
They say that smell is the sense with the closest connection to the brain. Olfactory stimulation can trigger responses, even memories, more than even sight or sound. It is remarkable, if you think about it. An infinitesimal quotient of particulate in the air can stimulate thoughts, emotions, or recollections. A smell, can quite literally, take you back.
Today, as I opened my car after a day of work, I was taken aback. Because my wet, muddy waders had been baking in the sun and stunk up my Subaru.
Yesterday I went fishing in the warm outflow of a local water treatment plan. The science is simple: warmer water draws fish in during the winter. The science is even simpler than that when it comes to the funk that occupied my hatchback: cleaned and processed poopy water is still going to have some poopy notes. And all the residual microscopic nasties lacing my waders and boots had been broiling away in my sealed-up car throughout an unseasonably warm Virginia day. Now my car was quite literally privy to the odor of someone’s privy.
Fly fishing, like any outdoor sport, is full of these smells. Sure, you can wax poetic about the crispness of cool water dashing across sweet streamside vegetation. But there is also the stink of fly shop mothballs, decomposing spring creek mud, or the incredibly foul stench of shad. And it is those smells, more than warm pipe smoke or a fine leather fly wallet, that you can probably recall with quickness. Right now… shad…
As I drove home (windows down, believe you me) I thought about four of the less celebrated scents that accompany the culture of fly fishing.












