I love flyfishing, but it probably wouldn't be a stretch to say I am still an amateur at best, and perhaps inept in the sweet art at worst.
I have been flyfishing for the past 11 years in an irregular sort of way. Being a hardworking father of three with a busy career, I have always done it catch as catch can. I am largely self-taught and have never had a lot of success in fast-moving water pulling those trout or whitefish out of the depths. I am largely an ambush fisherman, sneaking dry flies around the corner of slow moving creeks to catch a surfacing trout downstream unawares– with mixed results.
Over the past 10 years I have soaked up what I could from various ad hoc teachers, and spent a few thousand dollars on gear and tackle (admittedly not as much as some others).
All of these things I can account for, and have to accept as my own built-in limitations. But what I can’t account for, and seemingly have no hope of ever achieving at this point, is the “knack.” Some fishers have just got it, and I am not one of those.
It is agony to keep casting hour after hour on the same stretch of river and watch the two guys immediately across the way catch fish after fish. I even fished with a guy a few times so gifted we would work the same stretch of water using the gear he tied for me (identical to his own) where he would catch a fish every five to ten minutes while I never even saw a glimmer of one on my hook.
Say what you will, the knack is real, and it separates the amateurs from the pros and savants. Not just in fishing, but in every set of human skills.
So why torture myself? Hey, it’s a dad thing to do, right? A father’s sacred right to want to try at something and persevere despite repeated failure. It’s the same for the do-it-yourselfer whose duct taped innovations defy gravity, the amateur woodworker with a missing pinky tip, or the lawn and garden enthusiast with white spots here and there amid the green. We all must seek for and find our bliss even if that blissful air is laden with profanity laced curses, stubbed toe kicks and clumps of hair ripped out of scalps.
There is an undeniable sense of achievement for dads like us to be found in failing upward. So Happy Father’s Day to all you bliss seekers and beautiful failures. I am right there with you.
-Tim Kalinowski is the Editor of the Airdrie City View and Rocky View Weekly
