On slumps.

Time/Date: 2300 MST, 06-Oct-11
Location: Yellow Pine, Idaho

I'll be honest: this post might not apply to the occasional weekend warrior that fishes every second or third Saturday morning for a few hours. I understand (without any sort of prejudice at all) that, while you enjoy fishing, it's not high on the priority list; wives/kids/jobs/household chores/whatever have to be attended to before fishing can be even thought of.

This post is more for the three or four or more times a week guys & gals that are obsessed with fly fishing. Out on the water, fishing hard, for hours on end, for days at a time.

And not catching anything.

My recent (current?) slump started precisely when I released my second Atlantic salmon ever. Which happened approximately 15 minutes after I released my first Atlantic salmon ever. I was feeling pretty good about myself (you can read about it here).

Two days later, I was back at it again.

Cast. Mend. Swing. Step. Repeat.

Hours go by, but, hey, this worked the other day. I did my homework. There were fish around, too; they were jumping throughout the run & the pool. A tug! Damn, it didn't take. Oh well, there's fish around, though!

This is the first stage of slumps: overconfidence, bordering on delusion. It's almost karma that a slump is starting.

Cast. Mend. Swing. Step. Repeat.

Days go by. Changed flies. Changed leaders. Changed spools. Adjusted speed of swing. Started dead-drifting bombers. Flies are changed more frequently. Back to swinging.

Slump, stage two: self-doubt.

Cast. Mend. Swing. Step. Repeat.

Rain for a couple days didn't stop me, nor did the high water from the rain. But it slowed me down. And I started swearing.

The fish are still jumping, though. All over the place.

Stage three: annoyance

Cast (casts start falling apart).

Mend (and mend and mend and mend...and yank the fly out of the fish's mouth).

Swear (did I mention I'm now swearing aloud, and fishing by myself? Great for tourism...).

Swing (fly's hung up on a boulder...give it a tug...fish comes up with it...the fly comes loose in midair).

Swear (again).

Step (and slip).

Swear (again),

Repeat (for 12 out of 15 days).

Stage four: anger & self-loathing.

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Based on numerous experiences, in life and in fishing, firsthand or secondhand, the following are possible outcomes from here:

• the slumping angler finally catches his fish, and falls to his knees sobbing with tears of joy & elation;
• the slumping angler tells off all the Atlantic salmon (and, inadvertently, the two elderly anglers) within earshot, and goes fly fishing for smallmouth;
• the slumping angler, in a moment of frustration, purposely makes his Helios rod from a 4-piece rod to a 12-piece rod;
• the slumping angler, tired of seeing photos of fish in magazines, books a flight, hotel & guide in New Orleans for sight fishing for redfish.

Wanna guess what two-and-a-half out of four outcomes I've done?
(hint: I don't own an Orvis rod).

********

This is the part that might lose me a few fans...well, I don't have any fans, but it'll probably cause a few people to think of me differently.

The following are things I hold to be true, and they tie in quite well with slumps:

"Well, you know...it's just being out there, enjoying the fresh air and nature and stuff...."

Bollocks.

If I wanted to just enjoy fresh air and nature and "stuff," I would own a backpack and a pair of hiking boots, and that's it. Or maybe a bicycle. Or maybe I'd go sit on a park bench with some breadcrumbs for birds.

I would not own a 3-weight, a 5-weight, a 6-weight, an 8-weight (4-piece), an 8-weight (5-piece), an 8-weight (2-piece fiberglass), a 10-weight, and a 12-weight. I would not be standing privates-deep in 50°F water in the rain in 25mph wind gusts. I would not be collecting Aeroplan & Alaska Air points like some sicko hoarder from reality television for future fishing adventures & schemes.

I do this because the pulse of energy, transmitted from leader to line to rod to me, when a fish takes my fly, is my crack-cocaine.

I fish to catch fish. It's what I live for (now).

And then I let them go. All of them.

"You know what they say: a bad day fishin' is better than the best day at work!"

I say this one myself sometimes. For me, it's largely true: I'd rather fish and get skunked than be at work.

But when it's howling wind, sideways rain, four or five degrees above freezing, and there's a better shot of not catching a fish than catching one...add in waking up at 4AM, spending over $100 on gas (and $35 on beef jerky?!) in three days, arguing with your girlfriend about fishing, losing flies, and chipping your windshield....

...maybe it's just better for you to go to work.

"10% of the anglers catch 90% of this fish."

I don't know if this is true or not.

If it is, I want to be in that 10%. Honestly, I want to be even better than that.

I'm not there...yet. But I'm trying my damnedest by learning one or two new things to help me reach that goal each day.

It's just this effin' slump is getting in my way.

"You can't catch anything without a hook in the water."

Yup.

That's why I go fishing in howling wind, sideways rain, when it's four or five degrees above freezing, and there's a better shot of not catching a fish than catching one. And why I don't mind waking up at 4AM, spending over $100 on gas and $35 on beef jerky in three days; and I deal with arguing with my girlfriend about fishing, losing flies, and chipping my windshield....