If you Google something to the effect of “dying in a national park,” you’ll get quite a few nifty infographics. Each one will show you that bears are not going to be the way you meet an untimely end if you do end up shuffling off this mortal coil while recreating on NPS property. Bears, avalanches, snakes, mudslides… things with teeth and things that fall get a lot of street cred when it comes to danger. But the real threat is you.

Why the fascination and preoccupation with morbid stuff at national parks you ask? 1) The data is available and I don’t feel like digging deeper. 2) A lot of people’s outdoor time does take place on public land. So while it isn’t exhaustive, it is  a reliable sample size. But mostly #1.

Anyway, back to the point. Things with teeth and things that fall get all the “I survived” hype. The real threat is you. You have teeth (a coincidence inconsequential to this discussion) and you fall (this is the point). Drowning and falls make up the majority of deaths at our national parks.

Which is why I think it is no hyperbole to say that fly fishing might kill you.

Regardless of age, fitness, or experience, falling and drowning can make quick work of an angler. One careless step might mean plummeting hundreds of feet into a deep ravine where you’ll be found years later. Or, you could just be far enough off the beaten path that you won’t be able to call when you turn your ankle. Then, hypothermia is the problem.

Misjudging the current, wading arrogantly, or forgetting your belt can lead to going under. The water might do you in. Or, once again, hypothermia.

It has been said before, but I feel compelled to say it again: most of these incidents are the tragic result of poor planning or the aforementioned arrogance. There are certainly legitimate freak accidents. And I don’t want to blame anyone who is the victim of circumstance. But failing to plan just might mean planning to fail.

And this is where the asterisk in the title comes in.

Fly fishing might kill you. It might not. It probably won’t. But there is the chance. This chance is worth remembering. This slight chance is something that ought to motivate proper planning. This chance is smaller than the chance you take when you drive on the interstate, play a contact sport, or walk around San Francisco. It is still a chance.

The chance is always there. But if you wear a wading belt, inform others of where you’re going, know your limits, and have a grasp of basic survival skills that chance becomes teeny-tiny. All of this stuff is, or at least should be, common sense. None of it ruins your experience or requires too much effort. You can never eliminate the possibility of falling down. But you can fall down better. You can get to the point where you can safely say that fly fishing probably won’t kill you.