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There are two things about me that everyone knows. One, I've ALWAYS got a water bottle with me; a big 40 oz HydroFlask, covered in stickers from notable fishing and outdoors brands. Also, I will turn my nose up at you if you're drinking out of a plastic, disposable bottle.
Two, I'm outspoken and fiercely passionate about public lands.
Read moreI'm not an ultra runner, nor am I even a trail runner. I more or less do this weird combination of walking/running/ skipping/crawling when I'm on a trail. But, my trail time is important to me, maybe just as much so as fishing. It may be because it's my alone time in the woods or maybe it's because for the five or ten minutes that I do run, I kind of feel like superwoman.
What I am is very passionate about Public Lands.
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I've gotten a little bit of slack from friends recently about how little I've been fishing this season. That perhaps I'm just being a wuss about the cold. That could legitimately be a part of it, but here's the bigger issue: selfishness.
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If you're a fly fisherman, you love to share! We pull out our phones to show off our latest brown trout or the permit we managed to catch on a recent trip; we bring out rods we've put together or fly patterns we've just discovered. The closer you are to your fellow angler, the more information you'll divulge, fly tying nights at breweries also seem to get the information flowing. We follow a similar pattern with social media, sharing photos of our daily fishy lives; but when is it too much? What is an appropriate amount of information about your fishing trip?
We live in a world where fly fishing is becoming more and more accessible to people, you run into more people on the water than you used to, and at times you can see how that budding population has taken its toll. So, where is the line between sharing what you love and exploitation for "likes?"
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There's a river that flows not far from the house. It's the one that Jacob and I fish most often, mostly due to proximity and easy access. Not all days can be spent on hour long hikes, although I wish that they could be. We've followed this river for years now, trudging from top to bottom, in sun, rain, and snow. I guess it's appropriate to call it our home waters.
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My fishing career began like most others, dunking worms. Just a couple of years old, with pigtails and bangs, pink spinning rod, and a squirming creature at the end of a hook. My grandfather was a proud spinner fisherman, never picked up a fly rod and never wanted to. He got me out on the water; he was the reason I developed a fascination with fish. But, my tender child heart soon turned from fascination to complete horror. Not only was I to rip worms in half, but then we were hooking a fishing for our sick human pleasure? Um, no thank you. At the time, as far as I was concerned, my fishing career ended at the young age of four.
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