Unexpected Lessons   

For instance, I learned to curse.  This was something I'd self-righteously avoided doing despite the example of a career-Navy father.  Apparently his examples of invective took root in my sub-conscious mind.  One otherwise uneventful day on the Yellow Breeches, towards the end of my first full year of fly-fishing, I snagged my hundredth tree of the day and burst out in a cloud of creative expletives that astounded and appalled me.  Years later, in spite of a career among blue-collar workers, I mostly avoid profanity except under two circumstances:  Working on home fix-up projects (my Dad's bad example), and fishing.  Nothing feels better than to growl (or shout) @#$%&*! when I hook a snag, lose the last effective fly, miss a hit,  or suffer any one of the dozens of mishaps common to angling.  Fish, of course, I refer to as "those &#@%*s", especially when they are particularly selective.  The unfortunate practice of years has made cursing one of my fishing traditions. 

Another tradition began due to the cold, often wet weather of Pennsylvania's Opening Day of Trout Season:  "the wee nip on the stream".  At first it was fruit brandy carried in a pocket flask, then a bottle of brandy or wine (sometimes quite a large one) tied to a lanyard and submerged in the water to keep cool.  Several memorable incidents occurred when the drinking started well before the fishing.  This cold-weather activity spread throughout the fishing season.  Now that I'm well out of my "party-animal" twenties, drinking has become an "almost-never" pastime for me, one I indulge in sparingly only on social occasions.  Again, except for fishing.  Something about that happy exhaustion at the end of a day of fishing puts me in the mood for a glass of wine, liqueur, or sippin' whiskey.  This is especially true on overnight trips, when aches and pains combine with a strange bed to keep me awake.  A drink or two before bed solves that problem nicely.  My cold-weather comfort now is a thermos of Irish coffee, a true sensuous pleasure on a wet or nasty day astream. 

Not long ago I packed a small cooler with snacks and spring water for a day of trout fishing, then impulsively threw in two bottles of double-malt stout.  A tumble in the cold water, a half-hour of frantic searching for my lost (brand-new!) rod, and a long, breeze-chilled hike out in wet clothes made those the best two bottles of beer I'd ever drank in my life.  Now an alcoholic beverage is a standard resident in my cooler, and when I ran across my old bottle-and-lanyard the other day, I set it aside for serious consideration.  "The wee nip on the stream" may just enjoy a revival. 

My religion eschews lying, and my personal sense of ethics is based on honesty and keeping my word.  I went through many anguished hours of soul-searching over the issue of lying being one of angling's most ancient traditions.  I finally found an author who explained it all in terms I could understand, and observation confirmed his insights:  Since other anglers expect you to lie, they automatically deduct 25% from the size you claim for your fish, and/or the number caught.  That means, in order to express the truth, you must add 1/3 when describing your catch.  It's not really lying, it's making an adjustment to allow for shrinkage in the listener's brain.  One must also be aware that anglers have specialized terms that only they understand:  "Caught" means "played to, or almost to, the net".  "Hooked and lost" means "missed the strike".  "Hits" refer to the number of rises that occurred within 6 feet of your fly (more if you use extra-long leaders).  The most honest angler I know, who never even "adjusts" the size of her catch, refers to lost fish as "prematurely released".  Non-fishermen may get skewed data from our fishing tales, but, heck, they're not important anyway.  Our sister anglers will understand the truth behind our stories, and that's what I call honest communication. 

So far I've managed to (mostly) avoid breaking the Fish Law.  Heaven knows I seldom have to worry about exceeding the limit, even if I was in the habit of keeping the fish I catch.  And I have no temptation to tip my fly with a salmon egg in a Fly-Only area;  I catch just enough fish to keep me from getting quite that desperate.  But closed fishing seasons give me my worst moments:  What harm would it do to fish out of season since I release them anyway?  This battle with my conscience has never been resolved.  I freely admit, before Pennsylvania's year-round trout season, I fished before Opening Day frequently.  And I've been known to go panfishing in bass waters outside of bass season...using rather large flies and heavy leaders.  Oopsie, caught a bass.  Hee, hee!  Well, I'll just release it and keep looking for those big bluegills. 

So the supposedly-innocent hobby of fly-fishing turns out to be the easy road to a life of sin!  And I have to admit, I enjoy it in all its aspects.  Moderate and occasional forays into the realms of drinking, profanity, lying, and stretching the law have done me more good than harm.  I eagerly look forward to any other unexpected lessons fly-fishing may teach me.  I believe all that's left to learn is smoking, gambling, and sex.  I'm told cigar smoke is a fine insect repellent, but it repels me, too.  My fishing habits are changing from solitary to social, so a little wager on the day's results may become my next vice.  As for fishing and sex...  Well, I've got to keep some secrets.

- Rabbit Jensen - 
 Winter 2002 Issue