The Reason But Not the Purpose | Blake Parsons

I don’t remember the first fish I caught fly fishing. I don’t remember if I used a small, red soft hackle famous in the area. I’m not absolutely sure I even set the hook.

I do remember the exact place I was standing, as though, after 20 years, my footprints are still on that rock. I remember the look I shot Carey Parsons, my dad, when my fly rod bent to that first fish.

“I think it was the moment when we saw things we’d been told actually come together for us,” he told me when we talked recently, adding with a grin, “I’m not sure then we knew how far this would go.”

Process of discovery

I’ve taken myself back to the same spot over the years, both in my mind and literally, with others, to fish. My first connection to fly fishing has grown into both an advocation and vocation, providing me with friends and memories in enough places to cover a map. Fly fishing has driven me to raise my voice, to champion the protection of places, and I’ve found fulfillment in teaching the sport to others. In the process, I’ve discovered parts of myself.

As my fly fishing world has grown, it’s reached into other parts of my life. My wife has been known to out-fish anyone in the boat, and she’s found her own perspective on the sport. Friends I’ve had for more than 20 years have gotten together for fly fishing adventures, far away from where we met. I called my college buddy Daniel Harrison, to ask about a group trip to the Missouri River we took a couple of years ago.

“As we’ve gotten older we’ve seen the importance of getting together with each other, who we’ve known since we were young. That trip was a good time to see each other away from our routines and hometowns,” he said. “Some friends had a brand-new experience, for others it was a time to share something that had become a big part of life. Fly fishing was the reason for that trip, but really not the purpose.”

Indicators of connection

The idea of connections in fly fishing is an analogy that almost writes itself. When successful, we are momentarily connected to something which seems otherworldly. Beyond simply fishing, through time and experiences we develop connections we don’t always see but certainly feel. We become a part of special places, we influence the lives of other people, and we raise our voices fighting for important causes. We feel our mentors in moving rivers and shifting tides, even after those people have left us.

Sometimes, we don’t even have to know a person to make that connection. A rod tube in an airport terminal or a faded fly shop sticker on a truck in a parking lot can be all the confirmation we need to know a person felt the same draw, the same push of water, the same pull of a fish.

Comfortable conversation

In the middle of a busy Nashville neighborhood, Fly South is my hometown fly shop. This 22-year-old business sees a variety of people walk through the door every day. Some visitors are in town for music, some for sports, and occasionally an errant bachelorette party comes in looking for a bar. Often, the shop gets to welcome an angler who’s just moved to town, knows no one and is seeking familiar conversation and connection.

Jessi Cole moved to Nashville in the fall of 2020. As she found her way around her new hometown she made it into Fly South. She hoped it would be a good place to get some insider intel on good fishing.

“I knew that would be a starting place for a new community,” she said. “The folks at Fly South were some of my first friends in Nashville and helped me get to know my new home waters.”

The best fly shops are places which are welcoming and help provide instant connection to people in a world needing more of it. These connections build a community with no geographic designation. Cole figures that’s possible because many anglers consider fly fishing to be not just something we do, but something we are.

“To me, and to most I would guess, fly fishing is an art form. It’s rhythmic, peaceful, and both strategic and instinctual at once. Using feathers and fur that I’ve harvested and tied myself makes every fish caught just a little more special,” Cole shared.

Sowing seeds

Fly South staffer Andrew Smalling himself has seen these connections impact his own life, from his time growing up and fishing in East Tennessee, to his time guiding in Alaska, to fishing with old friends in the Bolivian jungle. Fly fishing has taken him to interesting places with special people, and he enjoys seeing those experiences and relationships take seed in the store.

“I love seeing new people come to the shop knowing they can make a connection here in a new town, and find something familiar in a new place. A lot of former customers I now consider to be some of my closest friends.”

I wish it didn’t, but it can take guts to leap into fly fishing.

This isn’t a warning for new anglers, but a reminder for those of us at the longer end of experience: It’s our responsibility to be the people we needed when we started.

A second meaning

In this age of endlessly-accessible information, a lesson is often most meaningful when it’s learned through human connection. When we offer what we know, the fly fishing community grows in front of our eyes. By opening ourselves up to questions and curiosities, we can give a second meaning to our days walking rivers and flats with a fly rod. Those days get to live again when past stories are told and those experiences awaken when the lessons from them are applied by someone new.

Each one of these connections is a thread, making the fabric of fly fishing brighter, stronger, and able to cover more people. Almost daily, I feel lucky to hear about some of the happiest times in an angler’s life. One thing I’ve noticed and remind myself often, is that the conversation is usually not about one fish, one day, or one trip. It’s a memory about people, and some connection that led them deeper into the joys of this lifelong endeavor. As my college buddy might say, fly fishing was the reason, but not the purpose.

Blake Parsons

Blake Parsons is Communications Director at Fly Fishers International. He’s rarely far from a fly rod, having escaped a career in advertising to make the rounds as fly shop guy and guide. Blake lives in Nashville, Tennessee with his wife Ally, who out fishes him on a regular basis.