Solving The Right Equation

Mark 8:34

It was 6:00 AM, and Frank was at the river early. He wanted to beat the crowd, but early morning was when Frank found the river was the most honest. The hours before the sun beat down on the water, sending wary trout to safe holding spots, were often the most productive. Mayflies and caddisflies emerged in the early morning, giving Frank the chance to witness the very beginning of the day’s biological clock. Trout fed more readily in the shallows when the light was low and became more lethargic and selective as the water temperature rose. Early morning was often the only time you could target large trout in the open without spooking them with overhead glare or the movement of a shadow.

But even more important, there was a profound silence on the water in the wee hours of the morning. It allowed Frank to shed the noise of his daily life and read the water undisturbed. It was a time when Frank could analyze the current, observe the hatch, and align his rhythm with the water’s. It also offered Frank a spiritual moment to say a prayer of thanks for all that God created before casting his first fly to the bubble line.

Frank approached the river with confidence bred from years of experience. He didn’t just fish; he saw the river as a complex equation to solve. Frank had his weathered wallet full of flies he had tied from textbook patterns, enhanced with special touches honed over years of fishing this particular river. He took pride in having figured out the puzzle combination and was confident his solution would serve him well that day.

Frank waded toward a particularly attractive run. It was a razor-sharp seam where the riffle’s frantic pace gave way to the deep, slow-moving confidence of the pool. Several boulders broke the current, each with soft pockets behind them that held trout. The head of the run frothed with oxygen, providing a perfect assembly line of bugs for trout to feed on. Downstream, the water deepened into a silent, steady drift—a sanctuary for a fish that had seen enough seasons to know how to disappear. It was a holding spot that demanded everything from an angler: a flawless presentation, a perfect drift, and the humility to know that even when the water was this beautiful, you were never truly in control. It was where Frank’s trophy trout was likely to be found.

Before Frank cast his first fly, he noticed a younger, clearly less experienced angler struggling upstream. The young man was visibly frustrated and using a setup that was technically inappropriate for the river’s conditions. Frank watched, his internal critic harshly judging the young man’s inefficiency.

Out of the corner of his eye, Frank noticed the first Trico spinner fall. These insects were minuscule, and the hatch typically lasted about 30 minutes. Because the flies were so small, trout became extremely finicky and ignored larger patterns. Frank knew you needed the right fly, fine tippet, and a lot of patience to spot the subtle rise of a trout sipping Tricos on the surface. Tricos were a meal his trophy trout would likely slide out of his hidey hole to feast on.

Frank’s eyes darted between the struggling novice and the pool where he was convinced there was a huge trout waiting to dance with him. As he prepared to tie on one of his custom flies, Frank noticed the younger angler’s shoulders drop in apparent frustration.

Frank knew he faced a difficult choice. He could either hunt for his trophy or help the young man regain confidence by sharing his hard-earned knowledge. Frank hesitated. The devil on his shoulder told him he deserved to go after his massive trout. After all, he had learned on his own and had solved the river’s puzzle without help. But the angel on the other shoulder reminded him of how heartbreaking it could be to fish an entire day without success. Frank was reminded of his earlier prayer of thanks for all that God created.

Frank waded upstream to help the young man. “You’ve come to the river on a great day; you get to experience the fun of a Trico hatch,” he said. “I have a few extra flies that are perfect for this. Let me give you a couple. While I dig them out, take my rod and cast to the top of your run; I already have a Trico pattern on it.”

Frank watched the young man cast and offered advice on how to read the run, land the fly more softly, and feel the subtle strike on such a small fly. On his sixth cast, the young man got a strike. Frank walked him through how to successfully play the trout and then netted it for him. Frank noted that the initial look of frustration had been replaced by one of joy. It wasn’t the biggest trout Frank had ever seen caught, but it was the biggest smile he had seen in a very long time.

After Frank gave him his hearty congratulations and a well-deserved slap on the back, the young man returned Frank’s rod with his sincere thanks. Frank then gave the young man the flies he had promised and some guidance on which pattern to fish now that the hatch was over. Frank then left and waded back to the run he had originally planned to fish.

Frank fished the run and pool until 10:00 AM with no luck. The spot where he was convinced his trophy trout was hiding turned out to be empty. As Frank waded back to the river’s bank, he realized that for years he had been fishing for himself, for the catch and the bragging rights. But despite the lingering sting of being skunked, he felt the quiet joy of having been a mentor that day. The river felt different. Frank’s quest to be the best was replaced by the peace of knowing he helped bring a struggling angler closer to loving the sport of fly fishing.

Self-Reflection: In what area of my life am I currently holding onto my own comfort or personal agenda so tightly that it prevents me from fully 'taking up my cross'—and what is one small, tangible action I can take this week to prioritize a higher purpose over that comfort?