I’m not a photographer. A quick click around this site will confirm that. I don’t think that I’m necessarily bad at taking pictures, but I’m aware that there is a whole lot more to it than what I’m capable of. Capturing the imagery and experience of fly fishing has always been part of the sport. For better or worse, the internet and social media have increased the common angler’s exposure (…) to photography.

I mess around with a DSLR, but more often than not I’m trying to get by with my iPhone. On one recent trip out I decided to carry my large camera. The stream I was fishing is a small, spring-influenced creek that flows from a pond into a large river. There are supposedly a naturally reproducing population of native brook trout in the creek, and I was eager to explore.

I wanted to take some pictures of whatever I found, potentially to use of the site, so the DSLR was slung over my shoulder as I set off for the morning. As soon as I stepped it the water, I knew there was going to be trouble. I was in mud up to my knees. Maybe it was just a bad place in the stream? Nope: it kept getting deeper. Without making a single cast, I began to slog my way back to the bank. I was holding my camera over my head to keep it dry, and the effect upon my posture was such that the opposite armpit dipped low and allowed water in my waders.

I think that my smartphone will suffice for now.

On another recent trip I was able to fish for brook trout again. But instead of tiny, five or six-inch remnants, these were three to five-pound giants. The scenery was beautiful, but the patterns they were keying in on required a lot of focus. No dries, but nymphs down deep. After missing a few big fish, I hooked up with and landed the largest non-stocked brook trout in my life.

I popped my iPhone from the waterproof pocket in my waders and snapped off two quick pictures of the fish in the net. Then I quickly released the long, fat char.

In hindsight, I’m a little conflicted. On one hand, I’d love to have a few well-positioned and properly lighted shots. It would be great to have a picture that really shows the fish’s colors and dimensions. And although I probably wouldn’t share it online, it would be fun to have a picture of me cradling the trout before release.

But on the other hand, in the moment I didn’t care about that. I wanted to get the fish back into the water as soon as possible. I wanted to get back to fishing. In fact, I landed two other thick and hard fighting brookies out of the same run in short order. Neither of those had photo ops.

I’m not above taking pictures of fish, and I don’t have a critical thing to say about anyone who does so responsibly. A lot could be said about those who squeeze, beach, and molest fish for a sweet shot to post to the internet. But I believe that is the minority of fly fishers.

I also believe that it is possible for a fly fisher to have mild anxiety that they aren’t “doing it right” unless they have pictures of every phase of their outing. Landscapes, hookups, coffee on the dashboard, open fly boxes, buddies walking down the trail, and the requisite fish shots. For some people, that is part of the experience. For others, it is an unrealistic and even stressful expectation.

My conviction on the matter is that the periphery elements of the sport should never creep in and impact the core. Thinking about gear, other people, or photography shouldn’t overshadow your time on the stream. In many ways, having those distractions is antithetical to the reason why so many pursue fly fishing itself.

That isn’t to say that someone can’t or shouldn’t incorporate taking pictures on their fishing outings. But that should come from the right place; something internal and purposeful, something that adds to the experience personally.

All I have from my three days of big brook trout are two poorly captured smartphone shots of a fish curled in a rubber net. I have other photographs of scenery, the lodge, and even some landlocked salmon. But only two of the big brookies that were ultimately the purpose of the trip.

I’m okay with that, I think. It would be nice to have more, but I know that in those moments I wasn’t at all discouraged or disappointed. I was wrapped up in the fish and the fishing, the scenery and the experience. And I can always go back, literally or in my memories.