Mike Person, starting guard for the San Francisco 49ers, is proud to call himself a member of Bobcat Nation and a native Montanan. What brings him piece? Thoughts of casting a line in the famous trout waters of his home state. PHOTO COURTESY MIKE PERSON
On Sundays in autumn when we Northern Rockies
denizens return to our rivers, re-wetting lines of connection in the cooling
currents after months of usurpation by outsiders, Mike Person dreams of his
homeland, too, but from afar. Such idylls help him still the nerves as he puts
on his armor, preparing for battle in the truest American form of gladiator.
On his afternoons, Person’s mind becomes
intensely focused on repelling an invasion, this one a war over turf. Hunched
down in a three-point stance, squaring off against foes who want to pummel the
colleagues behind him—and for whom he is paid handsomely to protect—Person
ponders holes, though not the mellifluous, placid kinds that hold trout.
As a starting offensive guard for the San
Francisco 49ers, Person’s job is opening up running lanes for ball carriers or
buying quarterback Jimmy Garoppolo time to stand poised in the pocket. He knows
success for the team comes down to something seemingly simple yet actually
complicated and hard to executive—his ability to block.
“From a standpoint of physics, we are the only
guys on the field taking a hit or giving a hit 70 times a game,” Person said.
“Those add up over the course of a season. Mondays I’m sore; Tuesdays really
sore; and then, when Wednesdays roll around, it’s time to stop worrying about
what hurts because we’ve got to get ready for Sunday.”
Bruised and bloodied week in and out,
sacrificing his 300-pound frame to crunching hits, he’ll soak his weary muscles
in ice baths, get deep tissue massages and take Ibuprofen to help make the pain
go away before he does it all over again for months until the season ends.
But, what does Person’s profession have to do
with fly fishing, his expanding respect for wild places and doing right by his
family?
As it turns out, everything.
Person’s career in the trenches reminds him of
contrasts—of Sundays past, present and future. Where he escapes during the
offseason, home water means peace but not quiet. Compared to the deafening roar
of 70,000 fans, so loud it drowns out the quarterback’s cadence, there is
solace in the hum of a river like the Yellowstone, Madison or Gallatin, he
says. Wading into a bend casting, stripping line, mending, tying on a fake gnat
with no one else around, no cheers or jeers, is an activity where Person can go
to hear himself think.
And listen.
He understands why clean water matters.
Fly fishing has trained him to be more
instinctive, to read patterns on water, to move with ease and grace, rather
than like a bowling ball knocking down pins. There’s no brawn or quarter ton
squatting weights required to lay down a midge. Typically, casters need not
worry about blown out ACLs, concussions, broken fingers and torn rotator cuffs.
And yet a parallel can be drawn between how a ball moves downfield and a trout
navigates its linear sanctum.
Many people have stereotypes when it comes to
pegging football linemen, equating them almost to stolid members of a bison
herd. Person, the youngest of four siblings, is soft-spoken, contemplative and
big-hearted, residing more on the laconic side of the spectrum than evincing
any pretentious temptation to name drop who his employer is.
That’s not how he was taught to impress people
in Montana.
“There is lot of pride when it comes to being
from there and it is present from Libby [in the northwest part of the state]
all the way down to Wibaux [in the southeast]. Every kid who grows up there
feels it in some way but you’re not always aware of it until you’re gone,” he said.
“Being from Montana, that’s more important than what you do.”
Person never needed anyone to teach him how to
meditate before games; it’s second nature, rooted in afternoons, sometimes
following Sunday morning Catholic Mass when he and his buddies repaired to the
river, using night crawlers bought at the local gas station to hook catfish and
sauger. By “the river,” he means the Yellowstone.
Person grew up in remote Glendive only a few
blocks from the Yellowstone’s banks lined with cottonwood trunks as big around
as Greek columns.
He stood out in football and earned all-state
honors on the o-line. Bobcat coaches at Montana State recognized him as a kid
with raw talent that could be molded for the next level. When he first reported
to campus, he was 6 feet 4 inches “and extremely skinny” at 250 pounds, he said.
It wasn’t until Person decided to play at
Montana State, he says, that he started to think about angling as a high art
form. He gained a newfound appreciation for Yellowstone National Park and the
surrounding ecosystem. He counts it as a favorite destination, where his family
is constantly reminded why it’s important to care about the environment.
Part of the perk of being a Bobcat is having
access to some of the best-known trout streams in the world. Fly fishing is
something many players learn and it’s those memories that they take with them. It’s
uncanny how many pro athletes take up fishing to unwind.
When Person talks about landing big browns and
rainbows in the 49ers locker room, teammates pay attention; Montana, to some,
sounds almost like a mythological place.
At age 31, Mike Person, wearing number 68, is
indeed in the prime of confidence though he knows football won’t last forever.
As a history and education major, he’s thought
of teaching and coaching, like his dad. He also said he wouldn’t mind penning a
fly-fishing column for “Mountain Journal.” The family still has a cabin north
of Butte. With the rivers around Bozeman getting crowded, he enjoys wandering
the Boulder River. Planting a fly perfectly on the seam of a riffle, he says,
is as amazing a feat to him as watching a perfectly-thrown spiral 60 yards into
the outstretched hands of a receiver.
“There’s beauty in both,” he said.
He can relate to the analogy offered by noted
Bozeman writer Paul Schullery, who once said, “Calling fishing a hobby is like
calling brain surgery a job.” Schullery also observed, “If you aren’t a fisher,
you’ll see many things, but the river, except where it is ridden by a waterfall
or waded by a moose, will rarely enter your thoughts, much less stimulate your
spirit. It’s different if you fish. The surface of the water tells a story.”
Person does fish, and it stimulates his spirit
and it reminds him there’s always an abiding place where he can return, though
for now fall fishing on Sundays in Montana will have to wait for a while. Still,
he says the rivers have already given him stories to tell.
One of them is this: like safeguarding his
quarterback, clean water needs protection too.
Todd Wilkinson is the founder of Bozeman-based “Mountain Journal”and is a correspondent for “National Geographic.” He’s also the author of “Grizzlies of Pilgrim Creek” about famous Jackson Hole grizzly bear 399, which is available at mangelsen.com/grizzly.