On the Fly…A Way of Being

It had been a few days since I’d been in the cathedral of water, rocks and trees so I was excited to find myself preparing my fly rod as I stood beside my car parked at the end of the campground. Two boys were riding bikes and obviously just getting to know each other…what grade are you in? second? I’m six years old…look at that tree…oh, yeah, that’s neat.How precious to overhear their conversation as I assembled my rod and reel and rigged it. 

Finally, their curiosity drew them to my staging area. Hey, what kinda fishing pole is that? I replied, It’s a fly rod…a bit different than spin tackle. They took in the answer and then the one that was clearly a fisher said, Oh, yeah. I use spin tackle. That’s a different rod and reel isn’t it? I went on to tell them a little about fly fishing and opened my little fly box to show them the beautiful flies. Oh, wow! Those are cool! Hey, you have a walkie talkie like me, he said. Oh, it’s a satellite messenger that allows me to call for help for me or anyone I meet on the backcountry trails. He said, Oh, yeah it’s sort of the same. I replied, Yes, both allow us to call for help. It’s good that you stay in touch with your parents while you are here.

I suppose my getting everything ready to fish bored them and they eventually sped off on their bikes after saying bye. My heart was smiling as I thought how nice it was to see two children of different races getting acquainted with no prejudice or hate…just curiosity and sharing and exploring the campground in the Smokies.

Warmer weather allowed me to wet wade and the connection to cold water inside my boots was holy water washing my feet. The fly rod is really just an accessory to my wandering and standing in wonder at the beauty of the place. I had two really good strikes and after an hour decided to move on up the creek but first I needed to stop by my car to drop off a wad of fishing line and plastic bottle I found in the creek. While there I decided to change my fly.

As I was finishing up a guy that walked past with his dog as I was in the creek walked over and asked how I was doing. I knew when I saw him on the shore that he was a fly fisher. You can tell by the gleam in the eyes and the keen interest…that spark of knowing how amazing it is to stand in clear, cold water with a fly rod. Once you fall in love with fly fishing…well, you can see it in a person’s soul. And it’s not just the fishing. It’s the rocks and water and trees and the entire ecosystem that calls to us, opens us to beauty that is almost unimaginable.

We stood and talked and shared stories about fish and places we’d fished. Obviously, my list was much shorter since I only began fly fishing in April. His wife and two little girls walked over and we had such a sweet visit. He told me about a different technique he uses, gave me two beautiful little flies and showed me photos of a place four miles up the same trail I love so much. I was so touched by his generosity of spirit to share about his successful fishing technique and gift of flies. 

Immediately after we said our goodbyes, I walked to a favorite deeper pool and caught a sweet little trout who leaped off the hook as I reached out for the line. Actually, this made me very happy because with less handling the fish recovers much quicker. (I use barbless hooks to further reduce injury to the fish). I continued up this favorite little run and ended up having a few more strikes and finally removed the fly and reeled in the line and just sat on a rock in the middle of the creek…for a long time.

That is my favorite way to meditate…feet in the water, seated on a rock, the sound of rushing water providing music along with bird song, green leaves creating a tunnel around the creek. I love diving but this is a good as diving for me except I’m not weightless while fishing.

After spending half an hour or so breathing in oneness with the creek, I stood up to wade back downstream and thanked the life there for our time together. As I arrived at my car another fly fisher was gearing up and asked about the fishing. He and his wife were visiting from out of state and we enjoyed sharing a bit about experience of fly fishing. He said he’d enjoyed it for years and it was so much more than the fish that drew him to wading with fly fishing gear. 

I don’t think of it as a sport because it’s really a way of being.

It was a most unusual morning at the creek. It felt like a celebration of love for the creek and forest and life within them with these beautiful people all brought together by a simple fly rod and reel and a passion for beauty found in Nature. I waved to the family I had chatted with earlier as I drove past their campsite and left with renewed hope for humanity.