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I fish because . . .

By Steven J. Meyers

"My fishing is at once an endless source of delight and an act of small rebellion; because trout do not lie or cheat and cannot be bought or bribed or impressed by power, but respond only to quietude and humility and endless patience."

- John Voelker

Sometimes I can tell simply by the way they stand, or the clothes they wear. I've seen them in action so often, I don't even have to hear them speak anymore. I can tell by the way they lean against the counter. I can tell by the way they seem to gather covies of eager neophyte listeners (experienced fishermen ignore them). When I see them, as I enter the shop before a day of guiding, I wish I could just go home, but it's my job and the option isn't open to me. So I walk in, smile and introduce myself. They rarely pause long enough to shake my hand; more often, they'll nod in my direction and continue. Dropping the names of famous rivers. Dropping the names of famous anglers. And the monologue will continue as they get into my rig for the drive to the river. But an odd thing happens as the river draws near. The world travelers who've fished with Lefty and Mel, who know Russia's Kamchatka and are on a first name basis with the Henry's Fork will grow strangely quiet. When they finally do stop talking, I realize even they understand that the river will show them to be what they are - mortal, like the rest of us.

There is no truth serum in the world that can equal a wild river, the deep woods, a high mountain - the natural world - for quickly revealing a person's legitimate capabilities. In the natural world, the thousand buffers of civilization, the thousand things that can be faked, disappear. No r�sum� of claimed exploits can defend you from a cold wind, or a bitter rain. Some whine. Others continue on. It matters little who you know or claim to know - no matter how famous. When you are asked to wade, either the river has its way with you or your ability steers you clear of trouble. When you cast, either the fly lands where it should, or tangles in a nearby limb.

Which is not to say that the sole measure of a person's worth is or should be the possession or lack of such skills. What I am speaking about is the legitimacy of the claim. Wouldn't it be nice if every situation we encountered so clearly revealed the truth?

John Voelker surrounded the lines quoted above with others extolling the many attractions of fishing. He speaks eloquently about the beauty of the places where trout are found, but for every element in the world of trout he celebrates, he condemns with equal eloquence some less palatable counterpart in the civilized world. No condemnation he makes is as damning as the one implied above. He does not say it outright, but we know what he means. Humans, unlike trout, do lie. They cheat. They are often easily bought or bribed or foolishly impressed by power or fame. I suspect the things he prizes in those who angle successfully - quietude, humility, and patience - are the same qualities he cherishes in his companions off the stream.

Voelker, who wrote his fishing books under the pen name, Robert Traver, is best known to the non-fishing public as the author of the novel, Anatomy of a Murder. Some will recognize that title from the movie made from his book. What many don't know is that he was a hugely successful trial lawyer whose fiction drew much of its authenticity from his experiences in the courtroom. Lawyers often see people at their worst, and it is no wonder he valued the honesty and truth-revealing nature of nature. I imagine he spent many days in court dreaming about being alone with a fly rod on his favorite bit of still water on the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, Frenchman's Pond, as one scheming client or another, some opposing lawyer more eager to win than find justice opened his mouth - not to take a fly, but to spew yet another civilized untruth.

Years ago I wrote my own defense of fly fishing. I wrote that I fished for the jewels of nature it revealed, for the wonder of the unexpected surprises, and always, for the beauty of the places it brought me to. Those are still my reasons. But now, after a few months working in the civilized world, with the snowmelt roar of spring runoff behind us and the promise of soft, sweet summer ahead, I find myself better understanding Voelker's reasons. I, too, am eager to be surrounded by creatures that do not lie, will not cheat, cannot be bought or bribed, are never impressed by power, or fame.

Sweet summer. A small stream between two towering mountains. Broken light falling through summer-green aspen. A fly tied for this very spot. A trout to eat it, or not. And the renewed lessons of quietude, humility, and endless patience.

Steven J. Meyers is the author of On Seeing Nature, Lime Creek Odyssey, Streamside Reflections, The Nature of Flyfishing, Notes from the San Juans, and San Juan River Chronicle.