Reading sign...

Afriend returned not long ago from a fishing trip to New Zealand. Understandably, he was as anxious to tell me about it as I was to hear about it. We started off talking about gin-clear streams and sight fishing for big brown trout, but as is often the case we eventually got around to more important stuff. I asked him what he learned from fishing there. He told me about what his guides had said about fishing with Yanks. It wasn’t entirely complimentary.

The consensus among his Kiwi guides was thatAmericans come to New Zealand over-equipped and under-educated. We spend big bucks on the trip itself and maybe even bigger bucks on the latest and greatest rods, reels and accessories. But we’re sloppy casters and we absolutely suck at reading the water and seeing the fish. In their experience, we think buying more gear is a substitute for acquiring more knowledge.

I have to admit that I bristled a little at this characterization. It seemed a bit harsh, and more than a bit of a gross generalization born of clear prejudice. But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if they might not have a point. So I began looking at my own fishing habits a little more critically. The truth is, I didn’t always like what I found.

Like lots of other anglers, I came to fly fishing after years of experience in bait and gear fishing. As a result, I put way too much emphasis on simply having a line in the water and betting on luck. I was spending way too much time simply flogging the water, and not near enough time reading the water or the fish. I rushed at each new stretch of water like I was going to best it in mortal combat, and I spent almost no time studying it and thinking about where fish might be. It was only when I began to figure out (in a blinding flash of the obvious) that fish would be where they were for readily identifiable reasons that I began to catch more fish. The revelation that came was that fish like some places for the same reasons that I like some places. That foam line is the piscine equivalent of the all-you-can-eat BBQ joint. There’s great food and a lot of it, and fish don’t have to work very hard to get it. Likewise, they pause in the pocket on the downstream side of the boulder for the same reason that anglers on the Laramie Plains put their waders on over on the leeward (not the windward) side of the truck. It’s just less work that way.And when it’s a bright, sunny day both fish and anglers are looking for someplace in the shade. It ain’t rocket science. It’s just the product of taking a few minutes to think like a fish.

And that brings up the topic of seeing fish. Granted, fish will most often be in places that are easy to spot. But it’s not like they hold up a sign that identifies them. Spotting fish is partially about looking in the right places, but it’s also about being able to see them when you’re looking. Fishing without polarized sunglasses is like hunting antelope with a bag over your head. Don’t leave home without them. But knowing what to look for is just as important. Again, it’s a matter of slowing down and analyzing the situation. It’s also a matter of knowing that you won’t always see a whole fish, maybe just the front half or the back half or maybe something that doesn’t even look like a fish at first blush. The only legit 30-inch cutthroat I’ve ever seen in Wyoming was clearly a chunk of waterlogged driftwood until she slowly finned her way to the surface to slurp down a wayward salmonfly before sinking like a submarine in a hole on Thorofare Creek.

One of the reasons I like fly fishing so much is that it demands some things of me. It demands that I be consistently learning and growing in my knowledge of the fish and the watersheds that support them. It demands that I make a connection between myself, the fish and the lands and waters that I love. It forces me to slow down and think. It rewards me when I’m smart and it reprimands me when I’m stupid. It’s like life, but more fun.

The official newsletter of the Wyoming Council of Trout Unlimited