Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer

Thanks Lilley. Good to know. I jsut learned that in England, they use an object called a Priest to humanely kill a fish and it does not require cleaning the fish. Here's what I found on the internet: "A “Priest” is a short length of weighted wood or metal that anglers use to humanely kill fish - hence the angling expression “visited by the priest”. Used properly, with two or three hard raps across the top of the head and behind the eyes, a fish is killed cleanly and quickly." Maybe they call it a Priest because just as a priest (or a rabbi) helps a person near death, we should be equally kind to fish? Rabbi

Fair enough. I will continue to participate in the discussions I start since I enjoy this forum.

Bojack, I think you may be right. I usually fish up in New York where I live, but I am originally from St. Louis. Up here, I do remove the head but dispose of it in the woods, far from the stream. Anybody else know if it is legal to remove a fishes head in Missouri?

Thanks for this tip. Next time I'm fishing I'll try pushing down the barb. Someone also told me recently that he releases the fish while they are still in the water. I thought that was a good idea too. Thanks! Eric

As a rabbi and a fly fisher, one of the most common questions I get asked is about the ethics of fly fishing. Is it morally acceptable to spend one’s free-time taking a trout from the river, either to return it shortly to the stream or to eat it for food? Is fly fishing humane? When fly-fishing for food, I feel on solid ethical ground. To catch a large beautiful rainbow trout, take it home and then fry up the fillets with olive oil, salt and a bit of pepper, is a delicious dinner. Even when fly fishing for food, I take steps to make the process as humane as possible. I never use a creel, to keep a fish alive for hours in the water, which seems cruel. If I decide to keep a trout, I kill the fish immediately. To keep it fresh, I bring a cooler filled with ice on every fly fishing trip. I also use a very sharp knife, and I kill the fish quickly by removing it head, hoping to minimize the pain. These steps that I take were inspired by the Jewish kosher laws, a collection of rules for how and what a Jew may eat. One law states that in order for a piece of meat to be kosher, the cow must be slaughtered with a very sharp knife that has no nicks or cracks within it. That way, the cow is killed instantly and without pain. I try to end the life of the trout in a kosher-like and humane manner. While I sometimes fly fish for food, most often I practice catch and release fishing. If I and all of the other fly fishers out there kept or killed every fish we caught, the rivers and streams and lakes would soon be empty of fish. Catch and release fly fishing is necessary to preserve those beautiful and special places where the trout live. I probably keep only one out of every dozen fish that I catch. We can all take steps to make the catch and release process humane and ethical. When I hook a trout, I do not play it to exhaustion, since the fish may not survive even if released. I always dip my hands in the stream before holding a trout, since the oils on my skin will harm the fish. I also try to minimize the time that the fish is out of the water, quickly removing the hook from its mouth and releasing it back to the stream. Even when I practice catch and release fishing, I suspect that the trout that I reel in are not having such a great time. But they will all live to see another day. To practice catch and release fishing is to acknowledge that trout are precious. With our expensive fly rods and exquisitely tied flies, we may have the ability to catch many fish on a stream. We also have the responsibility to treat a trout with respect and dignity, for a fish is a beautiful living creature whose source is ultimately divine. When fly fishing, I still sometimes feel a little bit guilty. And I am not sure there is any way around it. In fact, I would say that feeling guilty about fly fishing is probably a good thing, if that feeling motivates us to be as humane as possible with the fish. Fly-fishing is a wonderful activity that can lead us to feel close to nature. And it can also be ethically challenging. Our task is to make fly-fishing, and all activities in our lives, as ethical and upright as possible.

From my article this week: Fly fishing is filled with times of frustration: getting rained out on the stream, losing a fly in a low hanging branch, being unable to thread your thin tippet line through the hole of a tiny little hook because your hands are too cold. One time I drove an hour from home to fish a new river. When I opened the trunk to put on my gear, I discovered that I had left my fly fishing rod at home. I had my vest and my net, but no rod. I sat by the car and called myself an idiot repeatedly. Perhaps the ultimate frustration of fly fishing is not catching any fish. Sometimes no matter how advanced your casting skills, or how perfectly tied your flies, the fish simply will not rise. Trout are picky. And the task we set before ourselves is difficult: to attract a fish to bite a hook wrapped in thread and wool. When I am on the river, and nothing is happening, no matter what fly I use or where I cast, I get frustrated. I try to rationalize the situation. I say to myself: “I’ll just use this time to practice my casting.” That usually does not work for long. The sport is called fly fishing, not fly casting. Over the years, I realized that frustration from not catching fish usually has to do with expectations. As my skills developed and my casting improved and I could catch many more fish in an afternoon, my expectations began to rise. Today, a few hours on the stream that do not yield a single bite might cause some serious frustration. But expectations on the fly fishing stream are probably a waste of time. Not too long ago, someone asked me for the most important tip in fly fishing. I said to him: “Be sure to look up from the river every once in a while, take a breath of air, hear the soft sound of the flowing water, and appreciate the beauty of all that surrounds you.” In fly fishing, when I expect to catch trout, I am guaranteed to be frustrated sometimes. When I expect to be out in nature, to soak in the solitude of the stream and to leave behind the stress of the world, I find fulfillment. An afternoon of fly fishing always provides me with solace and a sense of peace. I may still get frustrated when not a single fish rises. When that happens, I will try to remember the time I went fly fishing and left my rod behind. After I discovered that I could not fish, I decided to go hiking along the stream. I saw deer and ducks. I got stuck in “sinking mud,” almost becoming a permanent resident of the stream. I spent time outside, in nature, and I was able to look around, to relax and to appreciate the beauty of our world. And I learned that sometimes you do not need a rod and reel to have a great fly fishing trip.

From my article this week: As far back as I can remember, my dad and I went fishing together. Once every few weeks in the summer months, we would get up before sunrise. My dad and I would drive the hour or so to Busch’s Wildlife, a fishing preserve near my hometown of St. Louis Missouri. We would buy worms in a white Styrofoam cup, spherical bobbers which were half white and half read, and lead weights and sharp hooks. After a short drive to one of the numbered lakes, I would take out my Zebco fishing rod, put on the bobber and worm, and cast out from the dock. My father and I probably went to Busch’s Wildlife a couple dozen times in my childhood, and I cannot remember catching that many fish. Maybe we caught a six inch bass a few times. We were not very good fishermen. But even if the fishing was not so successful, something else important happened on those early morning fishing trips, I was able to spend time with my dad. My fishing trips with my father might best be understood by that famous proverb attributed to the Chinese: “Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.” My father taught me how to fish, but I did not learn enough to feed myself. A few six inch bass will only go so far! However, those hours spent fishing with my dad provided me with sustenance in a different sort of way. It was my relationship with my dad that grew and developed on those fishing trips. By taking me fishing, my dad did feed me for life, not with fish, but with memories, advice and love that I will carry with me all the rest of my days. Father’s Day is this Sunday. I am going to give my dad a call and remind him of our fishing trips to Busch’s Wildlife together. I might be obnoxious and tell him how much better of a fisherman I am now that I use a fly rod. I will also remember to thank him for those precious mornings we spent together casting worms into the clear Missouri lakes. What are your favorite stories of fishing with your father?

From my article this week: In the course of my years of fly fishing, I have probably spoken dozens of prayers while on the stream. When the sun was well below the horizon, and there was just enough light to tie on one more fly, I said to myself: “Please let one more trout rise.” When the rain clouds were forming, and it looked like my day of fly fishing was going to be cut short, I may have whispered: “Just a little longer, please.” And of course, when the trout were not biting, and every cast and every fly was ineffective, I might have said out of frustration: “Come on, just one bite.” As The Fly Fishing Rabbi, sometimes people ask me if my prayers for trout to rise are answered more readily than those of everyone else. I think not. I’m just as likely to get rained on, or to lose my fly in the dark or not to catch a single fish as anyone. As I thought about praying on the stream, I asked myself: What should we pray for when fly fishing? Is there such a thing as a blessing for fly fishing? There are prayers that are good for fly fishing, and they are prayers of thanksgiving. Ironically, I am more likely to say a prayer of thanks when I am not catching fish. When the water is silent, and I cannot get a bite, and I am not too frustrated, then I sometimes take a moment to look around. I watch the river flow by. I feel the breeze. I smell the pine needles. When I see the beauty of nature, I ask myself: How did such an amazing earth come to be? What did I do to deserve to live in such a beautiful place? Feelings of awe, connection and humility come to me. And then I am led to a simple response: “thank you.” Saying “thank you” when fly fishing is to acknowledge that this earth we live on is a gift. Saying “Dear God, thank you” when on the stream is to offer up a prayer. Rabbi E

From my article this week: This Passover, I find myself asking the age old question: How do you catch a gefilte fish? As the Fly Fishing Rabbi, I would like to tell you that I have a special blessing to catch this distant Jewish relative of the trout. But sadly in my trips to fish the great gefilte lakes of upstate New York, the wise and elusive gefilte fish has often found a way to elude me. And so in honor of Passover, let me share a few bits of wisdom about “Gefilte Fishing” adapted from a piece by Lawrence Sherry: "How do you catch a gefilte fish? You go up to the lake with some matzah. At the edge of the lake, you stand and whistle and say "here boy", "here boy". If you are a Yiddish speaker, you can also say: “here boychick.” The fish just can't resist the smell of the matzah. They come in mass to the edge of the lake where they jump into the jars and are bottled on the spot. I am still a little bothered by which end of the gefilte fish is the head and which the tail (not to mention that I am not sure where their eyes are). This is a small price to pay the luxury of eating this delicacy." Rabbi E

From my article this week: It snowed last weekend in New York City, in what I hope will be the end of our short by cold winter. No matter how brisk the weather remains in these next two weeks of March, I know that April, and the start of my fly fishing season, is but a few precious days away. I am already getting prepared. This week, I pulled out my vest and waders from the closet, packed away since the fall, and smelled the scent of the stream once again. I took inventory of my gear, and spent a few moments day-dreaming of the hundreds of dollars I want to spend on fly fishing stuff that I cannot afford. And most importantly, I spent some time thinking about where I want to go for my first fly fishing trip of 2007. After six months of winter, I want my first trip to be a success. Perhaps that is why I will head to a river that is fully stocked, because I know that if I do not catch a single trout, I might be disappointed. In thinking about my desire to do well on the stream, I asked myself: What makes a fly fishing trip a success? When do we come out of the river, pack the waders in the car and say to ourselves: “That was amazing”? For some, catching fish is the only measure of success of a fly fishing trip. Maybe that is why Orvis sells scales and rulers to calculate the length and weight of the trout we land. If the measure of your fish is the only measure of your success, then what happens if you do not get a bite? Did you waste your time on the river if you did not land a single trout? When I first taught myself to fly fish in the trout parks of Missouri, I would go hours, and days without catching a trout. It was frustrating. Yet even on the hardest day, when there were no fish to be seen, I still relished the time spent in the stream. Rabbi E