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If fly fishing were just about catching fish, I’d be in trouble.

I certainly catch my fair share of fish, some that I’m pretty proud of to boot, but there are plenty of days when I come up empty. Much has been written about why this is acceptable. Many boil down to variations of the axiom: “that’s why they call it fishing and not catching!”

And while I wholeheartedly agree that the entirety of the on-stream experience can and often justifies the pastime, I’m confident there is a lot more to it.

Being on the highway before most people.

Hanging around the fly shop.

Drinking cup after cup of gas station coffee.

Holding your go-to fly rod, and admiring the hook-scarred and fish slime-stained cork.

Sitting down and slowly paging through the latest tackle catalog.

Deep, pointless, or pointless-yet-deep banter between angling companions.

The list could go on. When I think of fly fishing I think of these things. Don’t get me wrong, I think of trout, riffles, hatches, and approach. A lot. But like a fine dining experience amounts to more than just chewing and swallowing, fly fishing is unequivocally about a quarry and a culture.

I want to write about it, and share it with those who understand or those who might want to. Trust me, there are much better places to go to read about the latest in technique or technology. I’ll gladly refer you there. Here, I’m going to do my best to look at the big picture. That is where Casting Across comes from. I had to use a fly fishing play on words, but I’m sincerely interested in taking a look at a wide perspective. It’s the fish, and all the stuff on the periphery that adds to the experience of getting after them.

Thanks for reading, and I’d love to hear from you.