A Leap of Faith 

Most of us scoff at the notion of “Fisherman’s Luck.” This is, after all, the Age of Reason. Reason tells us that a different fly, a more expensive rod, or a three-day casting seminar will turn us into fish magnets. Reason tells us the hatches are off, the water too low, the fish too sophisticated, or the stream ‘fished out.’ But experience and observation show us a different view. Too often have I seen groups of anglers fish the same water, with similar skill levels, and seen one person, usually the same person, haul in a double-digit catch while the rest rack up average results. Worse yet, I’ve seen (I deliberately avoid the word ‘been’) dedicated and skilful fly anglers who always come up, shall we say, a little short.

There’s a cute little morality tale about an expert fly fisherman, expensively equipped with the best of everything, who is leaving a promising pool after being skunked there. Behind him, a rosy-cheeked little rug-rat with a cane pole and a worm pulls out a two-pound trout on the first cast. I believe Norman Rockwell documented one such event. And it happens. I’ve seen it, and I have no doubt many readers are nodding their heads ruefully right now. Beginner’s Luck is real, as real as Tinkerbelle. I teach beginners, and I can’t say how many times I’ve thought, She’s taking lessons from ME?, or After a start like this, the rest of her fishing experiences are going to be a re-eal letdown!, or She got another one! How come my terrific advice never works for me?

A potent proof of the importance of luck in angling is the Black Cat Statement. This is usually associated with bad luck, as occurs when you announce that such-and-such a place is loaded with fish, or that conditions are perfect for a great hatch. I’ve also seen it work in reverse, such as one guide saying to another, She caught an 18-inch brown and a 20-inch rainbow. Let’s put the other clients on the best lies this afternoon. The client in question, a beginner of course, pulled a 15-inch brookie out of an insignificant-looking hole under a leaning tree. Fisherman’s Luck exists, and plays a far greater part in our angling than we’d like to think.

Others may point out to me that one of my oft-used phrases is, I’m not superstitious, BUT... They would also note that I am one to argue semantics, despite my protests to the contrary. So I’ll just argue that ‘superstition’ is defined as a belief that some event will occur with no basis in rational fact. The same definition as applies to the word ‘faith.’ My semantic argument is that fly-fishing is an act of Faith. Consider the fly itself: Out of half a million species of insects, no taxonomist in history has ever discovered ONE that has a huge steel spike sticking out of its abdomen. 

Fish have keen eyesight, and know their natural habitat with an intimacy we can only imagine. To grow to any size, fish must be cautious and observant. These three facts combined blow any imitationist so-called science right out of the water. It is luck, pure luck, that the fish has a moment of carelessness or is cranky enough to be aggressive when our obviously-false insect is right in front of his mouth. 

Again, I’ve seen it, watching fish react to objects in their natural environment: For every fish that sucks in a fly, ten look at it without taking. For every fish that takes an underwater fly clumsily enough for the angler to see and strike, five take and spit out the fly invisibly; and the average ratio of hooked fish to visible hits is one-in-four. Do the math: that means we hook one fish out of two hundred available. I wouldn’t call that skill.

The saving grace is, no matter how rational we think we are, fly-fishing is not about logic. It’s about Hope. Consider the reel: There is nylon backing behind the fly line. It’s tied to the line with a carefully-made knot, and the other end is tied to the reel’s arbour. This is a silent but potent statement of Faith, a belief in the possibility that someday, the angler might hook a fish large enough that she might see that backing pulled off of the storied ‘singing reel.’ Perhaps even that arbour knot might become important. A pessimist like me will declare that I use backing to reduce fly line kinks, but what lies in my subconscious? Do I, too, have that childlike faith in miracles?

Faith pervades every aspect of the sport. Every knot must be tied with care, lest the Big One get away. Flies are tied or bought by the half-dozen, so there is a backup if an effective fly is lost. Each stalk, each cast, is taken with care, in the hope that Big Daddy Trout is waiting eagerly for just that presentation. Tying flies, each leg is counted, measured for length, meticulously oriented; body colours matched with a critical eye, proportions balanced, and the head neatly and securely finished. The secret ingredient in every fly is Magic, the spell chanted mentally during the tying process: This is the one. The fish won’t be able to resist this baby.

Face it, if past performance is used as a guide, a dust bunny glued to a hook will do. Tie it on sewing thread with a bow knot and fling it into the nearest drainage pond. Don’t bother to hold the other end of the thread. The results will be the same. Meanwhile, smear yourself with honey to attract biting insects, stand in the sun for four hours getting burned, then set up your Stairmaster in the rain to get soaked, chilled, and achy. You have now duplicated the results of a typical fishing trip, including the catch.

But ‘past performance’ has no relevance to a fly angler. Hope, eternal hope, fills her to overflowing as she packs her gear in the car. This time a miracle will happen. The weather will be perfect, there will be level walking to a stream with easy wading, infinite back-cast room, willing fish, and where every insect is a #14 Mayfly. And, what is Hope but Faith, beyond any rationality, that Luck will work in one’s favour this time?

As the American Dream crumbles, and we look around wondering how we’re going to survive, wondering if there’s anything that can be done to save the situation, Hope and Luck are almost non-existent. But I have a solution: Go fishing; experience, for awhile, an innocent faith in miracles. You’ll see, as I have, that Fisherman’s Luck exists. Miracles happen. Open your mind to the possibility, and give them the chance to happen. And perhaps, when the day’s fishing is done, you’ll take a little bit of that Hope with you, to lighten your soul, give you solace, and just maybe, affect your life.
I do believe. I do believe. I do.

--Rabbit Jensen—  
Fall 2009 Issue