One thing that’s struck me in 20 or so years of fly-fishing is that the same “class” rivalries that exist in human civilization also pervade our hallowed sport. This isn’t necessarily a rich guy, poor guy, thing. It’s not entirely about income, although there are certain anglers in this corner of the fishing world that do quite well.
Some of us spout Latin and carry stream thermometers, others use old, beat-up rods and have never paid a few grand to fish somewhere for a week. There are a million subdivisions of the class flyus anglerus. I’ve seen all of us get along, and I’ve heard the streamside snickers and pot-shots made behind an unsuspecting fisherman out of earshot.
I heard a great lead singer say to an unruly audience member during a concert: “If you cannot live together in here, you cannot live together out there. Let me tell ya.”
I do a bit of fishing in upstate New York and like to keep tabs on what the outdoor columnists are writing about in different parts of the state. I’m headed up to the Lake Ontario tributaries in a few weeks to fish the dropback steelhead migration. While scanning the news from up north a bit, I found a piece in the Syracuse Post Standard about a fly rod builder railing against “elitists” in our sport. By his reasoning, the Latin-speakers and the $4K rod guys are scaring people away from fly-fishing. I personally think that’s a pretty divisive statement, and the logic is absurd considering the gentleman sells rods for a living.
Why is so much ink spilled on growing our sport? I can see where that might benefit the conservation groups in the fly-fishing world — more anglers = more members = more revenue for the good things fly-fishers care about. But the constant focus on the holy Fly Fishing Demographic — it’s buying habits, its median age, it’s penchant for microbrewed beer — sounds more like the inane scrutiny of a marketing research guru, than a legion of anglers ensconced in group introspection.
My point is, all are welcome here. I like nice tackle, but I also use some shoddy stuff. Am I an asshole because I buy some stuff at Orvis? Am I a peasant fly-fisherman because my salmon rod cost about a hundred bucks? There’s an elitist in each one of us, I think, for the simple reason that most of us would rather toss fur, feathers, epoxy and thread around than, say, slice up some bunker chunks and crack a cold Bud can. (That can be nice on occasion, as well).
If the guy next to me pulls up in a BMW, parks next to my mid-’90s Saturn, throws on an Orvis smoking jacket before stringing up a shiny new Loomis combo and offering an innocent, “Mornin’,” I’ll give it right back. I don’t look like him, act like him, or live like him. But I’ll sure as hell fish with him.
Posted by gjhaze 
