Journaling: A Fly-Fishing Tradition Whether you call it 'journaling', after the new fashion, or 'keeping a fishing log', your angling records are a part of the grand tradition of fly-fishing literature. Most fly fishers I know keep a log, although the style and purpose varies as widely as the individuals do. The physical form journals take can be as simple as a pre-printed pocket angling diary with fill-in-the-blanks for weather, catch, hatches, flies, and the like; Or can be virtual; Or can be an elaborate, illustrated volume suitable for coffee-table display. I personally prefer a school-type notebook in which I can write as much or little as I like, and sketch rough illustrations of insects, effective flies, or maps of the waters I fish. These logs were a great learning tool when I first started. An X marking each fish taken on my crude maps soon showed me the hot spots in my favorite waters. By extrapolation I learned to read other waters by looking for similar characteristics. The first few years I did exhaustive statistical analysis based on log entries, revealing the most effective flies for winter tying. And each year's analysis showed skills improvement, bolstering my confidence. But as my experience grew, I discovered a second use for those logs: Inspiration. When the snow flew and cabin fever was raging, I'd flip through my logs and jog my memories of those days astream. My entries changed as my purpose in journaling changed: The date, water fished, approximate time, and similar data were on a couple of lines at the beginning; A summary of catch and flies at the end; But the body of the entry was given over to the events that made that particular outing special: Especially memorable fish, tracks on a mudbar, birds and wildlife seen, companions or chance-met folks, even disasters like falling in or (once) having my bicycle vandalized. My logs were rich with details, like where I found the morels along the Little Lehigh, or the ghostly whistle of wings as a V of native swans passed over my head for a landing in a New Jersey lake. These entries often became the basis of articles written for this newsletter and elsewhere. Of course, the instructional use of fishing logs is never lost. I may forget what flies were effective last time I fished the Yellow Breeches, but I can refer to my fishing log, and there's the answer. I may not recall the name of a lake I went to, or exactly how to get there, but I know where to get the information. What time of year do Hendricksons hatch in Tioga County? What year were the cicadas on Penn's Creek? Who was that woman with the bass boat I met on the Marsh Creek Lake outing three years ago? What was the name of the motel where I stayed in Vermont? The guide my first day on the Madison? My fishing logs provide the facts my memory may not. Fishing logs are memory supplements, data sources, comforting reminders of past pleasures, references for future planning. Most of all, they are a starting point for that most venerable of angling arts, the fish tale. Just a starting point? Yes. There's a time and a place for everything, including accurate numbers. The oral tradition of angling narrative is neither the time nor the place. "Yes, it was New Brunswick, 2004," I say, then close the journal and begin the story: Memory pictures rather than data on a page. "October, and the leaves in full color. You couldn't have asked for a prettier place to fish. That first salmon took a fly I tied, a Black Bear Green Butt, and must've weighed..." Starting Your Own Fishing Log
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