I Talk To Fish 

Someday I'll have to sit down and have a serious talk with the man with the couch in his office. I talk to fish. Of course, it's likely he'll say I'm not in real trouble unless they talk back. But, this one-sided conversation has been developing year by year, and I'm beginning to think that true dialogue will be the next step.

Now, I'm not counting the funny noises I make when I hook a fish. I only do that because, weighed down by waders and twelve pounds of fishing vest, and thigh-deep in water, I can't do the victory dance that so annoys my hunting partners when I actually manage to shoot something. The volume of my whoop of triumph is related to the size and species of the fish I just hooked, and directly proportional to the built-up frustration from before the fish hit. I had one fishing buddy try to convince me that a Rebel yell was illegal in a Fly-Only Area. I can't seem to entirely prevent the reflex victory shout, but can usually manage to shape it into words, rather than embarrass myself by yodeling or ululating like Tarzan.

Unfortunately, those words are likely to be something like Gotcha, you little $#@%&! rather than a quiet, dignified Fish on!. This leads me to wonder if my conversation with fish is merely an outgrowth of the fluent Anglo-Saxon I began to speak shortly after I started fly-fishing. After all, I apply these colorful nouns and adjectives to shrubbery, slick rocks, tangled leaders, flies that unravel, and any other angling-related object that catches my attention in a negative way. Why not fish? And, indeed, I do apply them to fish, until said fish attach themselves to my fly. After that, the REAL neurosis begins to show itself. My monologue becomes even more embarrassing, although it's the content that would shock the censors now, not the actual words. The little pet names, the praise for strength and beauty, the pleas for surrender, the loving tone of voice. If anyone ever records this and 
puts the soundbyte on the Internet, I'll be ashamed to come out of the house.

My only comfort is, I'm not the only one who does this. I suppose when a crazy person starts to suspect their condition, it stands to reason they'd question other people about what this "normal" thing is they've heard so much about. So I tentatively began to subtly question other anglers, which turned out to be a breakthrough experience. I encountered one old lady baitfishing who told me she talks to the fish while they're still in the water. You spit on your bait, she avowed, And say, 'Fishy, Fishy, In the brook; Wrap your mouth around my hook'. They 
can't resist it. She displayed a bucket of hefty panfish, proof that her spell worked. Years later, I fished with a fly-angler who charmed the trout into hitting by singing to them. I tried this; It didn't work for me. But she had a pleasant husky alto voice, while mine... Well, the less sung, the better. Or maybe the fish just don't like rock-and-roll. I've heard other fishing friends sing to the fish, but I'm not going to mention any names or critique their musical talent, due to possible lawsuits. Or maybe just out of envy that the fish seemed to like their singing.

As for sweet-talking hooked fish, as I do, that seemed to be the secret confession of most of the angling ladies I questioned. One fishing buddy who shall remain nameless (lest I get killed!) occasionally lands small panfish while bass-fishing, and says to them affectionately as she releases them, You silly thing! What gave you the 
idea you could eat something that big? In the same situation I'll smile at the fish and accuse it of having "delusions of basshood". And is there anyone who hasn't released a small fish with the admonition, Tell your big brother I was picking on you, and I dare him to come here and make something of it!

Two of my most respected veteran fly-fishing mentors agree with me that their favorite part of the angling experience is holding and petting the fish, gently underwater so as not to damage its delicate skin, and telling it just 
how pretty and valiant it is. I babble at the fish through the entire hooking, landing, and releasing process: No! No! Stay away from that log! Whew! Are you ready yet? No? OK, work your frustration out. Whoa! You really don't 
like my looks, do you? Well, you're not alone. Ah, here we go. Aren't you the gorgeous one? Now just hold still, this won't take long. Open wide... Just look where you got hooked! Hang in there just a second, sweetie. There, now, it's out. Off you go, honey. Better luck next time.

Is this a gender-specific phenomenon? Although there may be some men who growl, Crazy women!, the literature indicates that most of the best fly-fishing men also talk to the fish. Charles Fox and Robert Traver are two of my favorites that come to mind, both having confessed to having a relationship with trout above and beyond 
"predator/prey". Dave Whitlock, in his videos, sweet-talks fish exactly the same way I do, which has earned him a special place in my affections. Even the macho haul-'em-out fishing show hosts on ESPN occasionally gruffly address their pot-bellied bass with appropriately male praise: Look at you, big fella! What a purty fish!

So I've come to accept talking to fish as "normal". Apparently, everybody who fishes does it. Of course, those of you who know me well realize I may still be in error classifying myself with this group. I can be heard, while fly-tying, chiding my tailing to behave and stay where I put it, or warning my hackle stem not to break. 
Astream, I sternly warn the nearby tree to keep its twigs off my fly; Chant a litany to my dry-fly in a effort to lengthen its drag-free drift; Keep up a running monologue, alternately encouraging my own efforts and enumerating my casting deficiencies; Whistle back to songbirds; In fact, the stream and I seem to share the characteristic of continuous babbling. But I still delude myself into thinking I'm normal. "You're OK as long as they don't talk back". But, just between you and me, they do. Songbirds regularly answer my calls. The water chuckles at my 
jokes, and babbles right back at me. And, sometimes, when I'm talking to a fish, it gives me a look that says, maybe, just maybe, it'll have a few choice words for me if I catch it again.

--Rabbit Jensen--