I like to watch people catch trout more than I like to catch them myself.
Don’t get me wrong. I still dig catching trout, and casting flies… I crave watching that slow, deliberate slurp. I love challenging myself and solving the puzzles that trout fishing presents. I like getting “refused” and figuring out what happens next and switching patterns. I love banging the banks from a dory with hoppers or streamers. I’m intrigued by dredging deep runs with nymph flies. I find all of it captivating, even now, having fished all over the world, and having caught far more than I rightfully deserve. The pilot light that got me hooked on this obsession burns brighter now than it ever has.
But I’ve found another dimension to all this craziness that somehow matters even more than all of that. I’ve learned that I enjoy watching other people catch fish more than I like catching them myself.
It starts with the young people, of course. The lit-up eyes of a kid, feeling the tug of a fish on the other end of the line—doesn’t matter if that’s a bluegill under a bobber with a Snoopy rod or a brookie that ate a Humpy dry. It’s all wonderful.
I’ve also experienced similar joy clutching the hands of older people, wading to a spot in the river where they felt firm on the river bottom, and soon thereafter seeing them hook a riser on a dry fly. That makes my heart soar.
I have a drift boat, and over the years, I have had many fish from the bow of this boat. Many people ask if they might row and maybe let me fish a bit. I appreciate that, but I always kindly refuse. They think I’m being magnanimous, but, in truth, I’m being selfish. I get more reward watching them catch fish than I do fishing myself. I row my boat… you fish. That’s the deal.
The more I’ve fished, and the more I’ve caught, the more I’d rather watch.
There’s substance in all of this, to be sure.
As you watch others hook, and hopefully land fish, you see the enthusiasm. And enthusiasm makes the world go around.
If you land the fish, that’s great. But the important thing to remember—for you and them—is that all the things that factored into earning the “eat” in the first place, is what matters most. Earn your fish. After that, it’s perfectly okay to fail. It’s the trying that matters most.
From the objective onlooker’s seat, you can also see the mistakes, apply that to your own lesson plan and figure out what you might do differently the next time, when it’s your shot.
At the end of the day, the fish landed, albeit vicariously, through another angler of any age any shape, size or otherwise, is a “trophy” for the mentor who made it possible in the first place.
So, I’m done chasing “trophy” fish myself, and I’m now all about chasing mentor “trophies,” which is about igniting passion. Because that’s what ultimately matters to me most and that’s what’s going to pay dividends down the road for all of us who care about fly fishing.
Hook a big fish… meh. Hook someone who ends up caring about fishing…
Yeah… that’s a big deal.