Like many people, I like to think that I follow the KISS principle — keep it simple, stupid — in all aspects of my life. But a few months ago, my family and I moved to a new house after living in our old one for seven years. The new home in Chico has more bedrooms, boat parking, a bigger backyard, and more room for our boys. As we began packing, I was sure that I’d kept a pretty tight ship with regard to my personal stuff, and I was pretty confident that I actually needed everything that I had . . . or that there might be some moment in the future when I will need it.
The realization came pretty quickly that I had a ton of stuff that I had never used and never would need. As I packed over the course of a few weeks, I tried to purge anything I hadn’t used, worn, looked at, or had any meaningful contact with in the last 12 months. I delivered just as much of my stuff to the local Salvation Army as I boxed up and walked up the moving truck’s ramp.
I used to think I adhered to the KISS principle in my fishing and guiding, too, but I realized I had not done well there, either. The problem goes beyond the proliferation and accumulation of material things. There is a massive amount of analysis, knowledge, and feedback in the sport of fly fishing right now. In general, this is not a bad thing, and I believe fly fishing is seeing a Renaissance and expansion because of the cornucopia of information available to people. All of that information, and the easy access to it, keeps people buying goods at the local fly shop, gets people out to explore and fish new water or for new species of fish, and overall pushes the sport forward, which is great.
But most of our lives are filled with seemingly infinite responsibilities that we can’t forget and must get done on a daily or even hourly basis. I think that to some degree, we all started fishing to escape this, if only for a day or even just for fleeting moments while staring down at the water. All the access to information, advancements in technology, and new gear, actually make that escape more difficult. They tend to make fly fishing more complex and convoluted.
My goal after this move and the new year has been to simplify my fishing life, be present in the moment, and not be so worried about the “What ifs” and “If I shouldas” that can fill an anglers mind when fishing. I believe that in any personal change, the first step is admitting one’s faults. I am not talking about my casting faults or subpar knots — I mean the things that mess with my mental game while I am on the water.
The main fault I have come face-to-face with is that I bring way too much stuff fishing: six to eight rods rigged up, a boat bag with more flies than I could lose in a lifetime, two coolers with enough water and food to feed every angler at the boat ramp and their families back home, a separate bag with extra clothes, because my boat bag is too small to hold all this stuff, and a bucket for trash that is slowly filling up with even more stuff. When I was guiding and fishing in my twenties, I could carry everything I needed to the boat or truck in one load. Now, loading and unloading my boat or truck after guiding or fishing takes 30 to 40 minutes.
I have come to the conclusion that I just overthink things sometimes. As anglers, the more options we have, the more we create stress and question our approach. I am the first to change flies, rod weight, lines, or anything else I can think of when the fishing gets slow, looking for the magic combination that will put a fish on my line or my client’s line. As a result, I believe I need to bring all kinds of stuff . . . just in case.
However, one of the truths of fly fishing is that you catch fish by fishing whatever technique and fly you use with confidence. And having confidence in a fly or technique and sticking with it is a great way to keep things simple. Thinking you need to switch things up or change something to catch fish betrays a lack of confidence. Have confidence in your skills, and don’t worry so much about your gear. Catching fish usually comes down to finding actively feeding fish, making a good presentation, or solving a puzzle as to where or how the fish are feeding.
A couple of months ago, I went striper fishing by myself and left all but six flies and two rods at home. All the flies were the same, and the rods were identical in line, model, and setup — I just brought a spare in case I broke one. I felt naked and unprepared driving out to the river, but I had confidence in the fly and the setup. The late fall and early winter can be a transition time in our valley rivers, so I used to come prepared with a whole arsenal of flies, rods, and lines, because you can never be sure where the fish are going to be in the water column. But
I knew the setup I brought would catch fish, and while I felt emptiness in my gut at the thought of not having brought everything that I might possibly need, I knew I had everything I really needed. I ended up have a great day on the water. I hooked a few big fish. I didn’t even lose a fly. Maybe I might have caught a few more fish if I had brought all the gear I usually do and had covered every inch of the water column, but there was a beautiful freedom in having just the one option. So much of fishing can be a head game. “Do I change flies? Do I change my setup? Do I move spots or keep working the water with what worked in the last run?” I get stuck in my own head and fail to look at the bigger picture, what works day in and day out. Simplifying what I bring eliminates overanalysis, which cripples many anglers. By keeping what I bring to a minimum, I can’t possibly get caught up in overanalyzing things. I can stay out of my head and focus on fishing, not what fly or line density I am using.
I found that having only one rod setup and one fly pattern forced me to pay closer attention to what actually was going on around me. Since changing lines or flies was not an option, and I couldn’t run through 10 fly patterns and six rod setups, I had to rely on my ability to read the water, look at my electronics, and find fish. I found that the less I have to worry about, the more attention I can spend on other things. This helped me locate some bigger fish, even on a crowded weekend on the river.
I’ve found the virtues of simplicity in other areas of my angling life, as well. I had become someone who fishes almost exclusively from a boat. When my oldest son was born, I began to fish and guide out of my jet boat, because it made more sense for my schedule. I’d meet my clients at 7:00 a.m. and start fishing by 7:30. When we were done at 3:30 p.m., there was just a boat ride back to the ramp, where I put the boat on the trailer and headed home. I could make evening soccer and hockey games or practice, have dinner with the family, and even sit down and watch some TV together.
But as my kids have gotten older, I have been getting out and doing some wade fishing. I had forgotten how much simpler wade fishing is. I certainly can’t bring heaps of stuff when wading a stream. I don’t even have a chest pack or any of those vest-type things, so I just throw a fly box in my waders and tippet or terminal tackle in their flip-out pocket. I can bring only one rod, so I have to commit to the tactics I’ll be using, and while I can always go back to the car and get more gear or a different rod, that always seems like such a hassle.
Furthermore, there is something to be said about the solace of wading a river. One of the great things about fly fishing is that it slows life down. Fishing out the jet boat was all about covering lots of water: fishing, then blasting at 40 miles an hour to the next spot, fishing some more, running to the next spot, fishing, and blasting home. I missed much of the river as it went by. Worrying about controlling the boat with the trolling motor or about taking my eyes off the spot I am fishing, lest the boat drift downriver, speeds up the whole process to a point where it makes it hard to relax. Wading — committing to one rod and technique and one box in my waders, then standing in a riffle covering every nook and cranny while working on making the right presentation — takes so much focus that the experience of time fades into the experience of the present moment. I can listen to the water and feel it rush against my legs while the birds sing overhead.
The older I get and the more I fish, the more realize that as Thoreau explained, it is not really fish I am after. The things about fly fishing that make me a better person and that make the rest of my life work have nothing to do with catching fish. In the end, the process of simplifying my fishing returns me to what really matters.
