing in the middle of the gently flowing water right before it split into two sections around the island.  To my right, a pair of eyes suddenly appeared from the bubbling surface.  A dog? A beaver? No, the head of an otter emerged.  I froze, not wanting to scare my new friend and also because this was, in fact, a wild animal and I was in his territory.  I reeled in my fly and just stood there because I didn't want to hook a fish and then have the otter risk hooking himself if he went for the fish himself.  My new friend disappeared and then quickly reemerged near the same spot where I first saw his eyes on me.   This time he brought his family.  First, his mate swam in front of me to the opposite bank, followed by two small otters, and finally, the man of the family brought up the rear.  When all had crossed safely in front of me, they continued to swim down the opposite bank in front of me and then away, and on their way.  That was a special moment for me.  If I never get to that spot again, I will always treasure that afternoon.  True Joy.