I love fishing dry flies. Humans are quite the visual creatures. Our senses, when compared with other species’ lack acuity with the exception of vision. Our hearing is only average in the world of fauna. Our olfactory skills are decidedly poor. While we might delight in the wondrous odors of a warm kitchen, our ability to detect much scent outside of that environment is quite limited. But vision is acute. Our ability to discern color, focus at significant distances, and examine greater detail in close range gives us a particular advantage as hunters. No doubt our ability to observe, and our mental capacity to categorize and compare, makes fly fishing possible.
There are many, in our modern times, that hike, camp and picnic in the out-of-doors. They photograph and admire the beauty. They walk along waterways and marvel at nature. But they stay observers, not participants. Hunters and fisherman bridge that gap. The quarry requires a deeper understanding of the wild. The pursuit of game pulls them toward something not easily defined. Answers to these queries by non-outdoorsman are sincere, while realizing that the answers never make sense; they have no context. “You can buy better fish at the market.” “The river is too fragile for us to kill every fish.” “I try to conserve the fish for others.” Blank stares.
But what is that exhilaration? Hunters know the heart-pounding experience of seeing game approach, and successfully harvesting the prey. They also know the reward of dressing, curing and butchering the prize, not to mention the ongoing joy of table fare. But in spite of my early fishing experiences, where the bag limit was carefully noted; and often filled, concentration was on how to fight, land and release fish, and I studied carefully the advice of experts on assuring survival; most importantly the barbless fly.
To be most honest, my first efforts at releasing fish came at the hands of my mother. Bringing home large catches of bluegills, having to clean and scale them, then sit down to a dinner of them convinced me to limit my take! Mom was clear; you catch it, you clean it. That was true for hunting as well. I had an option with fishing that I figured out: Don’t bring any home!
The elements of fly fishing passion are numerous. The out-of-doors, wilderness, is its own great reward, but I can hardly be expected to walk the trails without a fly rod in my hand. My initial trip out west, without fishing gear, was painful. No, I’m not a hiker or backcountry camper: hiking and camping are nice activities associated, in my mind, with access to trout waters.
There is, of course a remarkable artistic form in fly-fishing; the cast. It is rhythmic, almost like dancing, if you like that kind of thing, and proficiency rewards the angler in his objective: catching fish.
There is a grace and beauty in the cast that distinguishes it from other forms of fishing. Indeed, part of introducing people to flyfishing is the instruction in casting, and instructors benefit from its teaching as much, if not more than the student.
Casting doesn’t answer the query. Wild places, exploring and woodsmanship, casting. Then of course is entomology and fly tying. While fascinating subjects, and important to understand, they are more means to an end. What is it that has us standing in running water, even when unsuccessful, and feeling so involved, engaged, enlightened and alive?
Most hunters and fisherman would agree to the inherent and primitive joy of being the predator. Man, in part of his success as a species, came to learn the capture of food. It holds to reason that the drive to gather, capture and pursue game would be a reinforcing stimuli. As civilization advanced, the instinct to fish and hunt found expression in a more and more civilized form. And this provides the answer. We are in wonder at the progression of fly-fishing through history, and can hardly get enough of the words and formulations of authors long gone; yet one can sense their presence on the stream. Primitive urge coupled with a glorious and ongoing discovery. We are drawn to the river, and drawn to the sport.
Fly fishing was a natural evolution for this outdoorsman, anxious to hunt, fish and explore. Growing up in the Midwest, with farm family roots, presented endless opportunity to walk the woods, wade water and seek game. Earlier experiences, particularly of catching fish, led me to the combined challenges of fly fishing. And it was both being the participant, and, somehow, the observer of fly fishing that continue to inspire, to this day. Bringing multiple skills to play, from the bench, to streamside. Reading water and casting. It is as engaging a human activity as I am aware of after over a half century of life.
(Click on a link below to interact)