For those Zoolander aficionados let’s be clear from the start: I did not – I repeat, I did not – magically pull my underwear off whilst wearing pleather pants and hoist them victoriously over my head. That’s not to say haven’t tried. And while I am sorry to disappoint those hoping to garner the secret methods for said act, I did do what I consider the piscatorial equivalent. Last spring, on one of the rare nights when two hectic schedules aligned, I was able to get on the river with my good friend Mike. I clipped the hook off my fly. That’s right I clipped it off – and to be honest, I’m still not entirely sure why. Maybe it was fatigue, maybe it was the humidity, maybe it was that I lacked the near unattainable flexibility to accomplish what Hansel so aptly achieved. Maybe. In reality it was probably some distorted and deranged melding of those factors and many more. Regardless, I am glad I did it.
I know I’m not the first person to ever clip a hook off a fly, not by a long shot. In my fishing youth though, the mention of such a brash decision seemed outlandish and otherworldly. I can assure you it is neither of those things, but rather an action followed by a choice, and one I don’t regret.
There I stood, trusty Echo 3 in hand, questioning my very existence. I won’t lie, for the first few minutes I was pretty much convinced that a fish wouldn’t even look at my fly. I even began wondering if there were even fish in the river (doubt seems to be a common symptom of straying from the proverbial norm. Other rare but serious symptoms may include verbal self flagellation, soul mockery, feelings of futility and as always, in severe cases, diarrhea). Some infallible part of me stood confident that they wouldn’t appreciate my backhanded gesture of peace. I could hear them saying “All or nothing, jackass!” I couldn’t have been more wrong (wronger should be a word).
What ensued was complete chaos. Not only did the trout, brimming expectantly with June’s promised bounty, eat my fly, they crushed it– some multiple times. Some even hung on for a few seconds thrashing wildly, not because of a new lip piercing but rather out of sheer frustration and confusion. With my innate compulsion for smart assery, I began to play a game which simply consisted of seeing how many times I could get the same trout to eat my fly. The results blew me away. I found that if I let a trout eat and made no attempt to set, the same fish would chase it multiple times. They would take it and swim back down to their lie, ultimately letting go only when the currents tension made them realize “this is not food”.
What was initially a half baked attempt at some sort of zen transcendence became an all too entertaining and educational experience on the water. I believe fully in deflating the status quo. That’s not to say I don’t’ have the utmost respect for tradition, but I was ruined the first time a fish ate a fly presented in a way that would, by the all too often rigid standards, be incorrect. Further ruin ensued the first time I casted an Echo Base– seriously though that thing is amazing, but I digress.
Clipping the hook in many ways may have defeated the purpose. I subtracted a major part of fishing. But with setting, fighting and landing the fish completely removed from the equation I was able to hone in on the actual eat. Without the flurry of activity that erupts when a fish takes I was able to experiment, I was able to change the way I saw a critical piece of the puzzle. I had to slow down, I had to force myself not to set, (this took a few fish). I had to break away from the engrained rhythm of eat, set, fight, land, release and become excited and curious with just the first. And as a result I gained a new perspective. I changed the way I looked at the process and moreover I had fun. It is these little moments, these epiphanies on the water that make fly fishing so exceptional. And more often than not these moments are the result of blasting a hole through the narrow confines that sometimes accompany our sport.
At this point I could bore you with further specifics of what happened or what I learned, but to do so would actively rob you of the experiences you are going to create when you go out and explore your own version of “Going monk”. So go experiment with your own fishing. Go break some rules (not actual laws). Go do some exploring and as always, GET OUT THERE!
~ Sean Platt is our latest addition to the Echo Pro Team. Growing up in the High Peaks Wilderness of the Adirondack Mountains with a Forest Ranger for a father, Sean was instilled with a reverence for wild places. This love has inspired him to seek a path that combines his passions with ways to give back to both the people and places that have ultimately shaped him. Having spent seven years as a Wilderness Ranger and Ski Patroller in both the Adirondacks and Colorado, becoming a Fly Fishing Guide was a natural progression and one that continuously inspires him. Sean guides for the Hungry Trout Resort in Wilmington, NY and patrols the slopes of Whiteface Mountain Resort during the winter
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