Anthropologists believe that a cave painting in the Czech Republic is the earliest example of a map that we have. The markings seem to represent local mountains, valleys, and rivers. The features on the map pointed to the fields they farmed and the forests they hunted. There was time, care, and investment represented on that stone wall. Those ancient peoples depended on their map and everything that it meant to their culture and their survival. What is still unconfirmed is which sections of the map’s river are designated as catch and release water.
Regardless if Neolithic man denoted special regulation waters or not, it is true that generations of anglers have relied heavily upon maps. And there are a number of options for today’s angler.
Printed out maps from fly shops contain timely, hand-scrawled notes and up-to-the-minute corrections. These documents don’t pretend to replicate scale. Simplistically rendered houses and fences attempt to serve as complementary, distinguishing features around the focal point. A nondescript squiggly line representing water.
Slightly more technical, topographic maps provide a wealth of information. Elevation lines to determine stream gradient. Routes to access points. Land designations. Quaint fish-with-a-hook icons. Customization is important: Highlighter to designate special regulations. Asterisks to mark parking options. Grease stains to recall where one may get barbecue.
Online maps provide layers of options (subject to data availability). Guidebooks cover nearly everything, albeit in encyclopedic bits. Apps synthesize all manner of data.
Ultimately, digital and tangible maps only ever represent something. Nothing is going replace seeing it firsthand. Nothing is going to be more impactful and more real than being there. Personal time on the stream, or the accompaniment of a local and seasoned angler, fills out the map. Moreover, it allows for the creation of the best map possible.
Walking the meandering blue line seen on the internet creates a map. Lines and connection points come together in three dimensions. Landmarks have a shape, not simply an icon. Subtleties inexpressible on paper are clearly perceived in person. Coordinates matter a lot less than feel, than depth, than sensation. Fish seen, fish caught, and fish lost aren’t in a guidebook or an app. Coffee and streamside conversations don’t come in an Atlas’ appendix. But once those things happen, they are added to the map.
There is a map that you create. Your experience with a meandering blue line adjacent to rural routes and tightly-drawn topographic lines becomes your map. It’s basic contours might be shared with countless others. The icons and notes could be known by a select few. But the level of detail and its significance is yours alone. That map starts to represent your time, your care, and your investment. As real as any stone wall, and more durable than any piece of paper, your true fishing map strays from simple black lines.
This is a (significantly) reworked article from a post that was published in 2015. Honestly, I think “Stained Black Lines” holds up enough such that I had to really chop up and rethink the whole thing to represent it today. Check out both and let me know what you think.