Most of us are familiar with the old question: Which came first, the chicken or the egg? It’s a reasonable question, after all. Eggs come from chickens, but chickens come from eggs. Which came first? 

We’ll let the scholars and wags argue this one out. Let’s talk fly fishing. 

This is the time of year when we are making plans for the year ahead- the programs, special events, speakers, trips, fly-tying gatherings, and casting clinics, to name a few. Many of the trips look good and are within reasonable budgetary restraints (which is an admission that some trips can cost serious money). But we’re new to the sport. Or we can’t quite make a 100’ cast like Lefty Kreh recommended. (He suggested that you strive for the 100’ cast because your technique will be good enough, and you may be able to make a 30’ cast in the wind.) 

Two quick stories. The first is about my first trip to Pine Island on the Winnipeg River in Manitoba, Canada. The late Bobby Sands, our club’s founder, had known about this Lodge many years ago when he was working for Alcoa. He spoke so glowingly that several of us agreed to go. He was right in his praise. It was beyond good- it was wonderful. 

Or at least parts of it were. The first night there, I took one of my fly rods (I had only three at that time) to the water’s edge to try casting a fly I had brought. On the first cast, I knew I was in trouble. The fly landed with an awful thud, and the line snaked out about 20’. I knew it was going to be a long trip. The next day, my guide, Dave, a farmer from Manitoba, told me he didn’t know anything about fly fishing, but he knew enough to see that my casting was ugly. It looked bad to him, and it felt horrible to me. Dave was an outstanding guide, however, and I caught three citation smallmouth bass that year. It would take me five more years to catch two more citation bass and become an “Expert” in the eyes of Manitoba.

That trip mattered to me for several reasons. The Lodge was spectacular in a rugged sort of way. The guys who went on the trip had some great bonding while fishing, sharing delicious meals, and sitting around on the porch of our cabin for several, several hours each night, telling tales and drinking decent Scotch, bourbon, gin, or vodka. I was hooked. But Dave’s observation stuck in my craw, and I started practicing for several hours a day, with little discernable improvement.

But then we went on a local trip to Lake Shearon Harris just south of Chapel Hill. I had (and have) boats, so I had little choice but to go. This Duke Power cooling lake was noted for outstanding fishing. Notice I did not use the word “catching.”

A former club member, Roger Kerr, was in my big jon boat. Bobby was in his 4-wheel drive (or so it seemed) bay boat with George Mailloux- pronounced my-lo. There was a huge lily pad area with Roger and me starting at one end and Bobby and George beginning at the other. Roger and I were banging away, trying to hit the open spots in the lily pads with our flies. We weren’t having much luck, and we were probably scaring away the fish that were there. But we were determined. After a while, the two boats were getting closer together. Then I noticed Bobby and George standing on the bow, casually casting to the pads and catching fish. But it looked like they were hardly trying. It was just a simple motion with the arm and line hand (a double haul), and they were making long casts without breaking a sweat. They weren’t scaring off the fish- they were catching them. We, I, were/was trying too hard. We were making something easy very, very hard.                                      

And I wouldn’t have figured that out at all if I hadn’t gone on that trip- those trips. They turned out to be wise investments in improving my casting.

In years past, our club agenda always had a quote about fishing at the bottom of the agenda. One that has stuck out the most over the years is from Henry David Thoreau. Many men [and women] go fishing all their lives without  knowing it is not fish they are after. What this means is very simple yet very complex. We get a sense of calm from being outside in beautiful places in good weather and bad. We build friendships that could well last the rest of our lives. We find and are driven to find ways to improve our casting and our appreciation for catching a lowly bluegill or yet another croaker. We learn that the fish we never forget are the ones that won the battle and got away or that we caught and released so they could grow bigger for the next person to catch them.

And we get what John Buchan identified when he wrote: The charm of fishing is that it is the pursuit of what is elusive but attainable, a perpetual series of occasions for hope.

That’s what we are looking for, especially in our age and at our age: occasions for hope.

So, the best thing you can do as a new member is go fishing on one of our trips. It doesn’t have to be an expensive trip to Patagonia- but it could be. Or it can be a real cheap trip to Rice’s Creek or the waters of Oak Island or Lockwoods Folly. Don’t have any gear? Fishing guides have gear they will loan, and most of us with boats have extra gear, too. Don’t have a clue about what you’re doing? Go fishing, and you will learn from someone who does. Are you new to the area and looking for friends? Come to the casting clinics early and stand around talking or let someone help you. Then, join us after the meetings when we head down to Paul’s on Oak Island for a burger and a beer (or a Dr. Pepper). Or come down to my house, and we’ll practice casting, talk about rods and reels, show maps of where folks have caught fish over the years, and, if the way is clear, take a boat ride and do some fishing.

This may not solve the question of the chicken and the egg, but it will help you enjoy fly fishing and our club even more and help you find what you’re really after.