Naturally, fly fishers focus on fish.

We learn to cast so we can catch trout. We hone our tying skills so we can catch musky. We learn to cast further so we can catch bonefish. We adorn our offices with pictures of fish, we look at photos of fish online, and we doodle fish in the margins of whatever paper is in front of us.

It only makes sense then that fly fishers want to protect fish.

We legislate catching and releasing them. We advocate keeping them wet. We volunteer our time, donate our money, and cast our vote to sustain fish. Each is reasonable. Each of these things has, in some measure, been effective in protecting or restoring the fragile fisheries we enjoy. Each requires dedication and passion.

It is all good. All of it is good and virtuous and worthwhile. But it all needs to be kept in perspective.

After all, they’re just fish.

Fish – be they trout or salmon, bass or billfish – are just fish. They are important for the roles that each play in their respective ecosystem. They are important for the recreational value that each offer anglers. They are even important for their intrinsic value as living animals. But still, they’re just fish.

And fish are not the foundation. You can’t derive meaning from fish. You can’t sustain yourself with fish; physically, emotionally, or spiritually. (Ask someone in the fly fishing industry if you can sustain yourself economically.) If steelhead or carp or some other fish are your foundation, life has to look awfully bleak in the off season.

I believe we were created to take care of and to enjoy fish. Similarly, fish were created for our enjoyment and stewardship. But I also believe that we are not defined by those mandates. Why? A fish can’t reciprocate.

A striper is never going to make eye contact, let alone smile at you. We apply the anthropomorphic characteristic of friendliness to a fish we’ve caught more than once; cleverness to a fish that refuses our best offerings; sadness to a fish that we kill and eat. Those attributes originate from, project from us – not the fish.

There is no real ontological relationship between people and fish. It is curious how we pretend that there is. It speaks to our inborn proclivity to not just relate, but to cultivate relationships. There isn’t anything inherently wrong with this make believe. It only becomes problematic when it goes unchecked. When it circumvents real relationships. When the fish become more important than people. When knowing yourself is all wrapped up in fish and flies and rivers, not knowing someone.

I get it. People can be problematic themselves. Fly fishing and its stunning vistas or intimate confines are often the refuges of those who have been burned by someone or several someones. Quiet solitude and the familiarity of tumbling water are comforting salves to the soul. Fish and flies and rivers can frustrate, but they can’t cut and sting like people can.

I also know that there is not a fish or fishing scenario that can elicit anything that rivals the joy and love of a friend, of a child, of a spouse.

Fish are good. Passion for fish and advocacy on the behalf of fish and doodles of fish are good. But people are very good.  At the same time we have to admit that people are absolutely broken – ourselves included. It is within that tension where real relationships are hammered out and formed, tested and proven. I believe that we were fundamentally created for relationships with each other.

Substituting fish or fly fishing (any place or thing, really) is insufficient. It is counterintuitive. It is counterproductive. If we put first things first, if we start with the proper foundation, then conservation and fishing have real meaning. We protect and preserve with each other and for each other. We work arm in arm together to restore because we can’t do it alone. We plan for tomorrow and for future tomorrows, knowing we’ll never see it but that someone will. We do all of it because of the goodness of fish but because of the very goodness of each other.

Perspective and priorities matter. Putting all the important things below the very important things can be hard. But the difficult moments are what we are capable of achieving, capable of figuring out, and capable of knowing. Thankfully, we’re also capable of doing all of this together – maybe even with fly rods in hand.