I just drove with my son, Paul, from Johns Island, South Carolina, to Baldwin, Michigan, so we could be at our family cabin for the opening of Michigan’s trout season.
That’s kind of a family tradition I have sorely neglected over the past 20 years or so, but I’m now rekindling with Paul. I’m doing so because I fondly remember how important it was for me when I was in my 20s (like him now) that my father-in-law immersed me in the true “culture” side of fly fishing.
(Hint: It ain’t about the fish; it’s about the people and the places.)
Anyhow… I couldn’t resist making a pit stop along the way at Zingerman’s Deli in Ann Arbor. Zingerman’s is now legendary, though I’ll admit at the risk of dating myself, that it was still a bit of an upstart when I was an undergraduate at Michigan. But now, everyone I know, including the most fervent Spartans, Buckeyes and Nittany Lions who visit Ann Arbor for a game concede that if you want one of the best sandwiches you’ve ever had in your life, you must go to Zingerman’s.
Not just a deli sandwich
That day, my Reuben brought me home. Made me feel young again. Right back to the essence. Just as I wished, and just as I had always remembered it.
I pondered over that sandwich between bites. What makes this so special? I asked myself.
After all, you can get great corned beef in many places. Swiss cheese is ultimately Swiss cheese. Sauerkraut is admittedly an art form in and of itself. And no doubt there are differences easily tasted between off-the-shelf Thousand Island dressing and Thousand Island that’s been crafted with loving care.
But at the end of the day, what stands out is the rye bread.
The bread is the catalyst. The bread is what literally holds everything together. It’s an essential part of every bite, and as such, it dictates the taste factor and the whole experience.
It really is all about the bread
Having also spent a good part of my formative years in the Philadelphia region, I learned that there is no such thing as an “authentic” Philly cheesesteak that isn’t made with an Amoroso roll, or another fresh hunk of bread from a legit Italian bakery… in Philly!
I cannot count the number of times I’ve ordered “Philly” cheesesteaks in Colorado, California, Florida or elsewhere, only to be sorely disappointed, sometimes feeling “close but no cigar.”
Even when they “import” the Philly rolls, they’re just not the same. The taste of a shipped roll cannot match up against one that came out of the oven at 2:30 that morning. Anyone who tells you that a cheesesteak bought outside of a 150-mile radius of Philly is as good as a legit South Philly cheesesteak is completely full of lard. (I’ll happily accept a taste-off challenge to be completely sure, but I’m pretty sure.)
You can say the same thing about New York City bagels, Detroit-style pizza and others.
A good metaphor for fishing
So, what on God’s green earth does any of this have to do with fly fishing for trout?
Maybe nothing at all.
But I like to stretch metaphors, and as such, this might be my best stretch of all.
I have come to believe that casting is the fly angler’s bread. Presentation might be the sauce. Reading the water and picking the right bug… those are meat and cheese, and absolutely, better meat and better cheese make for a better sandwich, but you can buy fantastic meat and cheese in many places.
The binding element that holds it all together and makes all those other things work—or fail—is the cast you can make (or not) to feed a trout… a redfish… a tarpon or bonefish… or any other fish in the first place. When the heads are poppin’ and its game on, it’s the cast that takes average… efficient… plausible… suitable… workable or otherwise and lifts the game into the realm of divine.
Don’t you dare be afraid to fish if you don’t have a great cast. You can make a perfectly suitable, probably even delicious and completely satisfying “sandwich” experience, however you want to go about it. And that’s just fine. In fact, it’s wonderful.
But if you want to go gourmet and get into the highest echelon of satisfaction when it comes to any fly-fishing experience, you should get in the “kitchen” and bake the bread. By that I mean practice, ask questions, take lessons and practice more.
Hone the cast, and fly fishing could not possibly taste any better.