What is the attraction of fishing? Why does one drive two hundred miles round trip and put on these humongous waders and straw hats? Lord knows there’s been days when five hundred…a thousand casts have not fooled one of these wily fish. Plenty of days when getting to that favorite hole has been arduous.
I even know an older man who tore his sub scapular tendon while climbing from The Blue River near Silverthorne. So, what is it?
My friend would say it’s a number of things.
Like getting away from the hecticity of Denver and having the chance to see deer and bald eagles. He says that there is this intoxicating zone one gets into where nothing else matters but the slow moving fly and the anticipation of the strike.
Why, he says it doesn’t matter if it’s a nine inch brook trout or a twenty-three inch bicep bruising…hook jawed…tail dancing German brown that you’ve enticed from it’s hiding place. It’s the zone. Like in a tennis match when the mind is captivated by that silly yellow ball.
Time stands still.
No worries.
Peace and quiet.
Immersion.
We don’t use the word very often. Perhaps because the zone is so elusive. Deep mental involvement. Yes, fishing is that…like the youngster stalking the monarch butterfly with not a care in the word. Immersed to the degree that mom calling ‘lunch’ or a fire truck nearby cannot break this trance-like zone.
So, there you have it.
Fishing is the great escape. It makes hours in the car worth it and snags in the trees tolerable. Stalking trout…or bass, is many times a solitary endeavor pursued by individuals.
Eventually, that nine inch brookie that fights like Joe Frazier reminds us that entering the zone is really about getting in touch with the best part of ourselves that traffic and turbulence so frequently tamps down.
Inspired by Cary Hodges who seeks the zone whenever possible.
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