I'm the same as Sandy Nelson and have a lucky fishing hat, how about you?
Following relegation to the subs bench during the latter quarter of last season and the first few weeks of this one, my favourite hat was brought out of retirement due to a lack of fish. The miraculous turnaround in fortunes has cemented my belief in the mystical properties of the lucky hat and the two, nice, new ones, given to me, that caused the substitution have now to watch proceedings from the side-lines. The hat is weather worn and sun bleached from trips around the world in all conditions, but is still very comfy and it has even re-ignited an interest in the brand it so subtly advertises. The power of advertising or the mysteries of the lucky hat?
My new found confidence has meant more sitting around and musing over the vagaries of life, the universe and everything, having recently turned 42 it seems that I now represent the answer to the aforesaid question, albeit it in an abstract manner that only seems valid while by the river bank. This realisation that I was now effectively equipped to take on the mighty brown trout, got me to wondering how I got here? how much was in the lucky hat? How much was experience and how much I owe to the mentors who have paved my way? Of course, the lucky hat is most important, that goes without saying, but the other influences, where do they fit in?
Fly fishing transcends age and my wide range of good fishing friends illustrate this, which leads me to wonder about experience, sure it helps but something new will often work as well or sometimes better, the fish are not always where you might expect them to be and they may not always behave the way you expect them to behave. So where does experience fit in? If experience is what makes you sit down and wait or keep walking till you find the fish, then it sure does count for something. It might suggest when the flies are likely to hatch, but this week, if I’d followed that knowledge I would have gone home before they started and missed out on some great fishing. Perhaps experience is understanding that you know very little and that things on the river can be quite different every day.
So how much of that knowledge can come from a mentor? how well do we listen? how often do we react to the suggestions? My Grandfather taught me to fly fish, he was a fabulous man who navigated the darkness of WWII and never had a bad word to say about anyone. His patience with a headstrong 10 year old who had “read that…..” and “so and so says….”has been a lasting influence. Here was a man who did not own any fishing tackle, had not read any books on fishing and never went fishing himself, but he knew. He taught me to cast, how to spot fish, where they might be, how to tie knots, the names of the birds, flowers and flies but most of all he taught me patience, although I didn’t realise this until about 25 years later. After 30 years of reading about fishing from all the experts around the world and fishing with some very knowledgeable people, I still remember everything my grandad told me, where the rest has morphed into some jumbled pile I loosely call knowledge.
So perhaps you only truly have one mentor and the foundations are laid, then they are built upon by experience and enthusiasm. Tempered with a willingness to try new things and an overwhelming desire to see those wonderful bars of golden loveliness gently sip a hatching dun imitation, you eventually find yourself sitting by the river in the pouring rain, having walked several miles to find a spot that feels right. Enjoying everything around you, wet grass, rushing river, singing birds, the smells, the sounds, relaxed and happy yet coiled like a spring and hard wired to spot the next rising fish.
My mind is suddenly distracted and I have a wee chuckle, apparently my mate has lost his lucky hat.