“Fishing is the chance to wash one’s soul with pure air. It brings meekness and inspiration, reduces our egoism, soothes our troubles and shames our wickedness. It is discipline in the equality of men—for all men are equal before fish.”
-Herbert Hoover
I bought my first fly rod four years ago. It was a black Okuma nine-foot five-weight, and I first caught a glimpse of it sitting on a shelf in the back corner of the fishing section of a Dick’s Sporting Goods store. The rod was waiting for someone like me to come and pluck it from its perch high upon the shelf. Although I had never fished with a fly rod before, I knew it was something I would enjoy. I couldn’t wait to take it home and learn to cast those graceful loops I had seen on TV and in magazines.

Learning to cast was a frustrating ordeal. I decided to ride my bike to the Second Pond dock in the Grafton Lakes State Park, and stand on the end of the dock. Each time I attempted to cast, it ended with either a bird’s nest of tangled line, or the whip-crack-like sound of the line hitting itself in the air. The line always seemed to end up in hopeless piles out on the water each time I was actually able to lay it out in front of me. With each successive cast, my frustration level increased. After about an hour of practice—half an hour of which was spent untangling—I got back on my bicycle and rode back to my house, frustrated and discouraged.

When I returned to my house, I watched several didactic casting videos on YouTube. These videos helped to establish the basics of timing and the amount of force needed to lay the line out. The quintessential cast is a cast in which the line forms a narrow loop that slices through the air and gently lies out on the water in a perfectly straight line. Also, the fly must land on the water just like a real insect would, not too hard and not too soft; this aspect of the cast is called presentation. Trout are very skittish creatures and will dart into the shadows if they notice an insect drifting unnaturally over their heads. Casting is an art within itself. It requires years of careful practice and a world of patience.
There are several components to the basic overhead cast. These components include the angle of the wrist at certain points during the cast, the amount of force used to cast, the slow start to fast abrupt stop of the casting arc, and the distance the rod travels forward and backward. These aspects of the cast were previously alien concepts to me.
Each day after school, I would return to the dock at Second Pond and apply what I had learned. With time, patience, and practice, I was able to lay the line out on the water with the absence of those aggravating piles and tangles. Although these casts were highly inaccurate, they formed the foundation of a basic cast of which I could change and tweak until I was able to lay the line down with accuracy and precision. Now, four years later, I can lay a tiny fly in a space the size of a dinner plate from about thirty-five feet away.



For me, there is no experience quite like standing amidst a river. It’s my favorite aspect of fly fishing. I reach a state of sublime Zen-like peace standing in a small Adirondack brook. I love the feeling of the cool water flowing around my legs coupled with the sound of the birds’ melodic calls that continuously drift through the trees and out over the gentle gurgle of the dark water, dancing on the river’s smooth round stones. This naturally brilliant gentle euphony soothes the mind, and alleviates the stresses of my world. It is this harmonistic connection with nature that calls me back to the river.
On certain days of the summer months, there are hatches of the many insects on which trout feed. On occasion, I find myself in the midst of a cloud of tiny insects. These insects are typically members of the mayfly or caddis fly families. These hatches occur in prodigious numbers. These gentle insects fly through the air without a care in the world, unaware of their future demise in the jaws of a trout. The entomology of a stream bed is a rather interesting ordeal.

One important difference between fly fishermen and the fishermen typically seen with their clunky rods and cans of worms is the amount of entomological knowledge the fly fishermen must have. Trout are very picky fish; they only eat certain insects at certain times of the year. A fly fisherman must be aware of what insects are present in a particular stream and what stage of their life-cycle the insects are in. There are many environmental clues that help a fly fisherman choose a particular fly, such as turning rocks over for insects that cling to the bottom, or searching the shorelines for the spent exoskeletons of insects like stoneflies.
One of the most important moments on a fishing trip is the moment you land a trout. It’s the moment that makes the trip. It’s these moments that you remember when you look back at the day. It’s a powerful moment when all your hard work and patience pay off. Each and every time I catch a trout I hold it in my hands under the water. I look down on it as its small black eye as it looks back at me. I love to take in the ever present potpourri of colors on each species of trout: the rainbow trout with a brilliant pink strip; the brown trout with bright red spots contrasted by a brown body; and the green, orange, and red colored brook trout. After a few short moments, I let the trout slip out of my hands and swim away; back to its home in the river.
One of my favorite things to do is to combine fly fishing with backpacking. I love to hike miles into the forest, away from civilization, and stay there for a couple days and fish. There is nothing quite like fishing on these serene, pristine, and remote mountain streams. The colors of the wild trout in these streams are much more pronounced and vibrant. I love to spend the day fishing, next spend the evening next to a fire that burns just feet from the river, and finally then fall asleep in my tent to the sounds of the gurgling water.
My favorite of these backpacking fishing trips was a trip I took to the Boreas River with my friend Jeffrey Curtis. The Boreas River is one of the Hudson River’s headwater tributaries and connects to the Hudson near Minerva, New York. The Boreas flows through a narrow valley with steep sides. We were able to find about fifty feet of flat ground next to the river that we used as a campsite. Our site was even complete with its own beach. My favorite memories of that trip on the Boreas were swimming in the cool river water at night under the yellow light proffered by a full moon next to our beach with a warm fire ablaze, and the experience of catching several large brook trout in front of our site as breakfast was being warmed up. It is these fishing memories that will stay with me for a lifetime and further propel my love for fishing and nature.
With a love for nature and fly fishing comes the urge to conserve our natural resources. I feel fly fishing has encouraged me to become a more environmentally aware person. Earth’s resources are finite, and every conscious effort should be made to conserve them. Making an effort to improve the environment we live in is a simple task. One can make these improvements in myriad different ways. Everything ranging from picking up a couple items of trash from the side of the road to shutting off the lights when leaving a room helps improve our environment and saves the fish.

Four years ago, I made one of the most influential purchases of my life. That cheap fly rod perched up on that shelf was the key to unlocking a future in a sport that truly makes me happy in a way no other sport can. I encourage you to go out and find something that really makes you happy. If you already know where you can find this happiness, go there, and be happy. After all, isn’t that what life’s about? Happiness.