I don’t think I’ll ever be much of a fisherman. I just don’t care about catching a fish. There. I’ve said it.When someone tells me about a good fishing spot, saying, “You catch one every time you put a hook in the water,” I can’t help but think that sounds a lot busier than I like to be when I’m fishing.
I’m more about location and atmosphere than process and results.
I find no pleasure in the notion of owning a tackle box to house my collection of lures, no eagerness to learn to tie a sinker/hook system, no shame in being unable to read a stream and knowing whether that riffle is likely to be where the big one is.
I do like casting, however. I love the fluid beauty of the line zipping through the eyelets on the pole and through the air. If it hits the water, I’m happy. I’ll be reeling it in as soon as possible so I can cast again, anyway. This practice tends to set me apart from serious fishermen right away.
For me, the best thing about fishing is being outdoors beside the water, listening to bird calls and the rush of the water as it races to the ocean. I love drinking in the smell of the river carrying the rich essence of the trees and grasses it has passed on its way to me.
I like to stand or sit perfectly still and hope to see something wild - other than a wolf, bear or cougar - and preferably at some distance in case it is rabid, but close enough that it will show up clearly on a photo for Facebook.
A group of friends invited me for a day of fishing on the Salmon River recently. Sitting on the beach basking in the sun of an unseasonably warm winter day was blissful. The fact that I didn’t have a line in the water didn’t matter one bit. I was busy listening to birds, smelling the
river and watching for rabid otters. Too happily occupied, really, to mess with catching a fish, anyway.
The only thing I took home was some sand in my shoes and the smell of the river in my clothes.
Just the way I like it.
