They say that if you find a profession where you do something that you genuinely love, you never really work a day in your life.
I write and edit magazines about fly fishing for my job. That’s led me to visit and fish 29 other countries around the world, five continents, four oceans, and all that introduced me to many, many incredible people who remind me that it is, indeed, a small world after all. It made me more deeply appreciate my own country and where I am from. All to create stories about fly fishing! I guess someone had to take one for the team. I say that with a wink, because I thank my lucky stars every day.
The number one lesson I learned in all those travels and stories is that the common denominator amongst those who fish, from the fabled trout rivers in the Catskills to the Bahamian bonefish flats… from the highlands of Chilean Patagonia to the chalk streams of England and far, far beyond… is that what most anglers are really chasing is joy.
Joy. Think about it.
Joy isn’t just “happy.” Joy is “happy” amplified by a factor of 10 or more. True joy is that tingly head-to-toe feeling. It’s the kid barreling down the stairs to see what Santa brought… or the person who gets the “all clear” after a health challenge… or the warm embraces people feel when they get married… hearing the first cry of a newborn… the reconnection with a long-lost friend… the homecoming that puts you in a place with all the family and others held dearly that makes everyone realize they’ve never really been all that far apart after all.
I’m not suggesting that pulling on a fish with a stick and a string is on the same level as those “life” moments, but for many of us, it comes close. After all, tying into a fish—maybe one of the most literal connections with nature a person might hope to experience—is often the result of lots of hard work, practice, patience and such. And those connections, more often than not, happen in magnificent, beautiful places.
I vividly remember one day when I was a fly-fishing guide that changed my life forever. I fished with a woman who was a great caster, and we happened to hit a drake hatch just right. We saw a trout feeding in a subtle seam, and I didn’t have to say or do much other than to tie the right bug on the end of the line. She dropped the fly on the money… the trout ate it… she landed it… a 24-inch brown.
We snapped a couple photos, and then she sat on a rock in the middle of the river and started weeping.
I asked, “What’s the matter?” And she said, “Nothing… I’m just joyful.” She then told me she’d come through some tough times and just wanted to appreciate the moment.
So, I sat on the rock next to her. And we both appreciated the moment. For 45 minutes. Without saying another word.
Ever since, I’ve wondered about those people who just rake in fish after fish, for instantaneous jollies, without at least taking the time to feel true joy. I’m not saying that’s bad; I’m just wishing that more people would take time to appreciate the joy that makes the fishing experience what it can be. Factor in everything—the place, the people you’re with, the work you put in to learn to fish, the opportunity, and the fish you hook—and you can find many reasons to experience true joy.
My wish is that more anglers would make time for joy. Better yet… I wish they would make a point to share this joy with others with whom they go fishing.
After all, without joy, what’s really the point?