There's ways to catch fish and then there's ways to catch fish...
Simply the best way in my opinion is spending a lazy afternoon kicking around a high elevation lake tossing flies at rising trout.
Fly fishing...
So much romantic crap has been written about the eternal battle between man and the tiny brained trout it makes me ill. The real reason men - and now women - fish is for sheer fun! Oh sure there's some visceral pleasure in actually outsmarting a 2 or 3 pound trout, but the real pleasure is when your rod tip dips, dances and the feeling is transmitted to your hands.
Fly fishing...
There's no better way to get in touch with your place in the universe.
There's a certain Zen appeal to rhythmically casting to a rise, or mastering the right retrieve for whatever imitation insect you have on the end of your line, or for even matching what the fish are taking that particular trip to the lake, stream, river or wherever your favorite fishing hole happens to be.
I prefer the challenge of still water fishing from a belly boat. (Or more correctly, a pontoon boat, since I really sit on the thing and not in it.)
An early morning drive up to a hidden lake rewards me with all sorts of wilderness experiences. The black bear cub that watches me from behind a stand of spruce... the deer at water's edge... the loons and their mating dance...
Speaking of loons...
They're cagey buggers. And not above stealing your fish. I'd heard stories about how they actually take trout right off your hook while you're desperately trying to land the little guys. I laughed at these stories.
Then it happened to me one day.
Picture this:
Me and best fishing buddy on a tiny little walk in lake known to house some of the most prized
lunkers in the area. Buddy gets down the lake before I do; I stop to fish a deep spot. No action, but I see he's getting some hits so I kick hard to where he is.
On the way down the lake, I get a HUGE strike. Almost takes the rod right out of my hands. This is a serious fish. I abandon the reel in favor of just stripping in line to keep this monster from taking off when out of the corner of my eye I spot the loon diving.
The memory of fish-stealing loon stories comes immediately to mind. And sure enough the bird is after my fish. Now I'm horsing the line in, dragging the fish (which I'd normally play with a certain flair and delicacy) so the damn loon doesn't get him first. I'm more worried about losing line, backing and maybe even rod, and the loon keeps on coming.
The clear water lets me watch as the loon approaches the fish, I can see him getting closer. Finally he's close enough that I can kick at him with my big flipper, all the time yelling, "F*** off loon, this one's mine!"
Buddy is laughing so hard he's practically falling out of his pontoons.
I get the fish landed, a nice two and a half pound rainbow, and release him. But not until after the loon has surfaced and watches to see what I do with "his" catch.
It's a great story and usually worth at least one beer around the campfire or in the local watering hole.