Outdoor Traditions

Gone Fishing

Reflecting on the Joys of Angling

Article and photo by SALLIE LEWIS

As a young girl, few places stirred my imagination more than The Tarpon Inn in Port Aransas. Still today, the lobby walls are papered with over 7,000 tarpon scales, which hang like dried, yellowed rose petals in tribute to the island’s once-plentiful “silver king” population.

Amidst these layered walls is a scale signed by President Franklin D. Roosevelt, who on a 1937 excursion aboard a Farley boat caught a 77-pounder just beyond the jetties. Buried beneath these relics of history is another special scale, and one that is personal to me.

Years ago, my great-grandmother, who I called “Nana,” caught a tarpon of epic proportions here. Over the years, we’ve kept the photograph of her and her storied catch framed in our home.

Today, I’m thankful for the many fishing experiences that have colored my own life, from summers in Rockport reeling in redfish to late nights gigging flounder, and long days fighting blue marlin off the shores of Zihuatanejo.

While fishing offers endless opportunities for excitement and adrenaline, it also presents a chance to slow down and connect with the spiritual world around us.

Tom Brokaw, the renowned journalist and author, once said, “If fishing is religion, fly fishing is high church.”

Last summer, on a trip to Laughlintown, Pennsylvania for my parent’s 40th wedding anniversary, I came to understand the weight of his words firsthand.

With fly rod in hand and waders on foot, I felt a closeness with God as my family spread out on the creek one morning. Sunlight shone through a cathedral of trees as if pouring through panes of colorful stained glass. From the forest floor, moss grew in a soft carpet while overhead, chartreuse butterflies winged their way towards the heavens.

As with life, fishing is a great teacher, and there are many lessons to be learned from the sport, like perseverance and patience. Despite snagging rocks and breaking lines that morning, there were endless moments of wonder that distracted me from my amateur angling skills.

After a few failed casts, I suddenly noticed a large shadow beneath the water. I cast again, watching the line drop and drift closer to the fish. With a pounding heart, I waited for the moment I sensed was coming—and set the hook.

It wasn’t until I began reeling that I noticed the sheer beauty of my catch. I can still see its scales shimmering silver and gold beneath the cool clear water, with flashes of red, bright pink and dark blue reflecting off the sun.

That day, my family and I caught and released countless trout, from rainbow and brown to tiger and brook varietals. Each was a gift, though the greatest joy was simply being in nature. Standing in the folds of the forest, we were both together and alone, surrounded by nothing and everything all at once, fishing for meaning and wisdom in the wild.