Learning to Fly

Can a working class guy ever learn to embrace upper class angling?

Last Friday I made the two hour drive from Pueblo to the Gaylord Convention Center in Kansas near the Denver International Airport. What called me to such an exotic destination? The Denver Fly Fishing Expo, of course. And I have to admit, going gave me more than a little anxiety.

Fly fishing to me has always seemed out of my reach. Growing up in Kentucky and Louisiana, fishing is something you certainly do for fun, but also to provide for your family. Generations of my family have set trot lines for catfish on the Tennessee and Cumberland rivers and we harvested numbers of sac-a-lait (white crappie) from Acadiana bayous. We even have a story of a mythical flathead catfish named Ekenhammer that once appeared to my great grandfather and grandfather while they were setting lines near the Kentucky Lake dam. So for us, fishing has also been entwined with labor. And I hope one day to write a cultural history of the catfish in America because I believe that no other fish encapsulates the hard, ugly, beautiful lives of the working class like the hard, ugly, beautiful flathead catfish.

My little brother and I, Kentucky, circa 1982

Fly fishing is different. From the outside, it has always seemed to be something the wealthy did. Fly fishing is an art. It is leisure. And that stands diametrically opposed to the dependence we had and generations of families continue to have on whiskerfish. Even the style of fishing contrasts with that of the catfish. In catfishing, we use circle hooks with barbs that guarantee once the fish is on, it stays on. We simply cannot afford the loss of that protein on the plate or the pounds at the market. Fly fish is by design harder. It’s done that way to make the enagement as much of a sport as possible. The hooks don’t have barbs and the line is frightfully thin. Fish can and do break off with regularity. But no loss, since most fly fishermen (myself included) plan to release their catch. So looking up from the socioeconomic ladder, fly fishing seems elitist to us. It is on the other side of the cultural river.

A River Runs Through It, 1992

I have often struggled throughout my life about my own space in this world. Yes, I grew up fishing and hunting in the South and I’ve worked all kinds of low wage jobs. But I moved both physically and perhaps in other ways beyond where I first called home. While I was once a Wendy’s grillmaster, these days I’m known now as Dr. Herbert of Colorado.

And like in other ways, moving to Colorado has forced me to reevaluate my positions on a number of things, including fly fishing. I decided that if I was going to live in Colorado, I might as well live in Colorado. And that means picking up this style of fishing and doing my best.

I’ve been fortunate enough that a few of my friends at the Forest Service have taught me how to fish and I’m actually not bad. And while I have yet to catch a fish worthy of its picture going on my wall, I consistently catch fish when I go. I like the challenge of learning new techniques, new waters, and even new vocabulary.¹ All of this has led to a startling conclusion about the pasttime.

And, well, I kinda like it.

Dammit.

And so that led me to Gaylord Convention Center where I would sheepishly at first and then ever so slowly start to peruse the aisles hoping that people would not parse out that I was in fact, a newbie.

Ok, so I’m awful at lying or even holding back so within a few seconds I’d usually say something to the effect of “I picked this up a year ago after moving from FLORIDA,” knowing that in fishing terms FLORIDA is a BIG DEAL and therefore I too must be REAL ANGLER.

So basically what you have at these things are tons of representatives from major players in the sector, along with a slew of destinations asking you to ply their waters in search of fish. In addition to outfitters in trout-heavy waters like Colorado, Wyoming, and Montana, booths dedicated to places like Canada, Belize, Brazil, Costa Rica, and even Iceland made up the floor. And even I eventually started to talk to these guys, putting on enough bravado to say things like “yeah, I’d considered Costa Rica but always thought of myself as a Nicarauga guy,” or “sure Iceland seems nice, but I’ve been leaning towards the Kamchatka Peninsula for a real challenge.”²

Ok, Star Wars AND fishing? Be still, my dorky outdoorsy heart.

But for me, the biggest thrill was actually meeting one of my fishing idols, Andy Mill. Andy is famous for having a double life of sorts. From Aspen originally, he was a champion downhill skier, even making a cameo in Aspen Extreme.³ But he later discovered flyfishing and became one of the greatest tarpon fishermen who has ever lived.⁴ He’s also the host of my favorite podcast, Millhouse Podcast, which talks to the legends of fishing and hunting. I knew he’d be at the event and was hoping to come across him but didn’t see him. Then as I was about to leave a guy tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I’d take a picture of him with another guy. The other guy happened to be Andy Mill! I gladly said ok, then asked Andy if I could get a pic. Andy couldn’t have been nicer. We chatted for a few minutes before I had to get on the road. Day freaking made.

Thanks, Andy.

So I didn’t buy anything. But you know what I did get? STICKERS. Lots and lots of stickers. So many stickers. Everyone has them and then I got them all. It was like Pokemon in there, if the target audience was 55 year-old white dudes who drove Toyota Tacomas. And it never fails to amuse me that so many of us collect these things. I have them all over water bottles and two Yeti coolers.⁵

I’m gonna need another cooler.

It turns out that no one snuffed me out last Friday. No one said I didn’t belong. And in fact, when I told people I was new to the sport, they encouraged me to keep going and told me to stop by when I helicoptered in to Jackson Hole (ok that last part is made up). The fact is that I was welcome, and the only thing keeping me from being welcome was MY own presumptions. Funny how class and memory work that way.

So like other things linked to class and stature, I think my reluctance to accept fly fishing as I thing I can do might ultimately be linked to the inherited trauma passed down through generations of poor people struggling to get by. There is almost a fear to accept not being in that position anymore and maybe some sort of anger about losing that edge. And I don’t like that. It makes me rush to judge. It makes me hesitant to try things. It makes me miss out on life. And folks, there’s enough stuff preventing us from doing what we’d like. We shouldn’t be ruling ourselves out of anything.

I told my son tonight that growing is a lifelong experience. I suppose that goes for me too.

Jason

1. What the hell is a wolly bugger anyway. Also and totally unrelated: Quick Kick was a G.I. Joe badass.

2. Note: there are huge bears in the Kamchatka Peninsula.

3. I knew I could tie this post to a movie somehow.

4. If you were in FLORIDA and a REAL ANGLER you’d know that. Duh.

5. That’s a flex.