Paying Attention to Something Else While Fly Fishing

When I fly fish I often pay attention only to the fish I am catching or not catching. This can get old, narrow and lifeless.

However, some of my friends I fish with help remind me there is Something else. This past week I fished with Cody, Steve and Karbo.

There are birds, bugs, sky, the different shades of light, meadows and mountains.  There are the storm clouds that try to gather over the peaks giving us hope that the Spring rains and snow will return.

There are the tiny midges trying to hatch in the cold and the fish that sluggishly try to eat them. There was the large rainbow that rose to a lone Blue Winged Olive Mayfly, but not again. There were the large rainbows and browns that took our fly but broke free.

There were our words exchanged in between casts. Words of longing and hope for a deeper richer life and for the upcoming fishing season.   These were words without complete rational understanding or expression,  yet indicating “Something” else;  Our friendships sustained in the midst of the cold currents and the dry mountain winds.

Trying too hard in Fly Fishing and In Life:

Sometimes while fly fishing I try to be perfect. I make sure I have the best fly. I rush to get the perfect hole.  I try and try and try to make perfect casts and drifts.  I try to stay focused. However, sometimes it seems I try too hard and it just does not work. I only make a mess of things. I miss something, and I do not have fun.

I find the same thing to be true in my spiritual life. I try too hard to be “good.” I try too hard to be spiritual (whatever that means?), and I only make a mess of things and I do not have fun.

There is an old Zen teaching that implies if we try really hard to be enlightened, it will take twice as long. There is also an old teaching in the Tao that asks us to abandon holiness and morality and then we might find it. 

There is the old Zen story of two monks walking along the river. On their journey they see an attractive young woman who needs help crossing the river. Without hesitation, the old monk carried her across the river and placed her down on the other side. The old monk returned to the young monk who then proceeded to question him and his "morality." They continued on their journey along the river. Every few hours the younger monk questioned the older monk's integrity asking him why he carried the woman. He just could not let it go.

Finally, the older monk says, "I placed that woman down several hours ago and have forgotten about the incident. Why do you continue to carry her this whole way"?

It seems we can try too hard and miss some greater point. 

Something to ponder the next time I spot a fish in the river (or a stranger) and I consider my approach.

Engage Something New in Fly Fishing

I search for something new in fly fishing.

I consider a new fly; a new rod, or some hole I never fished. Or some place exotic.

Perhaps I need a new technique. A new cast that allows the fly to run deep and drag free under a tricky seam line. The fish might be there and they might not.

But then I realize that what I need most is simply more of me engaged in this old sacred ritual that forever teaches me.

Fly fishing reminds me that what I need is within my heart.

To engage.

What Knocks on The Door in the Night?

D.H. Lawrence in a poem titled, “The Song Of a Man Who has Come Through,“ beautifully describes the individual who contemplates what knocks on the door in the night.

The darkness of December inspires me to also consider what might be knocking on my door. What new thoughts and perspectives might I embrace? What new places might I need to explore and fish? What new people might I need to allow in my life?

In the case of this poem, the narrator at first seems to question if the one doing the knocking is here to cause harm. But then, concludes that it is three strange angels.  He decides to admit the angels who knock; “Admit them, admit them.”

However, most often, out of fear, I play it safe. I seal myself off from what knocks and even those individuals who wish me well. How could I ever be certain of those mysterious angels?

But sometimes, when I realize that I really have nothing to lose, I open the door. I admit them. And who knows how that decision might change my life.

And might lead to the elusive fish, and the garden of Hesperides that I seek.

A Tug is a Tug is a Tug: A Rose is a Rose is a Rose

 

Gertrude Stein was speaking of flowers.  But, I also wonder if it really matters what kind of fish we catch? A thing is what it is.

We cast our flies on the water hoping for a bite. We wait for a tug. Does it really matter what tugs?

Recently I found myself throwing streamers in several warm water ponds inhabited with Bass. The bass ambushed the flies like sharks. The tugs were forceful, solid and full of life holding deep in mystery.  

A tug is a tug is a tug.

Fly Fishing and Social Media

Generally, in the social media world there is a tendency to present our lives as more positive than reality.  It is difficult to compete with all those happy smiling faces, and so we keep it positive.

This is also true of fishing. When it comes to fishing, there is lot of pressure to appear successful.  If you are a guide or someone who is somehow making money through the fly fishing industry then the pressure is even greater. We have to keep posting pictures of our catches.  No one wants to be a failure.  We all need to put on a smiling face. We need to look good. So, as a guide, caught up in this craze, I also often post pictures of fish and give positive fishing reports.

However, social media most often does not capture the reality of a day on the river (or a day in the life, for that matter). The pictures are “snap shots” or highlights of when I or my clients finally caught a fish. The pictures do not show or reveal the hours and hours of fishing when nothing happens except messy tangles and snags and when the fish refuse to take the fly. We wait and wait and sometimes we are bored out of our minds.

Sometimes social media snapshots of a family vacation can be the same way. The family poses for a photo on the beach and everyone looks happy. However this picture might reveal a mere split second when the kids were not fighting, crying about getting stung by a jellyfish,  dirty diapers, or the parents were not having a reoccurring argument.

Therefore for this fishing post I have no picture of a fish or of smiling faces, or a group photo showing  connections with family and friends.  Fishing on a river, or daily living, has large segments of absent fish, loneliness and frustrations. 

This is the reality of life.  This is no fish story. But I can say it is life.

Late Fall at Deckers: South Platte River

Some people are just humble. I do not know why but when I see it in someone I recognize and value the quality. Such was the case when I took Bill and Caleb; Grandfather and grandson, fly fishing on the South Platte River below Deckers. I can't say that the quality of humility always helps a person catch fish but this did seem to be the case with these two gentleman. We had a fine morning sight fishing to Rainbows and Browns lurking below the surface under the seam lines.