A Zen-Free Fly Fishing Post

Just returned from my annual end-of-the semester fly fishing trip: a week of sloshing about spring creeks, untangling wind knots and eating re-hydrated backpacker fare.  All in all, a good week: 17 Browns, nine Rainbows and two Brookies. 

Standing midstream last week, I even experienced the slight itch to write an essay connecting time on a trout stream to the Greek ideas of kairos and chronos.  You know, quantitative chronological time versus qualitative kairotic time, or that indeterminate moment in which something unique transpires that will not come about again.  The term kairos is actually related to the weather in ancient Greek, and--fittingly--my best day last week was assisted by the coming together of an overcast, drizzly morning, a box of pheasant-tail nymphs and a wide pool full of peckish Browns. 

But no.  No, no no.  I'm not going to do it.

A few years back I promised myself not to get too zen about fly fishing.  There's entirely too much of that kind of stuff already: The Dharma of the Dry Fly, The Samsara of Steelhead... 

What drivel.  Smarten it up however you like, in the end it's just a man standing up to his nads in a stream and yanking on a fish.  No satori there. 

Move along now.

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