Mar 31, 2023 5 min read

“A fish, which you can’t see, deep down in the water, is a kind of symbol of peace on earth, good will to yourself.”

Robert Ruark

By the time you are reading this, you’ll have returned from a morning on the lake or stream and all of the glory that is the first day of trout season. Feeling a bit smug, you mention for the third or fourth time to the third or fourth stranger that you have come into contact with that you caught eleven this morning. Or 22. Or some derivative of Pi.

I am not that guy.

Guys like me aren’t in the club. I spent most of the morning untangling my reel. My favorite lure hanging 10 feet overhead just out of reach in a tree branch, teasing me. I will have embedded a treble hook in my shoulder and my attempts at emergency surgery will have taken up the remainder of the morning. Thank goodness there are no Piranhas in Whiteley Creek. If the trout are biting on minnows then I will only have earthworms with me.

I still get excited like a little kid for the first day of deer season and often lose sleep the night before the opener. Gone are those formative days of my youth, when making that first cast on a cool spring morning was all I could think about. Is something unsettled deep within my core that doesn’t allow my passion to boil over as it once did for fishing? Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy fishing. Deep down, I think I enjoy the idea of fishing more than fishing itself. I mean what’s not to like about fishing? It’s a day away from work, responsibility, and the tangles of the real world. There is little to no physical labor with most civilized forms of fishing. Sure, casting a fly rod borders on athletic prowess, but we’re not talking about ditch digging.

I guess fishing in some ways could resemble loafing, which I’m also not opposed to. I sort of fancy myself in one of those rowboats, like in the movies, with my wife rowing us about the lake, not really fishing but picnicking aquatically. Time spent outdoors is time well spent in my opinion. Fishing requires tons of tackle and gear, which in and of itself meets one of the basic criteria for a true hobby. Fishing could necessarily require an entirely new wardrobe; just one more thing to love about it. When all is said and done, the aesthetics of fishing might lead a fellow or gal to believe that fishing is just about the most perfect pursuit a sporting individual could endeavor to pursue. So why am I not passionate about fishing?

I like to trout fish. Pulling a trout of any size or variation from a stream and watching the brilliance flash from its scales as the sun performs its magic is about as gratifying as it gets. I’d put it right up there with stroking the fur of a good buck just taken, steam rising in the crisp early morning air. The smell of dirt and decaying leaves competing with the musk of the tarsal gland. Maybe not quite as high up on my woods chart as holding a grouse or woodcock in hand and smoothing the feathers as the last faint traces of gunpowder aroma drift off into the distance and you play that perfect swing, lead, shot over and over in your mind. You smile to yourself because there is no one around to enjoy it with you except for Gertrude the wonder shorthair, who doesn’t speak English, only grouse. But I digress.

I thought fly fishing looked to be the answer for a while. It was such an active pastime that even someone with my high levels of ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder) was sure to be hooked. The fixation passed in time. Color blindedness didn’t help either. I believe the Orvis catalog was largely to blame. Too many pretty things that I just couldn’t justify on a school teacher’s salary.

I like bass fishing, whether it is skirting a farm pond at dusk with a rubber nightcrawler or wading Ten Mile Creek on a hot summer evening in my tennis shoes and shorts, throwing a jigged pumpkin seed, Mr. Twister, for small mouths.

I enjoy night fishing for carp and catfish even though it is probably just a cheap excuse for hauling out dad’s old Coleman gas lantern and playing with fire.

So what is wrong with me that I don’t lust after a new bass boat? Why don’t I feel inclined to take out a second mortgage on a top shelf walleye rig? Maybe there’s help out there for me? Maybe I just need to mesh with the right fellows and it’ll all come together? Maybe when I retire, something will click inside my obviously flawed brain and right itself and I’ll be free of this ne’er do well fisherman’s attitude. If any of you know a good fishing therapist (LFT – Licensed Fishing Therapist) please send their contact information to my email address. My wife is a licensed social worker, an MSW/LSW I believe they call it. But precious little good it will do me.

She doesn’t even fish.