I consider myself an avid reader of fly fishing content. The scope of my interests ranges from literary classics to random posts on social media. For whatever reason, fly fishing writing has a unique penchant to transcend “I caught a fish” or “this is how I caught a fish” and wade deeply into “catching a fish made me stare into my own mortality and the very meaning of reality.”

If you read fly fishing content at all, you know that last phrase isn’t hyperbole. If anything, it is an example of subtlety within the genre.

The contemplative, quiet nature of fly fishing is tailor made for romance. Standing in the same water your quarry swims in, and the necessity to understand the rocks and the weather and the seasons draws one’s consciousness to the smallness of our existence within the… see? See how easy it is to slide from rote explanation to gushing loquaciousness?

That is fly fishing. But I have a concern.

My concern isn’t with the language and the syntax. Frankly, I am not even opposed to the poetic; be it truly heartfelt or blatantly verbose. Expressing what it is like to be outdoors, doing what you enjoy matters. It is wonderful if fly fishing is a significant part of your vocation or recreation. Blessed is the man who can fish often and still balance the rest of his life. I harbor no ill will toward anyone who fishes, catches fish, and shares their passion for the pursuit.

My concern is this: does fly fishing give meaning to your life, or does your life give meaning to fly fishing?  

Philosopher Francis Schaeffer, commenting on the modern and postmodern man,  placed the experiential things in life in a category called the lower story. These are simple, perceptible things like history, science, and fly fishing. People interact with these lower story realities on a daily basis through reason and knowledge. This category makes up the bulk of life because it includes objective truths revealed by observation. His lower story exists, as you may have guessed, under the upper story. Upper story things are subjective and metaphysical. In society today, that includes  worldview,  ethics, and aesthetics: “I like brook trout because they’re pretty” or “no one should keep fish to eat.” These things are deeply personal, yet factually unjustifiable.

The problem, and I suppose my concern for friends and readers, is the nature of that leap to the upper story to give meaning to the lower story. So; heading into nature because nature is good; getting involved in conservation because it’s the right thing to do; going out to catch brook trout because “they’re pretty”. It is more complicated than that, I admit, but not much. There is a lot of circular reasoning and subjectivity. There is the tendency to allow the experience dictate the worldview.

So I’ll ask the question: why? Why do you fly fish?  Is fly fishing what gives you meaning, or does an objective underlying meaning manifest value and purpose as you fish (among other facets of life)?  I’ll be honest, the inability to answer that question with any sort of certainty is cause for despair. And that is what happens when people realize they are leaping from the lower story to the upper story and abandoning reason. Not just in fly fishing, mind you, but in everything you do. Why work? Why accumulate wealth? Why give away wealth? Why appreciate beauty? Why love?

My intention isn’t to suck the joy out of “I caught a fish” or “this is how I caught a fish.” My goal, and I mean this with all sincerity, is for you to think about why. I think this is a question that is worth asking. Because one day you’ll cast your last fly, wade your last river, and watch one final tail flick out of your hand. On that day, on on each that may follow it, what is the foundation and the bedrock for your experience?

 

---

 

If you’ve read Casting Across for any length of time, you probably know my answer. But feel free to reach out if you’re curious!