The Drift Blog

Take Me to the River to Pray

Fly fishing has arguably turned into something more similar to an organized religion than a sport, created through fly shops, online tying groups, and river baptisms. However, unlike religion, all waters are our church and the fly gurus are our Gods. We sport our association daily, wearing our favourite branded trucker hats with torn brims from using them as a makeshift fly drying patch and offering advice from the Good Book (fly blogs, YouTube tutorials, and classic hard covered books written by our fellow angling forefathers such as Haig-Brown).

Our rosary hanging from our rear view mirror is a fly rod delicately placed between the passenger and the driver, with its reel carefully held in place on the dashboard, or maybe a pair of nippers around a worn lanyard. On Sundays we stand in the river and think about life, dreams and troubles. we talk to the river, alive and silent, as we would a priest in confession; confessing our wrongs and seeking advice. The river listens in strong silence, helping guide our thoughts and keeping our confessions safe. We abide by our ten commandments: thou shall pinch one’s barbs, thou shall not low-hole someone, thou shall never carry a banana on a boat, ect. We follow those religiously.

Like a child being forced to sit in the pews at church, we go through life sitting through aimless conversations, and like a hound, perk up when we hear the word ‘fishing’. (Very similar to how you feel as a kid when the bread and the juice begin to be passed around).

We all fish for different reasons, but we all share one thing in common; and that is that, fly fishing calms our souls, and heals our minds. It’s as meditative as you want to make it.