Passion or Prestige - Why are you fishing

Do you see the face of a hunter?

Not sure title fits but what the heck, let's give it a try...

Let me just start this off with a bit of personal background. As of the time of this writing I am mere days of age 52. I've fished in some form most of my life. Some of my earliest memories are fishing in the grandparents farm pond. I've collected a books worth of fishing memories thus far in life and my everyday wish is to add to those memories. I've fished with a lot of great anglers, I'm willing to shared my knowledge and I've spent a lot of time fishing alone.

Something that has become clear to me recently is that not all anglers get the same thing from fishing as I do. Just to clarify, I'm not writing about the difference of sport verses harvest anglers. I believe most anglers quickly recognize that distinction. What I'm really noticing is the difference between passion or prestige.

To reiterate, maybe these are unfair titles but you decide what might fit better after I describe what I've witnessed.

I'll use myself as my base point. I'm passionate about sport fishing no matter the where, how, when or what are the locations or the quarry. Bluegill to steelhead, snapper to tarpon, it's all good to me. I can enjoy fishing a puddle and have been fortunate enough to fish some famed waters. The passion for me is the same.
I believe I am truly a passionate angler.

So there is no misunderstanding, believe me I do recognize the varying levels of commitment, skill, challenge and reward associated with various fish species and/or fish locales.

But I notice a distinct difference in many other anglers. I want to be careful here and avoid saying that maybe they are not passionate about angling. But there seems to be many that without hesitation shrug off most forms of fishing as mere simple pleasures. They seem to always seek out conversations involving the higher profiles. If it doesn't include a passport stamp then why bother.
Some go as far to show absolute no interest unless they are fishing the top of the food chain. Many would go a year without even wetting a line just to spend a few days in pursuit of a prestigious trophy.

I personally don't share in or understand this philosophy.

Prestige or is it Romance
It no longer surprises me to be in an airport with a fly rod tube to have someone try to strike up a conversation with me about the beautiful art of fly fishing. They most always clearly have a "River Runs Through It" idealistic image of what it is to fly fish while trying to describe casting with waving arms and starry eyes.

While it is easy to buy into the attention, what my new found friend is completely unaware of is it's not some graceful art that drives my passion. The art is in the deception of my quarry. Sure I appreciate a great form fly cast but I'm much more interested in the cast that catches fish, graceful or not!
In these situations I have just learned to smile and agree with my new friend while hoping they are not going to be seated next to me on my flight. Life is too short to try and paint them a new image through my words of my definition of a modern fly angler.

I'm not in this for a prestigious ego petting. But, if you've been doing this for as long as I have I bet you know at least one angler, if not many, who is seeking this ego petting.

As I continue on just let me continue to clarify that I'm not saying this is a wrong pursuit. It's just different.

So why do I feel different
Personally I don't want to go very long without fishing, certainly no way a year. Not even a month really. I enjoy the challenge of any fish species and if I find no challenge than maybe I need to consider a tougher tactic. I've caught bass on soft hackles, catfish on poppers, carp on streamers and I remember every one of those catches. Certainly not the most effective techniques to apply to these species but as in the words found somewhere in midwest redneck philosophy "There's more than one way to skin a cat"!

Yes, I have some limits. I don't care for fishing put and take trout stocks, I'm not going to partake in snagging, and I have no interest in fishing with live bait. My fishing passion absolutely relies on the pure trickery through artificial means of the species I pursue.

As I'm writing this I'm just minutes away from joining a great group of anglers on a well known steelhead river. It's quite prestigious. I'm happy for the opportunity and seek to embrace the challenge.

I'm not going to share to you about the great weather and wonderful scenery in cover of a failed outing nor will I feed you instagram images for the next 30 days displaying my unwavering skill level. You see I don't need your validation. That's not why I fish.

My question I want you to ask yourself is, Why do you fish?

Greg Darling 

Gorge Fly Shop
Read more Greg's Post...

"My Passion For Fishing Is A Lifelong Pursuit Of Discovery"

Sports Injury Part 2

I tried to finish up this epic tale months ago, but fishing got in the way.
Read the first episode: I'm Calling it a Sports Injury.

Sunset view from camp

My New Quest

Black was the color of the sky as we pushed our way back towards Hood River. An extremely long day capped off with a lengthy four hour drive through the night had turned into a challenge just to keep the eyes open. Our neck of the woods was still ninety minutes away when we were both forced to pull over our rigs for a power nap, caution won out over the thoughts of sleeping in our own bed.

Getting home at four AM, was it worth it I wondered as Mike’s rig turned off towards his street and I finished the drive back to my house. A cooler with a seven pounder and two five plus pounders, battled on a fly rod, sitting on a bed of crushed ice was the answer to that question.   I counted the days; no make it the hours until I could point my truck south to be out on the waters of Davis Lake again. It was my new quest...

I'm Calling it a Sports Injury

Davis Lake, Oregon

So let’s go back to early June, when high in the Cascades, snow still lingers under tall pines and nighttime temps hover around 30 degrees. This is the Oregon we all love to play in: hot, sunny days followed by whiskey in your coffee as night settles in. I couldn’t resist the rumor that Davis Lake holds monster largemouth bass anymore than one of my buddies, no make that all of my buddies, can pass up a free beer. A huge 5000 acre fly fishing-only trophy bass lake that’s only a few hours’ drive is enough inspiration to have the truck fueled and ready weeks before the trip. But did I mention, that it was high in the mountains? So as we were enjoying 70 degree days, the lake was getting fresh, let’s call it bass-lethargic, snow.

Our local fly fishing bass expert (we will question his credentials later) kept reading his weather reports and proclaiming too cold, too cold, and too cold. I would reply too old, too old, and too old. I am getting too old waiting for this band of warmth that, by his calendar, would finally arrive sometime in late September. Ah, but using fishing logic I hatched a plan that would get us there now and if the fishing sucked, the plan would allow us to fish several other nearby lakes where huge brown trout lived like the Loch Ness Monster, seen by a few locals with grainy photos to back up their claims, but never really verified.

Rain

Hurricane Sandy got me thinking about the last time I experienced the might of Mother Nature. I was just back from Alaska and was determined to move to the Oregon Coast for the winter. I know that to some, that doesn’t sound like the best idea; after all, it’s wet and dark for the most part but for steelhead anglers, it makes good clean sense. Not only is the Oregon Coast littered with rivers through canyons and lush forests, it is also home to some of the last remaining stocks of native steelhead in our country. Furthermore, to witness the oceanic fury bestowed upon the coast in the winter is an experience to savor.

I arrived on the North Coast in November with my dog, Dell and we started to look for a job and a place to live. But it couldn’t be just any job… I had one strict rule. No, it wasn’t about building a career or something responsible like that. I was game for any job, as long as it happened at night, so that I could spend daylight hours in the river. Washing dishes, night manager, janitor, whatever- it didn’t matter. When I opened up the classifieds on day one, it started to rain.