The Drake

GENERATION BRIDGE

OVERVIEW

BEGAN TEACHING Norman Maclean’s in the fall of 2015, to my English 1A Composition and Rhetoric class at a community college so far removed from the rivers of Montana that many students didn’t understand the book’s cover photo. Eighty miles of irrigated farmland separates California’s West Hills College Coalinga from the nearest trout stream. WHCC is a rare bird (only 11 colleges out of California’s 115 offer dormitories), and it draws athletes and academics from around the globe. Each year, my night class is filled with locals, south-side Chicagoans, Floridians, Japanese, and a mix of other geographically dispersed students. When beginning to read , students quickly connect with Maclean’s weaving of family troubles, complexities of adulthood, offers of help to those who refuse it, grieving loss, and historical racism. But flyfishing is largely lost on them. Early into discussing the book, I bring fly rods to class and let students whip some line on the practice football field to understand the casting dynamics masterfully described by Maclean. But without a prize at the end of the line, it’s no wonder the confusion grows each year. As Gen Z continued to outpace Millennials and Gen Xers in the classroom last fall, I realized that a

You’re reading a preview, subscribe to read more.

More from The Drake

The Drake5 min read
Complete Adrenaline
IT’S MID-JUNE at Pirate Camp in Michigan’s River Country, happy hour, a while before prime time. We grab a quick dinner around the fire circle—tossing paper plates into the pit for fuel later—and disperse to fish the Au Sable. I drift solo and find t
The Drake3 min read
Because it’s Awesome
LIKE MOST COLLEGE students, I spent as little time studying as possible, preferring instead to be out with friends. My older brother tried teaching me the importance of scheduling my week so I wouldn’t have to spend weekends trapped inside. Yet there
The Drake3 min read
Dear Dickhead
HEY, OLD FRIEND. I was standing by myself on the leeward side of a flat the other day and thought of you. The water was calm, without a breath of wind. Almost as if the quiet was too quiet, and I needed a disruption. I don’t usually write these kinds

Related