It’s been a few months since I’ve been asked why I fish, specifically why I fly fish.
In response to this most recent query, after thinking about it for a moment, I simply replied ‘fly fishing is like a box of chocolates; you never know what you’re gonna get’ on any given day.
My droll channeling of Forest Gump drew only a blank stare from my teen inquisitor, curiously reminding me of a small dog with his tilted head and open-mouthed pose.
Finally I went on to explain that even fishing the trout waters of home country back in Montana, every cast has the potential to catch small fish, big fish, different species of trout and of course not a damned thing.
He perked up a bit with that and we went on to talk about the different fishy critters folks chase on a fly rod these days; being a lake-targeting, gear-chucking bass fisher he was particularly interested in options for bass, panfish, pike and carp.
Eyeing the 6 wt. in my hands that day, at first he couldn’t wrap his head around landing salmon and steelhead on a fly rod, though he pronounced the 9’ 10 wt. I later showed him a ‘f*cking rad pole’ that could surely handle ‘big f*cking fish’.
Admitting he’d never left the state of Washington thus far, his eyes widened a bit talking about stalking big redfish on the flats, flounder in Galveston Bay, and bones, tarpon, permit and GTs in warmer waters.
Twenty minutes later in the park he was throwing manageable casts with that 6 wt. and plotting his first beach rod purchase.
Run, Forrest, Run.
