We Practice by Doing

Photo by Dave Merwin

This was the dream I have always fantasized about. Spey casting to giant bull trout in a pristine Oregon river. The crunch of snow under my feet. Nothing but the sound of the river as I hike a deep canyon in central Oregon looking for the great white shark of the river. I stepped into a pool that my friend had told me about and I begin to flail with my rod. Trying to cast the impossibly large streamer to hopefully entice a hungry bull. It’s made to look like a mouse. Not the gentle mayfly of summer.

I’m new to spey casting and I look more like I’m swatting a fly with my rod than creating the elegant ark and zip of line that marks a great spey cast. Instead, my streamer is at my feet, being flipped back and forth in the water. And that spasmodic motion is what entices the bull. It rushes to me from the deep pool. It chases my fly back and forth as a fumble with the rod, trying to get a tight line. Back and forth, at my feet, I watch the two-foot-long beast try to eat my streamer. And the more I try to get control of myself, the worse it gets. Finally, when I move my foot for balance, the bull bolts back to safe water, not recognizing the odd tree wrapped in Gortex that just moved.

This is practicing by doing. It’s how I was raised. I don’t remember a single thing that I did as a kid that was ever about practicing. There was no abstract component of refining a skill away from the context of what that skill did.

In my fly fishing family, we learned by doing. We caught more fish when we got it right. We didn’t practice as that was a waste of time of not fishing. Why pretend, when you could walk to the water and do the thing. And in doing the thing you became great at the thing. I remember learning that people would tie a bit of yarn to their rig and try casting that into buckets or hula hoops. It always seemed like a waste. I can remember thinking, why don’t you just go try and catch that big brown under the willows?

I don’t remember my grandfather or father ever practicing. You figured it out as you went. You may have studied, you may have done the research, but then you did the actual thing. Doing the thing was practicing the thing. Maybe I missed something along the way. Perhaps they practiced a great deal, and I just never saw it. But now, as an adult, doing practicing anything is wrapped in the doing of the thing.

I think that part of it was that we lived where you could fish whenever you wanted. There was always water available to you and you could walk 100 yards and be at a pool. And that’s what we did. We simply went out and fished.

In the evenings, we would gather our gear and walk out. In twos and sometimes in threes. Every once in a while everyone would head out together. My uncles and my dad and my grandfather. A troop of fly fishermen walking down the road, excited to be together fishing for trout. I liken my presence to that of a puppy to a pack of old dogs. I was bouncy and full of energy, more questions than careful listening. I still have that feeling now when I head out with friends. Though now I’m the old dog and the kids are the eager puppies.

When you practice by doing, you learn the subtle things that change what the outcome will be. Casting on a river, with over-hanging trees or a valley with the wind coming up the river is very different than trying to cast to a bucket in a park. Knowing how to apply pressure to your rod grip at the end of the cast to direct the fly comes from 1000s of casts over fish that you keep missing. I suppose you could be told how to do that. Maybe.

I think of my uncle in New York. From him, I heard the stories of fisher people trying their hand at casting in central park. I didn’t understand why they didn’t take the train to Long Beach and try their hand at catching strippers. That is a great way to learn how to cast. When huge fish are just beyond your reach, you’ll figure out how a double haul works really quickly.

Doing the thing means you are in the thing. Casting to feeding trout means you are actually fishing. Casting to a bucket means you are learning how to cast to a bucket. Buckets don’t fight very hard and aren’t very picky.

I know that this is a leap but hear me out. I think that if you practice by doing, you fight against consumerism. Keeping up with the Jones. If you are actually doing the thing, then you can only have so many things to do. If you don’t have time to fish, then don’t. And don’t buy all the things that go along with it. Invest in the things you can do, and have peace in knowing you are experiencing that thing deeply. Gain the joy that comes in a thing done for a long time.

Last night I fished with a friend on a new section of my home river. I had run out of the right kind of fly and was content to watch the river and my friend fish. The autumn chill was starting to be felt as August transitioned into September. This is a beautiful time in Oregon. The air begins to clear and everything seems sharper.

I walked back with him from fishing the pools up above where we hiked in and we passed a small pour-over that looked fishy. I knew he had on a huge dry that works well on the river this time of year. I pointed to the backside of the pour-over and told him to cast to it.

On the second cast, a huge native rainbow hit the fly. He played the fish and released it. I was just as excited to have been right as he was to have caught the fish. That knowledge that there would be a fish there is what practicing by doing brings you. The hunch that is a fact. The intuition that makes you appear the expert. That and 40 years of doing the thing.