Go Fly Fishing. You Need to Chill.
My scrolling addiction goes away when I’m fly fishing. The sound of running water, the smell of crisp air, and the meditation of casting make hours feel like minutes. The baseline is a sense of serenity that requires your full attention, with the potential for an adrenaline rush when you see the indicator drop below the surface of the water or a trout emerge to eat.
Fly fishing got me through Covid. Amidst the doom and gloom of the pandemic, I found an activity that not only brought me happiness but gave me perspective and taught me virtues. Rather than scrolling on my phone endlessly and debating the latest headline controversy that I knew nothing about, I learned how to find beauty in the periphery and better myself. As this campus reels from the latest tragedies, it’s time for us to get off our phones and onto the river. I am not saying to turn a blind eye to conflict or run away from your problems. I am saying we need to take a step back and breathe, and I can think of no better way to immerse yourself in the moment than fly fishing.
Contrary to popular belief about fishing in general, fly fishing is not your dad’s boring old hobby with a cooler and beer in hand. It’s much more than that. It is a meditative and therapeutic activity because of the need for constant casting. To dispel another common misconception, the hobby isn’t called fly fishing because of fish, rods, or lines that fly; it’s because the hooks are tied with fly patterns that mimic bugs. However, there is some truth in the image of a fly rod and line suspended in the air, because you are typically standing in a moving river, casting into it, and trying to repeatedly mimic a frictionless drift downstream.
The repetitive motion of casting, mending, watching, lifting, and re-casting is where the therapy activates. In those weightless moments, I’ve learned about active patience (when you are 100 percent engaged and paused in the moment) and balance (when a fish finally bites and you need to find the sweet spot between pulling in and letting go; too loose and the hook pops out, but too tight and the line snaps).
Fly fishing is also an intellectual challenge because of the infinite learning curve. It’s a highly technical endeavor — what rod to use, what flies to tie on, how to read the water, etc. It fuels a thirst for knowledge because there is always room for improvement. It’s humbling but unlike other hobbies like golf, there is a more linear relationship between effort and outcome. Every time you step out onto the river, you learn something new, whether that’s the effectiveness of a fly pattern or a new casting technique.
In those weightless moments, I’ve learned about active patience and balance.
We are living in a world of distraction with a constant barrage of attacks from the past and the future. We all need a reprieve for living in the moment that still scratches the itch for self-improvement and productivity. Fly fishing has done that for me–first getting me through Covid and now giving me something to always look forward to. I’d highly recommend it for you.
The hardest part is knowing how to get started, so let me make it easy for you. You can walk into any fly shop and ask for advice. Lost Coast Outfitters is a great shop in San Francisco and worth a call for the lay of the land. They’ll tell you about Putah Creek, the South Fork of the American River, or the North Fork of the Yuba River. Or you can find an amateur fly fishing friend in your class (there’s always at least one) to take you out and show you the basics. From that point, there’s no going back.
Editor: Kha-ai Nguyen
