“Why do you catch so many fish?”

I was asked this question at least three times this past weekend. Out of honesty and humility, I must share that “so many” was a modest number of fish. It was a respectable quantity; even impressive to some. But that meager awe was what instigated the question. Because each time, the question was phrased thusly: “Dad, why do you catch so many fish?”

Young men of various ages and sizes wanted to know my secret. Was it decades of experience? Was it some magic fly? Was it some retrieve cadence or rod-tip-imparted action? They desired to  don the mantle that would inevitably compel fish into submission. And apparently they thought I was holding out on them.

Each time I gave the same answer. It is simple. It is basic. It is the opposite of impressive and awesome. But they needed to hear it.

Truth be told, a lot of adults need to hear it too. I’ve offered the same advice to clients, friends, and even frustrated strangers. There is a logical and an empirical reason why it works, but the rudimentary nature runs contrary to the do this different flavor of most fishing tips n’ tricks you’ll find online or on the magazine rack. And that is why it is rarely received with squeals of glee. Yet it should. More fish will be had.

I catch fish because I…

try to keep my fly in the water as much as possible.

Yes. That is it. Let me explain:

It is a numbers game.

Again, it is only logical that you’ll catch more fish if your fly is in the water more of the time. This most foundational truth might be important for those prone to daydream, zone out, or stare into their fly box waiting for a revelation in fur and feathers.

Fish the bad casts.

If your cast falls a few feet short of the target, fish out the presentation anyway. Don’t pick up the line and recast. And as you’re fishing the “bad cast,” fish it with the same attention you would have given the good cast. You never know.

Problem solve while you’re fishing.

Keep casting while you gameplan your next approach. Don’t retreat to the bank and set up shop only to decide to add some split shot or switch to a parachute. Fish until you want to fish in a different way, then make that change with as much haste as is pleasant.

Bail on the tangles.

You could spent 30 minutes undoing the wad of 5X, nymphs, and knots. Or you could employ those expensive nippers, bust out five cents worth of new monofilament, and  tie some fresh knots. Overcome the mentality that starting over is inherently wasteful or negligent.

Don’t quit.

When you need to be done you need to be done. But if you don’t need to be done, fish for 10 more minutes. Give it seven or eight last casts. If nothing needs your attention, send your fly into the water for a few more minutes. Again: you never know.

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I realize this is essentially elementary information that I did, indeed, share with my elementary-aged children. Once again, I have shared this with intelligent and capable adults, too. And let it not go unsaid that I have to remind myself of these truths quite often. Keeping it simple isn’t stupid. Looking for a complicated fix when there is an easy one at hand is.