Suicide or Fly Fishing?

13th April 2008

A strange thing happened on the way to this blog. I was going to talk about the despair that leads towards thoughts of suicide. Instead of which I will be talking about fly fishing.

I got up today and the day was overcast, dry and warm. A good day for fly fishing. When I arrived at the lake which is only 8 to 10 miles from where I live, it was overcast, raining, and cold. I began with 3 flies, as always. There was a small black buzzer (size 14 – the only fly I can tie well) on the top, a larger buzzer on the middle dropper and a large, improbably fluorescent daddy on the point.

None of that means anything to anyone who does not fly fish, I realise. What it does mean is that I was using 3 flies and the fish were having none of it.

Fly fishing is a great leveller of people. You can have all the money in the world and the fish can still turn their noses up at you. I am not a good fly fisher. I have an elbow problem that makes distance casting difficult. One of the great sayings of fly fishing is that not all distance casters are great anglers, but all great anglers can cast a distance.

Anyway, suicide or flyfishing?

I was going to talk about suicide. Not the supercilious ‘here’s how to do it’ type of blog. It was going to be about the despair and depression that lead to thoughts of suicide. The black dog that lives in your soul. The one that I have seen and known recently. Life is hard. My life has been unravelling. Debts that I can not control, a job taken away because of the economic outlook, and my inability to talk to my partner about any of the issues. I feel worthless with a cold pit in my soul.

Why fly fishing today? It is simple. Fly fishing allows me to avoid and forget (for a while) my problems. Fly fishing is a sport of concentration, of luck, and ability. I lack all three, which is a shame.

The point of fly fishing is not to catch fish. The point is to teach humility. Think about it. You cast a hook dressed with feathers that hopefully looks like something a trout might want to eat. The angler tries to make the fish take the imitation fly. The trout look at it and turn away. You have to be humble in this game.

Casting a fly would be easy, if it weighed more that a piece of wool on the end of a 30 foot length of line. Unfortunately it doesn’t. The method is to make the line float in the air, to induce a whip into the line that takes that small fly out onto the water, just for the fish to ignore.

Today I got up at 6:00. I was awake at 4:00 my mind racing about my problems but by 7:00 I was beginning to think about fishing. That is one of the great things about fly fishing. You have to forget your problems. Only calm will do, it is very zen.

I arrived at the small lake at 8:00. It was calm. 2 other anglers were there, they had tackled up and were fishing. I walked along the bank to the spot I like. I laid out my landing net first, as I always do, then I put the rod together and threaded the line through the eyes. No talking, no outside thoughts, just looking at the water, where are the fish rising? This is the quiet time. The time to empty thoughts, to forget. This is the perfect time.

As soon as you begin to fish you lose. Take too many fish and it is too easy. Take none and it is a defeat. Take any and you still lose, unless to take one and immediately pack up your tackle, which is impossible. So you always lose. That is fitting. You spend your time and skill, the fish spend their lives, for you.

The mechanics of fly fishing are simple. You cast the fly, let it sink a bit and retrieve it. The actuality is different. The cast, did it land on the water without disturbing the fish? Let the fly sink to the depth that you think is where the fish are and then retrieve it, trying to make it look alive.

The angler has to forget everything, clear his mind. He can be there for 4 hours or more. He has to have his mind alert for a tug, a slight movement in the line. Then, if he does not react immediately the fish will spit out the cold taste of the hook.

I stood on the bank. I saw my first squirrel of the year. The squirrels that live in our garden have not made an appearance yet but here there was one jumping from tree to tree. The ducks flew in and swam over my line without catching on it, how do they do that? Chaffinches started a domestic argument raising a racket that would disturb the dead, but not the fish.

It begins to rain I cast. It rains some more and I cast again. I wonder about my flies. Should I change them? Perhaps flies with more colour, perhaps bigger would be better.

My hands become cold, red with the breeze and rain. My mind begins to play music. I can not clear my mind of songs. Captain Beefheart songs do not help with my fishing, but the Captain will not go away. he has been part of my life for 40 years, why should he go now? The line twitches, the fish is playing with me. I become aware, the line moves and I lift into a fish.

Another fish follows on the next cast. Then nothing for 2 hours. I go home.

Depression returns and I open a bottle of whiskey. But for 4 hours it was good.