Take A Breath And Say Thank You.....

In Fly Fishing there are so many left brain right brain moments that collide on a trout journey,  that you stop sometimes and question what you're really doing here. John Gierach writes about it so well in "Standing in a River Waving a Stick".  

Now the great question a young person never asks themselves is "is it the journey or is it the pay check".
  The answer a lifetime fly fisherman will always tell you in the end is, "it's never the pay check or the fish, it's always the journey.   Oh sure you can re-live landing the biggest fish of your life time.   You can rewinds and relive it over and over on a snowy winter day or on a cold rainy day stuck in a tent in the middle of nowhere.

Like cooking, it's the trips to the market and the smell and feel of your produce. The size of the cuts and the breaking of the fat or the yeast or the sound and smell of a sear. It's the plating and the wine. 
Like music, it's the musicians on "that" gig. That crowd and that magic. Its never tasting or the check.. That's the bonus.

People often ask me, how and more importantly "why" do you like to go into the forrest alone for 3 or 4 weeks at a time to be alone where you can be eaten by those higher on the food chain for something so low on the food chain that you can buy in most fish markets for $20.

Well, if you've never slept on a high plateau of sage brush on a moonless night over looking the waters. And heard the sound of a lost calf bleeting all night for its mom while you sit at a fire of dried sage and listened to your favorite cowboy music whilst sipping old Bourbon with a good 6/50 magnum only to fall asleep and wake after a good rain to the smell of Gods kitchen.  God's kitchen is a 1,000 acres of Sagebrush soaked in rain with the smell of sage so strong you don't want to open your eyes. You just want to breath in and exhale saying "thank you God" over, and over, and over.

And you cut down a fallen cedar tree and split it up to expose the beautiful red and orange and vanilla interior.  Put that on your night fire and start it up in the morning.  That smell.. of fresh cedar?  No words..
Grandmas Cedar chest? That's about a million times less powerful than the smell of a fresh cut cedar.

And you go to the river and catch a few small 8" trout. clean and wash and take them back to your fire and put them on the coals for 5 min with your potato's and onions and garlic and fresh sage that have been cooking since you left.  The dew on the ground, the coffee in the french press, the sun rising, your breath in the air and chill before the sun fully comes up?  Well, that is church. A church service that demands devotions and praise and worship and a quiet pinch to your soul right there. 

And then there is eating.. The bonus.

Now if you're a beginner, you miss all this. You're focused on the pay-off. The fish, the applause, the photo, the touchdown, the golden calf...

Many years ago, when, if lucky, I had 72hours to fish between rental cars and flights, I'd get to the rivers without sleep and run to the banks to jump in 20 yards from where i came to the river.
There where "those guys" there. Older guys sitting up on the banks relaxing, staring, having a small cup of coffee watching the sunrise. I figured they were just tired, so I'd race past them or worse yet ... fish right past them on my way to the goalposts. Never did they speak a word. I'm guessing none of them were east coasters or football fans.  

Years later, I'm learning... and reflecting... and smiling.
I've never seen one of those guys or occasional girls on the bank with a beginner at their sides. I now understand there is something sacred about those moments. Almost as un-natural or immoral as inviting someone into your bedroom or a Kazoo player into your favorite symphony session.
  Sure, I've seen a 1,000 guides at put ins (put ins are where fly fishermen launch their drift boats), teaching men and women a 15min. class in the attempt of casting only to hope they don't get hooked on their $500. float.  But that doesn't really count since when you're doing it for money only the pay off matters, and you're day off on the water is your only  attempt at redemption along with a beer with other guides sharing stories in an old western bar. 

There are those days when you can drift a river and nary a fish will rise regardless of what you see above the water. I've entered the water during the famous Salmon fly hatch. Had those 2" goddesses without teeth crawling all over me and Yellow Sallies and Hex's and and and the sky so full of Fish Tenderloin bites that's no fish in their right mind should not be jumping out of the river to eat. And yet.. nary a fish to rise.  And you question everything you ever learned about fly fishing. And you force yourself to take in the journey not the prize. And it's painful, but you know there will be other days. And on those days you will not be worthy of the fish you release.




I've only had a few of THOSE days.  And those days i walked for miles down stream before putting together my rod. And those days i didn't even enter the water till 5pm.  And 35 to 60 trout in a few hours were the hours of Caddyshack. The priest playing golf out of his mind.. And you remind yourself not to get cocky and think you're special.. You breathe in and exhale saying "thank you" over and over and over again.

Ironically those days taught me only one thing I could never learn on a river catching a fish ever hour or so.

  The art of releasing a fish is beautiful in those moments.  You false cast to your spot to figure distance and cast method and then lay it out and let it drift to your spot. A fish take it every time, every spot, every good cast. You take them in as fast as God will let you and you put your net in the water and your rod under your arm as soon as the fish is in the net.  As you put your rod under your arm you grab your forceps and reach down into the net with them and grab the hook. The fish will twist out your hook in a second and you release your forceps at that moment to fly back on it's zinger to your vest as you take your rod back in your hand and put your net back behind you all in one long 10sec. motion... And your eyes go back to the river and your next spot and your taking a step or two forward and beginning the process all over again and it's magic and you're not worthy... and you inhale...

And then you break off a large fish on the shoulder turn or if you have a 3x tippet, they straighten out your dry fly hook like it's a piece of tinsel. 

And then, like a moment before sunset last year, I stood across from an overhung tree throwing two flies a foot apart. A common purple haze terrestrial on 3x followed by a small purple attractor bead head nymph on 5x.  It took me 3 false casts over the end of the tree to make sure I didn't land in the tree. 
On the forth cast I had a tight fast loop to get the flies in there. About 12 inches before both flies it the water, two rainbows in tandem like porpoises came flying out of the water together to take both flies. Like slow motion with my jaw hanging open I raised my tip up in unbelief. The rainbow who hit the little nymph turned and snapped himself off before even hitting the water. The other one on a 3x tippet was mine. 

 I actually looked up and down the stream to see if anyone but God was looking or smiling. Now where i was I know there were no people within 5 miles of me in the middle of the mountains but when things like this happen you naturally look around like a golfer playing all alone who hits a hole in one.

That rainbow measured 16" as was his sister who snapped off. Now I thought it was 17 or 18 but my darn creel has a ruler on it to 22" so I couldn't lie, but, I did measure it 3 times to make sure :)
Ok, 15 and 7/8ths.

Yup this was a hole in one, a double overtime win, a final lap come from behind win, a real honest spontaneous standing ovation. And yet, it was really just the bonus. 
  For it makes me think back over and over of the hours of packing clothes, and tents and supplies. Of sorting thru fly boxes and checking leaders and tippet material and bear spray and 160 grain 357 loads. The nights of stripping and cleaning line and reels. Finished with that trip to the local fly shop in the area to ask for advice on what patterns are hot right now (knowing full well if they don't know you, they are selling you last years shit flies at a premium, and you just take them like stupid panfish during spawning.

Well,  late at night, at your fire, all alone in the forrest after eating two trout and some grilled carbs or a jetboil tinfoil $6.00 carbfest with salt, you sit on the dirt and stare at the fire and the crickets are loud and the bourbon is warm and temp drops 10degrees an hour and you time your fire to your dropping eyelids and head to your tent to disrobe quickly and zip your self in till morning light.   And you take one last sip from a flask and see your breath and turn out your head light and cover your head. Then recheck your reach to your bear spray and handgun and cover back up and say your prayers and take a big breath and say "thank you over and over and zzzzzzzzzzzzz. :)