An outdoors column of the Toledo Tribune
By the Outdoorsman.
Fishing, as any true outdoorsman knows, is not about simply standing by a body of water and tossing in a line. No, no, no. That’s what amateurs do. True fishing—the kind practiced by serious sportsmen—begins long before a single hook is tied, involving an intricate series of steps, rituals, and sacred traditions. In fact, it is entirely possible, and in some cases preferable, to spend one’s entire life devoted to the fine art of fishing without ever actually catching anything.
The Preparation Phase: Ancient Texts and Sacred Scrolls
The first artistic step to any outdoor adventure is preparation. This is where an angler hones his craft—not by standing in a river, but by locating and rediscovering the timeworn wisdom of the great fishing minds before him. And by that, I mean pulling an old angling book off the shelf, blowing off a thick layer of dust, and exclaiming, “Oh, I forgot I had this book!” with a mixture of delight and mild shame.
Fishing books, you see, must be properly aged before they are of any use. A freshly purchased fishing book is merely decoration. It is only after years of patient neglect, during which the knowledge within has fully marinated, that an angling book is truly ready to be read.
Magazines, on the other hand, follow a different rule. They must be read cover to cover at least six times, dog-eared, coffee-stained, and then left under the truck seat or stuffed in a tackle box until their pages are crinkled and their covers faded from the sun. Only then does their wisdom seep into the mind of the outdoorsman, much like the scent of an old bait container forgotten in the glove box.
The Acquisition Phase: The Angler’s Paradox
Once the study phase is complete, the angler is ready for the second great stage: acquisition. This phase is simple in theory but endless in execution. It involves acquiring rods, reels, lures, waders, tackle boxes, specialized pliers, depth finders, and at least one item from the clearance rack that will “probably come in handy someday.”
However, as soon as new gear is acquired, it inevitably leads to new plans, which, in turn, require more gear. This is known as The Angler’s Paradox—the more equipment an angler acquires, the more he realizes he lacks. A fly rod necessitates a new reel. A new reel demands a new line. A new line requires special waders for that one trout stream he read about in a 1993 issue of Field & Stream. And since he’s now planning a trout trip, he obviously needs a new net, which leads to a new vest, and before long, he’s in the parking lot of a sporting goods store staring blankly at his bank statement, wondering how this all started.
This process continues indefinitely unless interrupted by an external force, most commonly called, the banker—also known as “the wife.” The banker has a keen ability to detect the moment an angler reaches the peak of acquisition and swiftly intervenes with phrases like, “Why do you need another rod?” or “Don’t you already have one of those?” to which the angler must respond with something vague yet authoritative, such as, “This one is for, different conditions.”
The Crew Selection: A Delicate Art
While many outdoorsmen are content to fish solo, any true fishing adventure requires a crew. Selecting the right crew is an art in itself. The ideal fishing partner possesses the following qualities:
• The ability to discuss lures, rods, and the subtle differences between seventeen nearly identical fishing techniques.
• A reliable arsenal of fish stories, ideally with a “one that got away” tale that has been properly exaggerated over time.
• A boat.
Now, to clarify: all fishermen own a boat. This is a universal truth. However, the definition of “boat” varies widely. It may be a sleek bass boat with sonar and a 250-horsepower motor, or it may be a rowboat full of rainwater on a trailer that hasn’t moved since the Clinton administration. But in any good fishing crew, at least one member must own a functional boat suited to the designated water.
The Fishing Itself:
After all of this—the studying, the acquiring, the crew selection—comes the final and most optional step: actually fishing.
Now, lesser men might assume that fishing is about catching fish. These people are misguided. Fishing is about being there. It is about standing in the water, or next to it, or floating upon it, watching the ripples shift and change as the breeze moves through the reeds. It is about the way the sun flickers off the surface—or, more often, how the rain pelts it in a steady, miserable rhythm. Because as every seasoned angler knows, the weather is never perfect when fishing. Only when the banker demands the lawn be mowed does perfect weather miraculously appear.
Fishing is about the feel of cold air biting through three layers of expensive outdoor gear that “should be plenty warm,” or the steady realization that sunscreen was a foolish afterthought as the sun bakes the top of one’s ears to a shade of red found only in fire trucks and warning labels.
And, of course, fishing is about the conversation. A good crew will fill the quiet hours with the kind of deep, meaningful discussions that only fishermen can truly appreciate: the best way to work a topwater lure, the tragic decline in quality of every brand of fishing equipment made after 1978, and, most importantly, the endless debate over whether that last bite was a fish or just a snag.
Should a fish actually be caught, it is merely a bonus. And should no fish be caught, well, that just means more preparation is needed. Which means more research. Which means more gear.
And so the cycle continues.
Because, as any true angler knows, the best part of fishing isn’t the catching—it’s everything that comes before it.
Leave a Reply