This month we find Nick Thomas in a reflective mood looking at the bigger picture and all the things that go to make each moment we spend on the water special.
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
W. H. Davies 1871-1940
I’ve been thinking about why I fish. The reason for this philosophical excursion? Retirement. I retired from work on the 30th of September. I went fishing on the 1st of October. I blanked. It was the first time that I’d failed to catch in over two years. I didn’t care.
When I was working every fishing trip was planned in advance, always with one eye on the weather forecast for the weekend, accounting for domestic responsibilities like taking the lawnmower for a walk, or calculating whether I could afford the time to take a day off work. Sometimes it could be two weeks or more between fishing trips and the time in between would stretch out like an endless desert. When I did get to go, actually catching something was high on the agenda.
So on the first trip after retirement did it matter that the fish weren’t cooperating to celebrate my new found freedom with me? Did I get stressed out? Did I worry that I was doing something wrong? No, not a bit.
When I was working I fished to clear my mind; essentially displacing one set of technical issues from the day job with another set of problems to solve. Resolving the practical questions of the day, choosing the right fly, finding the fish, and the other factors which make up the three dimensional game of chess which is fly fishing, all of these were judged by a single measure of success; catching fish. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not a competitive angler, in fact the whole idea of fishing competitions seems an anathema to me, but catching something during a day’s fishing was definitely important.
On that first outing after retirement something was clearly different. The day seemed to pass in a form of slow motion. Gone was the need to pack in as much variation of technique to avoid the spectre of a blank. In the past that drive pushed me along, honed my skills and undoubtedly made me a better angler, but now it seemed I was viewing the whole thing from a different perspective. On that first day of fishing in retirement I only changed flies three times; one of the changes was to put back on the fly I started with. I spent a lot of time with the fly hitched in a rod ring just wandering along peering into the water, standing looking at the water and looking at nothing in particular. I was still thinking, not exclusively about how to catch a fish; now I was just thinking.
I found I was looking at the small things. The sparkle of light on the water, the sunlight shining through the vibrant autumn palette of the leaves overhead and following the flight and of insects - but now without wondering if I had a match for them in my fly box. I was confirming what I guess I always knew, fishing is not just about catching fish; it’s an escape mechanism. Fishing takes us into many beautiful places where the act of fishing provides an excuse for staying still, doing the day-dreaming and the thinking, or the not thinking, that we all need to do. A fishing rod is a badge of office which clearly says to any passing observer that the holder is mostly harmless and entitled to stand still in solitude on the bank or up to their waist in water doing something or nothing as the mood takes them. The rod holder may be thought eccentric for wearing sunglasses in the middle of winter, creeping through the undergrowth and peering into lakes and streams, but they will not be the cause of a phone call to the local constabulary.
Fishing in all its forms affords all of us the opportunity to stand and stare, to look at the small things, to listen to the quiet sounds and to breathe in the smells of woods and water. Trying to catch fish is a means to an end, not an end in itself. There are many things that distinguish the act and art of fly fishing from catching fish by other methods; it’s not necessarily a better way, but it is definitely different. The slow and stealthy nature of moving through the environment, the observation of fish and insects, the precision of movement in casting and the satisfaction inherent in a good cast; all of these and more contribute to the holistic therapy that is fly fishing.
Many of these sensory adjuncts to the process of fly fishing change with the seasons and that series of transitions itself adds further to the depth of the experiences. In winter it’s appreciating the raking light and warmth of a low sun on a still cold day, seeing the spiky shards of frost on leaves and ferns and hearing the tinkling of icicles encasing branches hanging in the stream. In spring the tight spirals of unfurling fern shoots, the glow of bluebells in dappled shade under a canopy of beech and oak, the sharp pungency of wild garlic crushed underfoot, the soft green shoots on spruce. In summer the buzz and hum of insects, the cool chill of water dripping from fingers retrieving a fly line, the blurred blue dart of a kingfisher, nodding foxgloves with visiting bees, the swirling patterns of foam in a stream eddy. In autumn the crunch of beechnuts underfoot, the rustle of fallen leaves, the dash of squirrels, the drift of early morning monochrome mist over the water, the dew glistening on cobwebs. These are just a few of the elements that accompany and engender solitary or companionable peace, contemplation and anticipation as you try to figure out how you might just interrupt proceedings my catching a fish.
So wherever you fish and whatever your motivation; do make sure you take the time to stand and stare.
Nick Thomas lives in South Wales. He started fly fishing on Scottish hill lochs many years ago and continues to design, tie and fish flies for trout, carp, bass and anything else that’s going.