By Anthony Naples, on October 13th, 2009
Sometimes something gets stuck in my cranium, bouncing around like a super ball. And I can’t get a hold on it till it settles down a little, till it stops bouncing and starts rolling gently and finally settles somewhere where I can reach it. Well an overheard comment has been ricocheting around my brain for a few months, and it finally settled down so that I can pick it up.
A while back I overheard an off-hand comment by a fly fisherman, I don’t remember the exact wording but it was something like: “I’m not one of those stone turners.” It was said in a way that implied that there are two types of fly fisherman, Stone-turners and Not Stone-turners. And maybe those Stone-turners were just a step or two above “tree-huggers” and were just tolerated because they were, after-all, fly fisherman.
Well that comment has been with me ever since. Now that I’ve digested it a bit I think the reason it stuck with me is that it gets to the core of fly fishing for me and it serves as such a metaphor.
Obviously there’s the literal and practical notion of turning over stones to look for those macro-invertebrates that we fly fishers are always trying to imitate; mayfly and stonefly nymphs, caddis and midge larva, sowbugs and scuds. For me this is an essential part of any outing – at the very least it gives me a starting point and it grounds me in the moment. And who knows? It might just make me a better angler someday.
Along with this goes the idea of environmental awareness – not in the large sense but in the small and local sense. The type of awareness and sense of place that poses the question “What is around me now and how do I fit in?” It’s the pure enjoyment of being out in nature and and really seeing it, of seeing the World not just as a backdrop to the movie of Mankind but as something to be a part of.
I don’t want to get political, but turning over stones obviously leads to the larger issues of the health of the ecosystem and impacts on that ecosystem. Regardless of political leanings I’m sure that as fly-fisherman we all want clean and healthy streams. Fly fishing was an eye-opening experience for me with regard to clean and healthy waterways. I had never thought about it all that much before becoming a fly fisherman, but the quest for great hatches and wild trout, inevitably led me down the road to greater awareness of this issue.
And when you’re turning over stones you don’t just stop at one. I turned over stones that led to fly tying, and rod building and writing. And who knows what else I’ll find under those stones. I reckon I’m a Stone Turner and I’m proud of it. I hope I never stop turning those stones over because when I do that means I’ve finally lost that childlike curiosity and amazement that I’m desperately trying to hold on to. What about you? Are you a Stone Turner?
By Anthony Naples, on October 5th, 2009
I am 38 years old. Which by my reckoning puts me in life’s Autumn years. How do I figure that? Let’s assume I live to be 80, that means I’m about half-way through the seasons of my life. I figure that life doesn’t begin in the dismal mid-winter of January, but with the spring-time promise of April. Is it just a coincidence that Pennsylvania’s traditional trout season also begins in April? So we add six months to April and we get October.
Autumn is the time to look back at a season’s worth of fishing. Sure there is some good fishing to be had – but it is melancholy fishing. Spring fishing is full of hope and anticipation – fall fishing is is tinged with regret (for places not fished) and nostalgia, and it is overshadowed by the looming specter of winter. In the spring anything is possible, but by the time Autumn arrives we realize there are streams we are not going to get to this year.
I recently went fishing on a small stream in the old mountains of southwest Pennsylvania. When I say small, I mean tiny, the kind of place where you can step across the stream in many places. It’s the kind of stream where you get the feeling that any hikers you see are probably thinking that you’re some sort of nut-job to be fishing there. They smile, nod and quickly move on – anybody fishing that trickle has got to be a little “off” and possibly dangerous.
Well, there are some fish there – small brookies. It amazes me that they are there at all. But it is even more surprising in the Autumn – to see these fish in full bloom is always a treat. Sometimes we fly fisherman can get complicated. But once the fish, sparkling and flipping, is in hand – we all become simple, taking in the colors, with wide eyes, with the eyes of a child. Marveling at the absurdity and audacity of nature. It’s proof that we were meant to fish – for surely mother nature would not array these fish in such fine dress, if we weren’t meant to admire them. Maybe that’s being a little anthropocentric, oh well…
Fishing in the Fall always brings out the melancholy side of me (okay it doesn’t take much to do that). I can’t help but to think, “Is this the last trip of the year?”
We can’t know the span of our days or the number of casts that we have left. As I get older I look back more and more and think of things past. Fall just seems like a natural time to do this. Of course there is always the anticipation of a new year and a new season. The spawning colors on that brookie are a promise of that. Nature has saved some of her most beautiful displays for the autumn, the fish, the leaves, the clear blue skies and golden, slanting sunlight. The best wine is brought out late in the celebration.
I want to mention the Fly Fishing Blog, Cutthroat Stalker. A couple of recent posts by Scott on his blog got me thinking about these things: Summer’s End and Monochromatic Interlude. Check them out for some great pictures and writing.
