Fly Fishing Sunday

I have resolved to fish on the Mooi tomorrow.

I shall throw my gear in the car before first light, awash with the anxiety that comes with expectation.

I’ll arrive and tie up a leader oblivious of the technology or near-witchcraft required for its proper performance.

I’ll select a fly based on the blind chance that resulted in it’s previous success.

I’ll cast crudely into what I think are decent holding areas and will lose flies in riverine flora.

I will announce my presence to the fish with clumsy wading, line flash, false casts and drag.

I’ll follow the dry or indicator and will be blind to the number of fish I miss.

I will catch a few fish; enough to keep me engaged and too few or too small to allow for self confidence and braggartry.

I will chastise myself for the abject social awkwardness that forever precludes me from asking for pointers from more experienced fishers, hiring a guide or joining a club.

I will look out on the stream, the horizon and the mountains and my soul will be filled with naive wonder.

I will return home late in the evening a better man.

In a few weeks I will summon the self confidence to try again.


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