Try as you might, you’re not going to fly fish without running into people every now and again.

We all like solitude. Getting out into the river often provides that. But if we all like solitude and we all like rivers… well, I think you see the conundrum that we’ve found ourselves wading in.

Interactions can be bad. Let’s not kid ourselves. But they can also be good. Very good, even. In fact, there is a lot we can learn about fishing, people, and ourselves from the momentary interactions that we experience while in the woods. Some of my most memorable angling recollections include human contact.

Below are three stories of people. They’re all different, but they’re all real. I’m sure that you’ll be able to draw your own similar parallels to times you’ve bumped into other people looking for solitude. Click on the images for the full articles:

Not Alone for a Moment

What I saw around a bend took me off guard. It wasn’t intrinsically jarring, but it had an unanticipated impact that I can still remember all these years later. Laid out on the northern streambank was a large semicircle of fist-sized stones. In the center was a large stick, the diameter of a broom handle, sunk into the mud and gravel. At first glance it appeared to be a pile of trash; but the neatness and order somewhat contradicted the mentality of leaving garbage in the woods. Drawing closer, it became evident that this wasn’t debris at all…

“Hey Mister Fly Fisher!”

The teenage boy popped out of the woods, vaping and barefoot. “You want some chicken livers?” he asked, “you’ll need some if you want to catch the big cats.” Still trying to figure out where he had been seconds before, I responded with a polite “no thank you, chicken livers wouldn’t stay on a fly.” This young man followed me as closer than any professional ghillie would for the better part of two hours. I can tell you his family history, what he wants to do with his life, and, of course, how to catch the big catfish with chicken livers…

Just Say No to Fly Fishing InstaSpam

You’ve seen him… her… it. They like your photos. They follow you. They comment something to the effect of “great pic! come check out our page.” Then, like a stray piece of tippet in the wind, they’re gone. Don’t get me wrong: I’m not personally offended. This isn’t about getting or retaining some quasi-robotic Instagram hearts. I don’t even feel particularly compelled to police this little postage-stamp-sized corner of the internet. I just find it obnoxious…