Confirming the Obvious: A Fly Fishing Experiment

The other day I thought to myself, “Why don’t you conduct a brief, informal survey of complete strangers in the mall?”

I know that thinking such things isn’t normal. And that carrying out plans like that is even less so. However, I had a few too many cups of coffee and I wasn’t going to let silly things like “shame” and “coming across as a total weirdo” stop me.

Here was the premise of my little social experiment: I love fly fishing. I love the fly fishing industry. I love looking at fly rods, flipping through pegboards of tying materials, and talking to employees at shops. Fly shops, as I’ve written about from time to time, are some of my favorite places in the world. But what do other people think about these little retail gems? Even if one is right under their nose; if they have to walk past it day in and day out, do they know what it is? Are muggles* aware of fly shops?

I had to pick up a few hooks and beads from a shop in the area. The location of this particular establishment made it the perfect environment for my study. It is in a mall. What’s more, it might be the most prominent name in the fly fishing industry. Hint: it rhymes with “Dorvis.”

After I bought my tying supplies, chatted with the friendly staff, and resisted the urge to buy things I didn’t need and most likely already have, I commenced my research. The plan was to walk up to random people, hold up my bag, and ask, “do you know what this store sells?” I wanted to hit all the demographics. Young and old, male and female, mall employees and shoppers, those who came across as outdoors-savvy and those who were sending out more of an indoorsy vibe.

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A Kill Wasted

I shot this deer earlier in the year and trailed it until after midnight, when my friend and I lost the blood trail. I was sick over losing it and had gone back out a few times to find the carcass. Friends of my friend found him a week ago. I should get his skull in the next week or so. I still hadn’t given up on it. I wish I was able to use his meat but I’m just glad to have some closure. I was using a doe bleat can and he came walking up behind me. I took a shot behind me and he jumped a fence and ran off like nothing happened.  When I got down to see if I even hit him I found a big pile of foamy pink blood: lung shot. I tracked him for almost half a mile before I finally lost the blood trail.

I was torn up over wasting him.

Alan sent that to me in a text a few nights ago. Even as a wild and mischievous teenager he was always incredibly compassionate towards animals. He was the one who got me into fly fishing, and I can remember listening to him talk about fish handling or best catch and release practices before it became as popular as it is now. I can definitely understand his mourning over this deer.

If you’ve ever been a similar situation, or killed an animal by accident, chances are you can empathize. It isn’t like the sitcom scene where the characters are weeping over roadkill. Certainly there is some sadness over the loss of life, but the death isn’t the point. In hunting, death is the goal. Death is often celebrated. But when the death comes inadvertently or in a way that isn’t ideal, the whole dynamic shifts.

There isn’t any sport in accidentally hitting an animal with your car, or coming across the carcass of something that got stuck in a fence. Poachers draw the ire of hunters for exploiting an unfair and illegal advantage, but also for pursuing animals when they are often vulnerable.

Today, many people might not understand the distinction being drawn. Killing is killing, right? Culturally, as we move away from the woods and towards the supermarket we lose sight of the holistic nature of life. Killing can be harvesting, killing can be hunting, but killing isn’t always just killing.

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Bright Futures: Color and Fishing Gear

There is a cliché image of what fly fishing ought to be. Perpetuated by retirement plan advertisements and stock image photos, it is the wicker-creel toting, floppy hat wearing, “traditional” fly fisher. Not incidentally, anglers of all demographics maintain this stereotype.

Stepping outside of these orthodox visuals is a risky proposition. Incremental steps in new directions or variations on common themes are often accepted in the name of “something fresh and different.” But branching out into innovative territory has the potential to offend the sensibilities of consumers.

Or, if the direction that fly reel design has been going for the past few years is any indication, garner the acclaim of an industry.

The reel may very well be the most stalwart component of the fly angler’s arsenal. For a long time, it has been referred to as “something to hold line.” While this may be true for many simply pursuing trout, the diversification of fly fishing opportunities has necessitated a significant change in what goes into making a reel. Stouter drags and higher capacities have to be balanced with reasonable weight. Porting reels and skeletonizing frames achieved this equilibrium. The results also created some very nontraditional designs. And anglers loved it.

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Footsteps and Fish Brains

According to the internet and common sense, fish have small brains. Eating food, making baby fish, and not being dead are really all they have/need to process. They don’t get hung up on existential hypotheticals, five year plans, or even if their new sling pack really meets all their needs. The cerebral existence of a fish is a simple one.

Yet there are some peculiar behaviors that fish demonstrate that will make you question their aptitude… or your own.

Up on the Battenkill in Vermont this past fall, I was targeting a very deep and fishy pool. I’d come across the spot the year before and saw a mammoth brown trout patrolling the greenish depths. As is the case in the vast majority of these situations, the currents and structure made getting the fly to the trout practically impossible while staying inconspicuous. As soon as my self-control waned and I got closer to the bank, the fish darted (well, swam off confidently) into the tangled mass of limbs at the bottom of the hole.

This time, I was prepared. Even in such a popular stream, I figured that the same fish – or a fish of similar stature would surely be in the pool. I entered the stream far below and waded up with heron-like stealth. The microscopic disturbances I was creating lulled water striders to sleep and drew praise from onlooking turtles. After what seemed like an hour, I was in position to cast. I had a large streamer on, and I started casting well beyond the head of the pool. Even with the amount of weight on the fly and leader, it seemed to take forever to drop down to where I could start my retrieve.

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The Wisdom of Solomon & Big Box Stores

“There is an appointed time for everything.” That is how the second chapter of the Old Testament book of Ecclesiastes begins. What follows is the list of things for which there is “a time.” A list, if you weren’t the Sunday School type, you may know from The Byrd’s cover of Pete Seeger’s “Turn! Turn! Turn!”

Thus concludes the sermon/music history portion of the post.

I think that we can all agree on the concept of there being an appropriate time for most things. Yet in the fly fishing community there are a few items that fall into the “questionable” category. In a decidedly particular bunch, it is no surprise that there are some pretty strong opinions on things like strike indicators, spinning gear, and outdoor megastores.

The last item on that list is a polarizing topic. On one hand, it is the outdoor enthusiasts’ version of the mom-and-pop vs. WalMart debate. Sociologists, economists, and most people with an opinion have wrestled with and weighed in on this issue. “Big box” stores certainly monopolize a lot of smaller stores’ business, but many smaller stores struggle to cater to rapidly changing consumers. You can parse the differences in products offered (affordable vs. quality), employment options (jobs vs. careers), and aesthetics (construction vs. revitalization).

Here is the big difference between Bass Pro Shops, Cabela’s, and all the other chain outdoor stores and WalMart: you don’t go to Bass Pro to buy bread and milk. Superstores that offer the essentials fill a completely different niche in communities than large specialty stores, so the comparison isn’t exactly apples-to-apples.

Let me say it clearly: I believe that anglers should primarily support the local stores with first-hand knowledge of the fisheries.

What if that is a Cabela’s?

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I Scratch Rod Butts (and I can not lie)

A quick flip through a tackle catalog or a scroll through Instragram will clearly demonstrate the charm that aesthetically pleasing fly rods have for fly fishers. Detailed graphics, bright colors, and custom cork designs on handles are “in.” Obviously fish are lining up to be caught by anglers who use prettier gear, so it makes sense.

Well, that last sentiment might not be true. But having a visually attractive fly rod isn’t intrinsically wrong, either. I imagine that the only point at which a good-looking rod becomes an issue is when the form inhibits function. And honestly, I can’t think of a real example of that.

The other point of contention is what may very well happen to your beautiful personalized fishing rod. Some of my tackle, through the unfortunate result of lack of opportunity, are display pieces. However, the point is that fly rods get taken outdoors, strained under the weight of fish, and get cast aside to deal with said fish. In short, they get used.

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Not Alone for a Moment

Part of the outdoors experience includes the unforeseen encounters out in nature. Coming down the path to see a black bear retreating into the woods. Stumbling upon the ruins of an old moonshine still in the Carolina mountains. Watching an osprey dive from the canopy to take the rising trout you’d been watching. You could plan for days, pouring over research and asking people in the know, and there is the very good chance that you couldn’t coordinate such an experience.

The fear of such experiences actually keeps people away from nature; the unfamiliarity and unpredictability of rivers, woods, and anything off the beaten path is frightening. Sensationalized mountain lion attacks or lost hiker horror stories do a number on a culture’s fragile psyche. Add to that the seemingly increasing chances of encountering an unhinged human, and the mystique that wild places have carried for millennia becomes much more menacing.

For hikers, hunters, and anglers, the moments that surprise in a pleasant manner comingle with a knowledge of the outdoors to easily dissuade any sort of debilitating fear. A healthy fear should be present; fear that breeds an intrepid respect.

That kind of tension was very present for me when I took some of those first solo drives into Appalachia to go fly fishing. Heading into the woods alone there was always the weight of that healthy fear, even as a confident and headstrong teenager. For the first few years of my angling career I was dependent upon my mother, friends’ parents, and then friends to drive me to a place where I could pursue trout. Upon securing my driver’s license and a car, a whole new world opened up for me. More opportunities to get out meant more time on the water. More fish to be caught. More of the outdoors to experience. More moments.

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Fish have to Eat; So do Fly Fishers

Recently I wrote about how, even in the winter, fish have to eat. That is all fine and good. It means that we can be out on the water all year. However, there are conditions that need to be met for us to go fishing. Conditions that transcend temperature, vacation time, and permission from a spouse. Whether it be winter, summer, or the seasons that are worth being outdoors in-between, fly fishers have to eat too.

I love food. If I’m not looking for a trout stream, I’m looking for a barbecue restaurant. (The finer points of that particular subject, I am afraid, will have to wait for another day.) Food is important, for a lot of reasons. If I have to tell you that eating is about more than fueling biomechanical processes, then I fear for your humanity.

Inasmuch as I plan out where I’m going to fish, where I’m going to sleep, and where I can buy any gear I might need while I’m out; I look for food. “Come on,” you say. “Are you here for fine dining, or are you here to fish?!?” Well, I am here to fish. But if I can, instead of eating a cold beef stroganoff MRE I’m going to find something satisfying. If, after a day of wading, being in the elements, and (potentially) catching fish, I can sit down and have a real meal, I am going to do that.

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Tenkara Gadgets: The Ties that Bind

I’m sure I’d trigger the plagiarism-detecting software if I ran an article that began with the sentence: “fly fishermen love their gadgets!” But it is true. Anglers that prefer to pursue fish with fly tackle have a special affinity for specialized apparatuses. (That one cleared.) Even the facet of our sport that is simplest, purest, and most unencumbered by the trappings of the materialism of the western world produces a gadget from time to time.

Tenkara has existed for centuries in Japan, but the surge in popularity in the United States can be traced back to 2009. That is when Tenkara USA was founded by Daniel Galhardo. Galhardo had developed a love for “streamlined fly-fishing” a few years prior, and then launched the first tenkara tackle company outside of Japan.

Back in 2002, Daniel personally evangelized me on the merits of this angle at a fly fishing show. I picked up a rod a few months later, and it has become my go-to for my backyard stream and hiking trips. In all honesty, I’m not a Tenkara loyalist or purist. I use the gear when I need something light or convenient, and I usually use western flies. But I love it, and am peering down the rabbit hole more every year.

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The Pros and Cons of Camping

“Number… four!” he said, with a delight unseen up until this point in the conversation.

Number four, as it would have it, was the campsite furthest from where we requested to spend the night. We paid our twenty bucks and quietly left the office. Driving past more desirable tent sites, heading further and further away from the stream, I swear I could hear that old man laughing.

Friends and I had patronized this particular campground numerous times. The gruffness of the proprietor was usually mitigated by the low cost and close proximity to the creek. The creek was filled with trout, so these excursions were purely about fly fishing. The wild brown trout made for a challenge, and the stocked rainbows kept things pretty busy. Every once in a while, a brook trout of unknown origin would pop up.

We were ideal campers. Early to bed, so as to be early to rise. No fireworks, booze, or fisticuffs. In and out; the campsite was the means to an end. You’ve probably seen campers who bring chili-pepper lights to decorate their site. Usually such festooning is the pièce de résistance to other varied and sundry decidedly un-camping items. Mini-fridges on generators, boom boxes, and dogs that can’t shut up being some of my favorites.

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