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“A River Runs Through It” probably got me hooked (har har). Watch the trailer I’ve always loved the water, especially current, and how it plays and moves whatever it winds through. Watching that movie, the way the lines roll across the eddies, the serenity of it all, just kind of stuck with me. So, my senior year of college, I decided to take Fly Fishing at Penn State.

Two days a week we learned stream anatomy, how to tie flies, and how to roll cast in an empty gym. It sparked an interest for sure, but the constraints of a college graduate’s income kept me from actually fishing until last night.

My neighbor belongs to a local fly fishing club and he was kind enough to take me along. I donned the waders I hadn’t worn since my freshman year nailing smallmouth in the Susquehanna. I zipped up his wife’s vest (don’t have one of my own yet, but that’ll soon change), and clodded down toward the stream. First as a group we picked up some rocks and looked at some bugs. Seems Stone Flies were the most popular, with a yellow fly or two emerging. This being my first actual time on the stream, though, I wasn’t as concerned with catching fish as I was with just getting my line wet.

I waded upstream a bit, positioned myself with plenty of distance from my fellow fisherman, and targeted an eddy behind a small rock. I got stuck in a tree, of course, and soon figured out that a roll cast was the way to go. After about an hour or so the rhythm came back to me and I was hitting my target consistently. I had a few bites (or rocks that felt like bites), but as the sun set I came to realize that what attracts me most to this sport is not the catching of the fish (which I hope to do some day) but just the act of fishing. Paying attention to boil lines, eddies, structure, shadows, bugs, sounds–it just brings you closer to that innate sensation we seem to be missing more and more. Just being in the great outdoors.