Solitude, Loss, and a 14-Inch Bass

A Fly Fisherman's Reflections on Life and Death

Imagine yourself standing on the bank of a pond, alone with your thoughts, looking for a trophy fish.

Fly fishing alone is a profoundly personal and immersive experience. There is no one around to disrupt your focus. It is just you, your thoughts, your rod, and your skill. The solitude sharpens your senses. You become attuned to the smallest details: the rippling water stirred by the wind, the shadow of a fish gliding silently along the grass line, or the gentle ripple that signifies a rise.

You enter a meditative rhythm - cast, let it sit, pop, sit, pop, sit, then repeat. Time slips away, and the world feels distant. It is a time to reflect on things happening while you wait to feel the tug.

Today, my thoughts turn to how my life is unfolding. I am in the “older adulthood” phase, where the pace of life slows and reflection takes root. It is also a stage filled with experiences that cut deep and linger for long. As I reflect, thoughts about the impact my mother’s recent passing has had on my perception of mortality come to mind. I think about a friend who suffered a massive heart attack while on a cruise and is in the process of recovering, a brother-in-law who bravely fought and lost a battle with cancer, another work colleague and friend who just passed away unexpectedly at 70 years old, and a close friend who had just retired and passed from cancer before he could enjoy his “older adulthood.” I find it strange how loss reshapes you; it forces you to accept the limited nature of time and confront how you use it.

Cast, let it sit, pop, sit, repeat.

I think about how this moment would be even better if my wife or one of my sons were fishing alongside me. I am blessed with a wife who occasionally casts a line with me because I love the sport. In fact, we are planning to fish for salmon in a few months. Anticipating that trip is a pleasant thought. We will stay at the Tailwater Lodge in Altmar, New York, and drift down the Salmon River. The trip will be awesome.

Cast, let it sit, pop, sit, repeat.

My mind leaps to an upcoming Western adventure with my Queen City Anglers Guild. A group of us is flying out to Casper, Wyoming, hoping to catch trophy trout in the North Platte River. Fishing with these guys is always enjoyable. I love floating a dry fly and watching the water explode when a monster rainbow decides to make it its meal.

Hold on.

I think I saw some baitfish dart quickly out of the grass line. When baitfish behave that way, it's usually a good sign that a predator is nearby. They often scatter rapidly in an attempt to escape. It is a sign a bass may be lurking about. I decide to cast parallel to the grass line. My popper drops about a foot from the line, and I start stripping it.

Pop, sit, and let the rings dissipate; pop and repeat.

Aside from the usual aches and pains that seem to afflict everyone as they age, I am in good health. However, I believed my friends were healthy too. I suppose you just never know when your expiration date arrives. I certainly never thought they would be gone from my life so soon. Life sneaks up on you when you least expect it.

With that dark thought, my popper vanished, and the line tugged hard, signaling, “Fish On!” I could tell right away this was a nice bass. The bend in the rod, the tension on the line- every instinct urged me to lift the rod and set the hook. My muscle memory kicked in instantly, and I felt this bass would not escape. When you feel the sudden tug, it is an abrupt signal of life on the line. You can feel the fish fight back through the energy in the rod.

While the bass and I danced, I was reminded that the moment of death can also come suddenly, whether through an accident or illness. The dance is a battle of wills, pitting my skill against the fish’s survival instinct. Death, too, can be a struggle, with the body resisting as long as it can before succumbing to an inevitable force. Both instances create a profound moment of connection with nature.

Bringing a fish to hand doesn’t have the finality of death. Death doesn’t believe in catch and release. While catching bass and the process of death both involve a transition from vitality to stillness, death carries a far more profound existential weight. Death is a deeply human experience, far heavier than the transactional nature of fishing.

The struggle ends with me bringing a 14-inch Florida largemouth bass to hand. After admiring its colors and thanking it for the dance, I released the fish gently so it could live and grow.

Like that bass, my friends were vibrant and engaged. They were unexpectedly captured by death, struggling and eventually growing weary before accepting the inevitable.

Fishing alone can be highly meditative. It encourages introspection about your feelings and helps you sort through various emotions. It's a strange contrast to feeling the excitement from catching a fish while simultaneously feeling sadness over the people who have unexpectedly left my life. I take comfort in that Jesus’ death and resurrection are the ultimate acts of catch and release. I believe death caught my friends as it ultimately does all of us, but Jesus’ sacrifice released their souls to eternal life.

All in all, it was a good day of fly fishing. I caught a bass and learned a bit more about myself.