(Photo of Cas catching a trout on a hopper.)
One of the things I am often kidded about by my fellow members of the Queen City Anglers Guild (QCAG) is my unwillingness to spin-cast. You know, this is a “fishing club,” not a “fly fishing club,” they tell me. Yet, despite the peer pressure, I have steadfastly resisted spin-casting. To be clear, I don’t look down on the approach to fishing; it simply isn’t interesting to me. If I can’t catch a fish on a fly rod, I would rather not be fishing. It is a position that has caused me no end of grief from colleagues who enjoy the experience of catching fish with live bait or artificial lures. I think a big part of my aversion is that spin-casters always talk endlessly about the number of fish they catch. In contrast, fly fishermen like to tell stories about the hunt and how they outwitted their prey.
It isn't easy to estimate the percentage of fly fishermen anglers accurately. Historically, there have been surveys to try and get an answer, but none are definitive. When I put the question to ChatGPT, the number came back that fly fishing accounted for 10% to 15% of the general angling population. That means 85% - 90% of anglers spin-cast. I am obviously among the minority in my sport. Given so many people enjoy it, there is nothing wrong with spin-casting. Yet, picking up a spinning rod is anathema to me.
On a recent trout fishing trip to Virginia, Cas Denton (one of my QCAG colleagues) gave me an article to read. It was entitled “Fishing Around. The Making Of A Purist.” It was published in Sage Magazine and authored by a young Cas Denton. In the article, Cas talks about his first experience of “fishing on a fly.” He was a spin-caster up to that moment. Cas described how he took the time to select just the right fly to fool a cagey fish, the perfect cast he was able to land, the retrieve cadence he used to trigger the fish’s offensive attack instinct, how the tug got his heart racing, the fight to bring the fish to hand, and the satisfaction of releasing his prey with respect for the fish and a grateful heart for the battle they had played out. At that moment, Cas said he discovered his passion for fly fishing and began his journey of becoming a purist.
A fly fishing purist is an angler who adheres to the traditional methods and ethics of fly fishing. This means using only fly rods, reels, and lines specifically made for fly fishing, as well as artificial flies. Their focus is on technique and skill over technological convenience. Purists practice catch-and-release and have a more meditative approach to the sport. They value tradition over catching the most fish.
Cas’s article struck a chord in my heart. He described how I feel whenever I hunt fish with a fly rod. It was at that moment that I realized I was also on a purist journey. And, the best part was that I had the opportunity to fish and learn from the author himself.
I made a point of fishing with Cas every day on that trip. He has a remarkably soft cast that places a fly on the water. Compared to my heavy-handed Aerial bombs, which hit with a splash, Cas’s flies barely create a ripple. His cast has been honed over decades and is totally effortless. But even more important was the joy I saw that Cas would get for just fooling a trout to eat his fly. He didn’t care if the trout shook off the barbless hook. The thrill was when he felt the tug of a trout after a perfect fly presentation. It was an important lesson on keeping the sport in perspective. The challenge was in being good enough to entice the bite in the first place rather than winning the tug of war after setting the hook. in pursuit of catching the most fish.
Being with Cas made me think about my own purist journey. Was it one I actually wanted to pursue, or did I simply stumble on it? Would I be comfortable getting as much or more enjoyment from the hunt as I do with the catch? Would I be good with not catching large numbers of fish?
Yes, yes and yes. I eagerly want to pursue the path Cas had decided to follow when he wrote that article years ago. I think it will require a commitment to perfecting my casting ability and dedication to paying attention to the details that make the hunt worthwhile.
As I pursue this path, I will always remember something Cas said while we were fishing side-by-side. I was throwing a scud with an orange Oros strike indicator to see the take better. My rig was catching trout while Cas hadn’t had a bite on his hopper. I asked him why he insisted on fishing topwater when the trout weren’t rising. Cas said, “I want to catch the fish on my terms, not theirs.” A half-hour later, Cas had two takes on his hopper, and he was ecstatic. He reveled in the challenge and thoroughly enjoyed the hunt. As a fellow purist in the making, I admire the hell out of Cas and could only hope to ascend to his “spiritual level” of fly fishing. At the moment though, I am still at the level of wanting to feed the fish what they want to eat rather than upselling them on what I think they should choose. But, I’ll get there.
This was the second trip on which I got to know Cas at a deeper level. Every trip is an opportunity to peel the onion back a little more. Not only do I get to know him better as a person, but he also makes me a better fly fisherman in the process. My hope is that we have the opportunity to take many more QCAG trips together so he can mentor me on my personal purist journey.
If you haven’t read David Coggins two books on fly fishing I highly recommend both. He talks a lot about why someone would choose to fly fish over other more productive options… a quote from an article he wrote earlier this year:
“If you want to do this the easy way, you wouldn’t pick up a fly rod. But that’s alright. We’re aiming for something higher here, a certain ideal, an artfulness, though we rarely meet that lofty standard…This connection, this fight is the burst of action that gives fly-fishing its symmetry. Though it’s really asymmetry, since you’re not catching fish that often. This is the moment that you dream of, that justifies all the waiting and speculating. You’re part of a drama — and sometimes, it must be said, that drama turns into tragedy.”
I personally don’t think you get this same range of emotions from a spinning rod.
This is a beautiful story, Ed. While I have known Cas as a member of The Queen City Anglers Guild and have always had much respect for him, I can now appreciate him even more. He is pure in so many different ways. Thanks for relating this wonderful tale.
Myron Koenig
PS I love the sport and started as a young boy fishing with my dad, a cane pole and a live worm. I must admit that I’d probably enjoy fishing like that even today.