Catch a Fish, Sip Some Wine, Be Wild — How to Use an Urban River at 5pm

Welcome back, and a big welcome to the new subscribers this week! This week’s story and illustration is the sixth and final installment in the Urban River series, exploring true stories about the curious and wonderful ways that people in Daejeon, Korea use their local waterway throughout the day.

—

5:00PM — A single heron stalks the currents. Nearby, two otters move like shadows through the reeds. Their heads pop up, eyes shift to the shore as three humans cast their lines into the deep part of the river.

Meanwhile, our recurring heroine — the woman from previous entries in this series — sits there taking it all in with a glass of rice wine (makgeolli).

Some places on this river are special because of a dramatic landform — a cliff, a waterfall, an orchard. This particular place is not special in those ways, but in a way that is harder to name. Whatever it is, this must be what attracts the fishers — human, otter, and heron alike.

This summer afternoon scene is technically illegal.

Few seem to mind the illegality, but it does bring up a question:

Do we still deserve the right to fish and barbecue on the river?

In one sense, this is a city.

The riparian zone that ecologically belongs to the river has dwindled. The space required for a healthy river has been rarefied — taken hostage under layers of cement and asphalt. Today, the life-giving flow of water is an endangered resource. Our urban lifestyle habits created this situation, and so in that sense, perhaps we do not deserve the right to fish on the river.

In another sense however, humans have probably done the riverside barbecue in one form or another since we knew how to start a fire. This is a part of who we are — and it has been wrestled from our grip, rapidly, over the past century, usually in the name of progress.

A River of Contradictions

On this particular river, there is a broad rule that says you can’t fish and you can’t light any kind of fire. But there is also an old rusty sign posted here, that says residents are allowed one fish per day.

We call the city to check on this seeming conflict.

Indeed, they admit to us, somewhat cryptically, the following:

Yes, fishing is illegal.
But also, it’s not.
One fish per day. No synthetic bait.

It is unclear how this works. Maybe autonomy — a local ordinance taking precedence over a higher authority.

Walking or riding a bicycle the length of Daejeon Stream reveals a long list of such contradictions. Some parts of the river are restored with ecological sensitivity. Wildlife and plants are allowed to grow as they will in various spots. Intentional plantings are sometimes done to help this along. Water is also strategically released from a mountain reservoir during the dry season to maintain a year-long wetland.

These human acts of engineering — though sometimes imperfect — are also acts of love. They are the reason why heron, ducks, and otters make a year-round home here, and why so many pedestrians, cyclists, yogis, mugwort pickers, and fishers spend time along the river to enjoy the bounty of it all.

Meanwhile, there is still a highway along parts of the river bed, and whenever roads are congested above, cars are routed down, onto the riverside walking path and pedestrians are banished. Allowing cars here feels convenient. It is also technically illegal, in the same way that fishing is. Meanwhile, heron sail over the places with cars, and otters don’t hang around when they can help it.

Nature does reclaim the road at times, but only on the rare occasion that a flood happens, they say every ten or fifty years.

A rare flood is happening as I write this.

Last year, a rare flood happened four times. In two months.

There is a balancing act going on along this river, and every river in the world — and humans are often found pressing very hard on one side of the scale. You can see it clearly.

When we are compelled,
to move too fast,
to seek too much benefit,
to compete too fiercely —
our rivers turn into highways,
concrete canals,
parking lots.

Yet there are other times,
other places.

When we lend our eyes, ears,
and hearts to the water,
and this water then helps us slow
to the speed of the land —
highways become wetlands,
canals meander again,
parking lots bloom into wildflowers.

The river flows wider, slower.

Nature’s purpose is revealed.

In these times of slow listening to the world around us, benefit also flows, and it flows far beyond the self — blooms like that bed of wildflowers along the river, telling us that yes, there is yet hope in this place.

Hope looks like a city that is in love with its waterways.

From that love blooms a long-term relationship — one that benefits everyone.

—

The illustrations in this series were originally commissioned by the Daejeon Sejong Research Institute.

Questions: If you could re-imagine a local waterway as a place for both people and nature to flourish, what elements would you include? What would you do away with?

Next Week: Something different is coming this way.

Another Story: We used to have our studio along Daejeon Stream. I bicycled to work every day, and it was one of the first times I noticed this phenomenon…

—

Thanks everyone, for letting me into your world. If you have never commented before, feel free to chime in below, or to introduce yourself. You can help this project grow by thinking of someone else who might like this work, and clicking the magic button below.

Not yet signed up yet to get these stories to your inbox? No problem, you can do that below. You can also join our supremely awesome club of paid subscribers who get special perks from me every now and then.