Professional doesn’t mean boring. Down-to-earth anglers help grow the sport, and have fun while doing it. The Headhunters crew, Missouri River.
For a sport as outwardly benign as fly fishing, deep, dark, vicious things can lurk under the surface. What should be a sport of escape—an excuse to spend time outside, listening to the rivers and the water and getting away from all the petty annoyances of life—can turn into a politically-driven ego match astoundingly quickly.
Posturing. Know-it-alls. That one guy last year who told me to get in the back of the boat because I was a girl.
Hate to tell you, guys, but the best anglers I know are those who are driving beat-up trucks, wearing duct-tape patches on their jackets, and looking a bit grizzled. They are the quiet ones at the bar, quick and professional at the boat launch, and help the newbie pick out flies for the day. The ones who can back a trailer into the smallest spot left in town, then quickly hop out like it was nothing. No grandstanding. No looking around for compliments. No ego-stroking.
But wait until you see them cast. Or row in a 40-mile-an-hour wind. Or shore up to help that kid struggling to rig his rod, then help him and give a mini-tutorial. Humble as can be. Down to earth. And pretty damn fun to be around.
Some days, it seems the good guys are outweighed by the ego-driven. The guys expecting you to know their name, to kowtow to their “superior” knowledge and skills. The ones who just love to pick fights over minutia so they can seem important. These are the guys who drive folks away from the sport; who intimidate the newbie and ask the women, “Aw, sweetie, want me to tie that on for you?”.
Let’s have a Bimini twist-tying contest, dude. Game on.
Because, really what’s the point of having an ego in the sport? We spend our time trying to catch fish. Think about it. Fish. Slimy aquatic things. At the end of the day, we are flinging around a stick with thread tied on the end of it, and a piece of feathers and fluff tied to that. We’re not half as cool as we think we are.
Take some time to introduce someone new to the sport today; someone who may have been turned off by the growing “bro-brah” attitude. Pause and laugh at yourself. Wind knot? Yeah, pretty sure my worst wind knots came into existence when there was no wind. Not even a puff. Trailer backing skills? Those came hard-earned. I was the teenage girl backing horse trailers into pretend cinderblock “stalls” in the pasture. Casting skills? I have absolutely no problem noting my double-haul is a distinct, sometimes brutal, work in progress.
We’re in it to learn, right? So tone the ego down and enjoy the journey.
It’s not much fun if you don’t.
