Taylor-made: The meaning of mentorship in fisheries

Thirteen years ago, as a senior in college, I barely knew what research was. Although I spent my senior year conducting fieldwork and writing 50 pages about Brown Trout Salmo trutta population dynamics in southeast Minnesota streams, the essence of research eluded me. It was not until graduate school that things clicked. A decade ago, I was several months away from completing my M.S. thesis on the effects of a large flood on aquatic resources in the Missouri River. Research was a newfound passion. My M.S. project changed my perspective, opening my eyes to the delights and difficulties of science. I attended the 2014 American Fisheries Society (AFS) meeting determined to talk to as many potential Ph.D. advisors as possible.Sometimes a conversation changes everything. After his presentation on Great Lakes fisheries, I timidly approached Professor Bill Taylor to see if he had room for a Ph.D. student in his laboratory. Bill immediately made me feel at home, asking questions about my interests with a warm, welcoming smile. We quickly developed a rapport fueled by a mutual enthusiasm for fish and fisheries conservation. I left the AFS meeting committed to staying in contact with Bill. One conversation led to another, and before I knew it, I was on a plane to East Lansing, Michigan, for an interview with Bill and his students.Fast forward to August 2015. It seems like only yesterday, but alas, more than nine years have passed since I became Bill's Ph.D. student. After a 10-hour drive from east-central Minnesota, I arrived at the immaculate grounds of Michigan State University. Cruising through the verdant campus, I was struck with a sense of gratitude to be studying at a top-notch institution with a renowned fisheries program. Here I was, a Spartan, embarking on a self-designed Ph.D. with one of the world's foremost fisheries experts. Dozens of times in my undergraduate and M.S. studies, I had encountered the name “W.W. Taylor” in fisheries books and papers. I was continually impressed with the quality and impact of Bill's research, with the array of co-authors indicating the breadth of Taylor Nation—an incredible network of Bill's current and former students, postdocs, and colleagues whose careers and lives he has enriched. Over the next four years, I had the time of my life. Constantly busy but always eager to grow, I learned everything I could from Dr. Taylor.To celebrate Bill's retirement and summarize our four years of Ph.D. research together—a collaboration that continues today—I will emphasize four key lessons that I learned from Bill. I absorbed these principles in a scientific context, but I now realize they are broadly applicable in life:I thought I was a decent writer until I encountered Bill's revisions on a manuscript early in my Ph.D. program. Could the manuscript really require that many edits? Looking back, yes, the manuscript needed significant editing. I grew tremendously as a writer in my years as Bill's Ph.D. student. Now, I use the skills that Bill taught me to continually improve my writing. For example, I reread my manuscripts multiple times with a fine-toothed comb to ensure clarity and conciseness, create word diagrams to distill complex issues into straightforward ideas, and incorporate feedback from colleagues and reviewers. See Kocik, this issue, for additional details on Taylor editing.Bill helped me improve my writing in many ways, including his emphasis on clarifying implications (e.g., specific meaning for a fisheries manager or researcher, tangible applications for a fisheries biologist). Loving the scientific detail and mathematics underlying my research, I tended to write pedantically. But I now realize that my writing needed to specify, to a greater degree, the relevance of results for fisheries management and conservation. Bill asked me to envision myself as a brand-new reader of my own writing. Embracing this advice, I inspected my writing from a new perspective and learned to explain its meaning clearly and concisely.Midway through my Ph.D., I decided that I wanted to serve on the editorial board of a journal. Only having experience as a journal reviewer at that time, I had no concept of the requirements and demands of board service. When an opportunity arose, I strongly considered taking it but ultimately declined. In hindsight, it was a good choice, a decision informed by Bill's wisdom. If only I had known that this “no” would become a “yes” when, two years ago, I found a fitting time in my career to serve as Associate Editor of North American Journal of Fisheries Management. See Lynch (this issue) for more details on Bill's wisdom regarding “no” as a “yes” in waiting.A consummate mentor, Bill showed me what it means to be grateful for people, for opportunities, for experiences. Through Bill, I learned that it is a privilege to study fisheries. I am sure that many people in Taylor Nation have had similar experiences, times when Bill's wisdom echoes in the mind and warms the heart with gratitude.Bill and I have stayed in close contact since I left Michigan State University at the end of my doctoral program. We have co-edited a book, published several articles, and chatted regularly on the telephone to talk about science and life. Whenever I get the chance, I thank Bill for his profound influence on me.Learning these lessons was not always easy, but it was invariably fulfilling. My students will benefit from Bill's wisdom for years to come as I incorporate his lessons into my own mentoring approach. My life and career are better because of Bill. I wish him all the very best in retirement.Thanks, Bill.