The stereotypical fly angler conjures imagery of retired men in vests, calmly walking up to the water with a healthy selection of five different size 20 dry flies. Look closer and you’ll see someone with entirely too much time on their hands, sporting a Sage rod that cost way too much money.
The second fly angler is the flannel-clad family man in a flat cap, smoking a mid-tier cigar and sipping whiskey from a not-so-subtle hip flask. The classic bearded outdoorsman who hiked four miles down the railroad tracks to swing for steelhead on a greased line. A man bound by tradition, perhaps. Or maybe just the romantic idea of what tradition is supposed to look like.
Fly fishing doesn’t have to be polished or buttoned up in a wool shirt. I prefer the idea of a sport that thrives on counterculture energy. Consider, for a minute, the typical punk rock values: DIY ethos, anti-establishment, community-driven, bound by one common idea.
Now picture the effective fly angler: tying their own flies, rejecting the mainstream fishing culture sold at Bass Pro Shops, and finding freedom in the riffles of wild rivers and streams.
Breaking Down the Gatekeeping
A fundamental reason I started this blog is to show that the only barrier to entry in fly fishing is the time it takes to grasp the basics. No $1,000 rods. No boxes with 400 different flies. No $800 waders paired with $400 boots.
The average Joe should be able to buy a $50 kit off Craigslist, walk down to the river with a handful of flies, and—with some practice—catch a native redband trout.
The average Joe should also include the couch-surfer in Vans and skinny jeans, not just the upper-middle-class guy buying a new Patagonia jacket every shoulder season. As proponents of counterculture, we reject gatekeeping. Fly fishermen should reflect the same value.
The Community Side
Punk rock shows and fly shops are both places where misfits find each other. Fly anglers are bound together by the love of the process, just as punk rockers are united by the message behind the music.
Fly shops are the confluence of DIY fly tiers, streamer junkies, dry fly purists, enlightened Euro-nymphers, and traditionalist steelheaders. All disciplines of our sport find community backed by an unhealthy fishing obsession.
I sometimes fear that the community side of the sport could fade as the age of Amazon entices anglers with the promise of same-day rod deliveries (never mind you could just drive down to the fly shop and buy one right now).
What scares me most is the thought of losing the exchange of ideas and experiences with friends and neighbors. The local fly shop is a hub for fly tying competitions, classes and clinics, beer-fueled rants, and used gear swaps. That sense of community might be my favorite part of fly fishing—well, that and the meditative effects of silence, solitude, and running water.
Conservation is Rebellion
What’s more punk rock than rebelling against Big Brother and his monopolistic cronies damming up our rivers and streams?
As brethren in resistance, punk rockers have always pushed back against systems that exploit people. We recognize that one of the most noble things we can do is advocate for those without a voice. Fish can’t speak, last time I checked.
As community-focused fly anglers, we owe it to future fishermen—and to the fish themselves—to push back against utility companies and corporations that seek to exploit our natural resources. We are advocates for the fish and the greater riparian ecosystems that the capitalist system threatens to destroy.
Going a step further, supporting wild fish is a way of saying hell no to cookie-cutter, stocked-fish culture. (I might write a separate article in the future about the downsides of hatchery systems.)
My Experience as a Fly Angler
I try to blur the lines between punk rock and fly fishing—literally and conceptually. I’ve got a bunch of American Traditional tattoos, wear Vans and skinny jeans, and listen to a lot of angry music made by pissed-off people.
I also tie my own flies and obsess over a sport steeped in rich Western tradition—a tradition I pore over in the yellowed pages of old books. I look a far cry from the mental prototype of a fly angler, but it’d be cool if future generations describe the average fly fisherman as a bootstrapping misfit with a healthy dose of conviction.
It’s dangerous to follow the crowd and abandon your identity just to become part of the flock. I want to lower the barrier of entry into fly fishing, to entice new anglers with their own beliefs, stories, and perspectives to add to the culture of the sport.
And by bringing more people into fly fishing, we create a greater body of influence to conserve our watersheds.
Fly fishing is for everyone—especially those who don’t fit the mold. No dress codes. Just passion and enthusiasm.
-T
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