For me, fishing, any kind of fishing, is really just a metaphor for life. You could point out the Thoreau quote SIO3 mentioned: “Many go fishing all their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after.”
With regards to fly-fishing, I look to the first few pages of A River Runs Through It. Even though the movie makes it somewhat of a cliché as a reference, Maclean’s book was an excellent read for nearly 20 years before the movie. In fact, it nearly won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction, but was deemed too autobiographical, which is unfortunate.
So we’ve all seen the movie and read the book, but in the early pages, Maclean writes about learning to fish from his father. The four-count rhythm is cute and made for a nice movie scene, but a few paragraphs later, Maclean says:
“As a Scot and a Presbyterian, my father believed that man by nature was a mess and had fallen from an original state of grace…. As for my father, I never knew whether he believed God was a mathematician but he certainly believed God could count and that only by picking up God's rhythms were we able to regain power and beauty….”
That’s part of my love of fly-fishing. It’s like zen. It’s about nothing and everything at the same time. Often, no words are spoken, no thoughts are thought. It’s just you and the water and the rhythm of the casts in which you try and find that groove that is your own and no one else’s. You get lost in the quiet. There are rarely motors, rarely distractions. The beer is for the parking lot. But it’s an opportunity to reconnect with some type of internal, natural rhythm. When I fly-fish, it’s not as much about the catching as it is the fishing. Don’t get me wrong, catching is important, but not always the primary purpose. I don’t think you get that with other kinds of fishing.
Maclean goes on to write:
“If our father had had his say, nobody who did not know how to fish would be allowed to disgrace a fish by catching him.”
Maybe this applies more to wild trout than the stockers we fish to, but if you look at the majority of the reports on the forum, fish are caught on flies that look like and act like real things. There is something satisfying about that.
Back to the natural rhythm, coming in tune with nature plays a big part of it. Again, Maclean states:
“Well, until man is redeemed he will always take a fly rod too far back, just as natural man always overswings with an ax or golf club and loses all his power somewhere in the air: only with a rod it's worse, because the fly often comes so far back it gets caught behind in a bush or rock.
Power comes not from power everywhere, but from knowing where to put it on.
My father was very sure about certain matters pertaining to the universe. To him, all good things—trout as well as eternal salvation—come by grace and grace comes by art and art does not come easy.”
The sentence on power is a poignant one and really words to live by. Imagine if we used that concept in our relationships at home and at work or in our domestic and foreign policies. Again, fly fishing as a metaphor for life.
That is essentially fly-fishing. Zen-like qualities and natural rhythms for me found no where else.