Posted by Karin Miller on October 23, 2014
Over the years I’ve been compared to many things: I’ve been called “the other” Martha Stewart; a Bulldog – once I bite, my jaw locks and I don’t let go; and crazy. Most definitely I have a Type A personality and everyone that has crossed my path will agree, without any hesitation, that I am a perfectionist. But really, that’s redundant since I already admitted to being a Type A. Curiously, I have also seemed to spend more of my time with men than women. Yeah, yeah, raise your eyebrows. I mean, in the business world. I am attracted to industries and business that have historically been populated and occupied mostly by men, such as commercial real estate and industrial land development. These were careers dominated by men, at least back in the early 90’s. Not surprising, here I am again, surrounded by men, in the fly-fishing world. I’m not complaining – that doesn’t go over well with men – in fact, there are benefits: Life is mostly drama-less. I can drop “F” bombs and not turn heads – usually. I can wear the same fishing shirt multiple days in a row and no one notices. All solid benefits. Most days when I fish or conduct business meetings, or even go on a sales call, its men I’m dealing with. I’m confident and hang just fine thank you, but there are those moments, particularly on the water, that I miss the female compadre. Mind you, I can squat in the woods, drink beer and catch fish with the boys and have a f***** awesome time (see what I mean about the “F” bombs, they just roll from my mouth). But I have to admit, I find myself hoping that more women will find their way into fly fishing and tenkara.
Although I almost exclusively fish with men, I do find that I tend to drift off and fish by myself. I avoid the whole leapfrog, hopping past one another to the next hole experience, and am sort of a loner on the water. Maybe I’m greedy. Maybe I just want the holes and the fish to myself? I don’t love it when another angler “filters” the water ahead of me or even cleans it up behind me. Quite frankly, it pisses me off. Tenkara is the closest thing I’ve experienced to an addiction. I was leery to begin and now I can’t stop and want to hoard all the pockets to myself. It’s shameful. It’s that whole Type A thing I mentioned earlier…my parents fault really. I mean genetics are f***** genetics, right. Ooops, I did it again.
But back to my point: I am competitive and often feel the need to prove myself on the water. In fact, I put so much pressure on myself that for the first 20 minutes I suck! NO, like really suck. I can’t explain it, or maybe I can, but I screw up and cast crappy and tangle and wad up my line like a freak’en baby. I think it has something to do with my competitiveness and “need to succeed”. I literally have to talk myself down from crazy and often take a time out. I slow my thoughts and breathe deep, then start again. And just like that, it’s gone and I settle into simply fishing. Although I have landed many, many fish, I still surprise myself and celebrate each time I complete a landing. I love picking the spot, picking the fly and placing the cast all by myself. It is by far, is the coolest feeling of competency. I feel an unexplainable sense of accomplishment when I unhook my fish, quietly thank it, then release it. I rise from the river feeling a little taller and a little prouder. All women should experience that. Maybe they do. But that sensation in addition to a beautiful setting, the sound of the water and freshness of the river, and it’s truly a meditative, therapeutic experience. I highly recommend it and wished more women would find fun and pleasure in fishing.
I can remember way back when I would consider the day a good one only if I had caught fish. I also remember when touching a fish created terrible anxiety for me. Fish are slimy and their twitchy movements, combined with the close proximity to their mouth necessary for removing a hook, freaked me out. I feared I would get bit Yes, I was indeed afraid to touch fish and removing a hook even caused me to cry several times. Laugh if you will but eventually, I overcame that too. Which just provided another reason to throw my shoulders back a little farther and feel a little prouder.
I will admit one final confession: For years I used my husband’s waders. They were big, they were stinky, but they functioned just fine. The day we shopped for my own pair was a turning point if you will. A passive acceptance to this new hobby of mine, a surrendering to the trout addiction and to a lifestyle of fishing. I committed myself – maybe just because of the financial investment I was making in gear, maybe because it was an activity I would share with my husband, maybe because I have an internal love for water. I will never know why. But, as I narrowed my decision down and made my choice, without hesitation, I did ask, “Do these waders make my butt look fat?”