Worm on a Hook

It’s a fella sport. Not purposely exclusionary in any way - just, fella based.

For many years fly fishing was a gentleman’s sport populated by rich, white males - doctors, politicians, businessmen, engineers - the top echelon of society seeking relief from their business and domestic affairs into quiet back country streams in pursuit of the ever elusive trout. And although much else has changed - trout streams under threat by industrial expansion and climate change, the art and sport itself has gradually widened and become more accessible (and cool!) to those with interest (and money!).

Thankfully, I’ve benefitted enormously from women’s rights movements through the years and have an exceptional job which affords me the most valuable commodity of all - agency. Agency affords me choice and freedom to pursue and purchase entrance into hobbies otherwise limited to me by price point alone. I make mention of it particularly in the context of fly fishing because women in the sport are extremely rare.

And when they’re spotted, it’s spoken about as if there’s been a unicorn sighting!

Now, perhaps this is because it’s a boring, gross, barbarous activity that most women have no interest in and believe it to be just, one of those things men do. I personally find it refreshing when people surprise you with interests you wouldn’t have thought “customary” for them to enjoy. Women who shoot competitively, men who sew. Unconscious bias turned on its head - marvelous!

I came to fly fishing by way of the infamous, “River Runs Through It”, and a PBS series, “Foyle’s War.” In these I observed gorgeous countrysides, rolling green hills, bubbly streams, clear water and a casting motion I’d never seen before.

True, I’d gone lake fishing and casting from a pier before (thank you, Pops!), but this was a completely different motion - active, graceful, athletic, artistic. Watching the motion and imaging myself thigh deep in cool, clear waters with a sun-kissed horizon in my sights, I was primed for the hook set!

I knew how expensive it was to enter the sport. Not only is it a historically niche hobby, but finding the places to go and actually try the dang thing is a hurdle. So, I settled on learning how to tie flies in the hopes that my movement would trigger the needle of the universe to conspire in my favor and get me closer to the proverbial stream. I now tie Wooly Buggers and make a pretty mean Elk-hair Caddis. But let me be clear - no small part of my interest in fly fishing was due to the fact that I could not, for the life of me, put a worm on a hook.

I also bought a hat - an Orvis fedora, so you know I was serious. I attempted to take some fly casting lessons in Central Park, but they were always booked. I scratched my head about that too, don’t worry. And on more than one occasion, I misunderstood the directions and ended up somewhere on Madison or over at the New York Public Library, sitting grumpily in Bryant Park eating a bagel to salve my setback.

I took some licks in pursuit of my hobby; self-inflicted mostly. I did try to make light of it once professionally. I was asked to introduce myself at a committee meeting for a corporate law firm I’d just joined, and I lively mentioned my interests - biking, indoor gardening, fly fishing……

Those dots were the number of blank stares I got. I quickly cleared my throat looking back at them in hopes of some sort of reassurance. Receiving only quizzical glances, the room stiffly got back to business and I quickly learned that I was no longer in the kansas of Upstate New York!

It’s a fish out of water hobby in New York City, to be fair. What more can you say than, “ah hah, interesting! Not much of that to do here, eh?” True. When I got my first rod I had to go to the top of my 5th floor apartment to practice casting from off the roof.

I beamed with pride at my fly creations. They really are gorgeous little things - beyond intricate with twists and turns - natural feathers and fabrics crafted together to create a lifelike creature that has the curvatures to entice. It’s an intimate and fascinating cycle to have the privilege of joining. And that’s truly how I view it. I get to participate in this vivid and tactile art - the art of creating a fly and the art of casting it to mimic motion that can lead to the catch of a gorgeously speckled fish with pinks, browns and vibrant greens racing along its sides and belly. A fish that relinquishes only a gentle bite, requiring the focused attention to every twitch on the line of the fisher.

Few thrills match the tug of a fish on a line, caught on a fly of your own making. Reeled and pulled in close, eyes meeting eye, thanks extended for the catch and the release.