Fly Fishing & Frustration

Fly fishing is filled with times of frustration: getting rained out on the stream, losing a fly in a low hanging branch, being unable to thread your thin tippet line through the hole of a tiny little hook because your hands are too cold. One time I drove an hour from home to fish a new river. When I opened the trunk to put on my gear, I discovered that I had my vest and net, but had left my fly fishing rod at home.

Perhaps the ultimate frustration in fly fishing is not catching any fish. Sometimes no matter how advanced our casting skills, or how perfectly tied our flies, the fish simply will not rise. When getting skunked for hours, I try to rationalize the situation, saying: “I’ll just use this time to practice my casting.” That usually does not work for long. The sport is called fly fishing, not fly casting.

Picture: Battenkill River in Vermont.

Over the years, I realized that frustration from not catching fish usually has to do with expectations. When I first taught myself to fly fish, I was lucky to see one or two bites in an entire afternoon. I was thrilled the first time I caught a trout on a dry fly, a small rainbow of about eight inches. I was not frustrated by the other three hours of fishing because I was just learning.

After that first trout, I began to develop expectations. As my skills developed and my casting improved and I could catch more fish, my expectations only continued to rise. Today, a few hours on the stream that do not yield a single bite can cause some serious angst.

Expectations in life can be a good thing. When a baseball coach demands one hundred and ten percent, it pushes the player to new levels of athletic achievement. When a teacher gives a difficult assignment but the student works hard and succeeds, she learns and grows. When a parent expects a child to do chores, apply himself and to treat others with respect, he becomes a better person

In religion, expectations are important as well. The Torah, the Hebrew Bible, contains 613 commandments, each one containing an expectation of behavior.  When Rabbi Hillel was asked what is the most important command of Judaism he said: “That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow. That is the whole Torah; the rest is the commentary.” Likewise, God expects ethical behavior from us all. The prophet Micah said: “God has told you, O man, what is good, and what the Lord requires of you: Only to do justice and to love goodness, and to walk humbly with your God.”

Expectations from teachers, from coaches and even from religion can be a good thing when they motivate us to do better or to be better. But expectations on the fly fishing stream are probably a waste of time. Not too long ago, someone asked me for the most important tip in fly fishing. I said to him: “Be sure to look up from the river every once in a while, take a breath of air, hear the soft sound of the flowing water, and appreciate the beauty of all that surrounds you.” In fly fishing, when I expect to catch trout, I am guaranteed to be frustrated sometimes. When I expect to be out in nature, to soak in the solitude of the stream and to leave behind the stress of the world, I find fulfillment.


Picture: On Mt. Equinox in Vermont.

I may still get frustrated when not a single fish rises. When that happens, I will try to remember that time I went fly fishing and left my rod behind. After I discovered that I could not fish, I decided to go hiking along the stream. I saw deer and ducks. I got stuck in “sinking mud,” almost becoming a permanent resident of the stream. I spent time outside, in nature, and I was able to look around, to relax and to appreciate the beauty of our world. And I learned that sometimes you do not need a rod and reel to have a good time on the river.

Holding a Trout in Your Hand

On one of my first fishing outings of the season, I was fortunate to find a pool full of trout on a local Connecticut stream. Although the river was narrow and shallow for much of it’s length, there was one deep spot. I tied a red Copper John to my tippet and then proceeded to have an experience that I had dreamt about all winter long. I caught, landed and released 6 good-sized trout in half an hour, 4 rainbows and 2 browns.

It was like child’s play, with almost each cast leading to a fish. Then suddenly, the pool went quiet. Another thirty minutes of casting yielded not a single bite. Only one other time have I ever fished a pool like that, two years ago, also in April, near Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. On that day too, I drifted a nymph, a zug bug, and for a brief time, each cast led to a trout.

It was exciting, almost addicting, to cast my fly into the invisible depths of the pool, instantly feel the tug, and then pull a beautiful trout out of the water. The highlight of the experience though was actually holding the fish in my hands. To ensure that the trout would survive, I dunked my hands in the water and I only kept the fish out of the water for a few seconds, before releasing it back to the stream. Yet those were remarkable moments when I looked at the beautiful colorings of the fish, and felt the strength of its flesh. Holding the trout, I felt awe at seeing such a beautiful creature. I felt powerful, because I could hold this hidden treasure in my hand. And I felt compassion, for a creature that was so strong and agile in the water but now was so vulnerable in the open air.



One of the rainbows I held in my hand, taken with a camera phone.

In the Bible, God has the power to hold us in the Divine Hand in the same way that I held that beautiful trout. Sometimes God’s hand can be strong and even punishing, as when God brought the 10 plagues upon Egypt. In the same way, I had absolute control over that fish when I held it in my hands and could have easily taken it home for dinner.

The hand of God can also be a hand of compassion. When God heard the suffering of the Israelite slaves in Egypt, God freed them with an outstretched arm and a mighty hand. God’s hand can free the oppressed and help the suffering to find comfort. I too wanted the trout to be free, and so I released them from my hands.

The hand of God can also be a hand of protection. A hamsa is a small amulet shaped like a hand often with an eye in the center of the palm. Some Jews wear a hamsa as a pendant or on a necklace to provide protection from the evil eye and other misfortunes. A hand can be sheltering, helping those who come under its protective care. The spiritual “He’s got the whole word in His hands” sung by African-American slaves captures this same idea; even in the midst of the worst of conditions, God’s hand can protect and shield us.


Hamsa from: www.luckymojo.com

Even when fly fishing, our hands can provide protection, for the fish and for the beautiful places where they live. At the end of the day, I found myself wanting to give something back, to the stream that had shared such abundance with me and to God who had ultimately created such a beautiful world. As I hiked back to the car through the woods, I saw a pile of trash, about a dozen empty beer cans and some plastic bags and small boxes. I was disgusted for a moment, as I often am when seeing how people harm nature for no good reason. But then I took the same hands that had held the trout and used them to pick up that trash, and in the smallest of ways, leave the stream a little bit better then when I arrived.

Finally, the hand of God can be loving. After Adam and Eve ate the apple in the Garden of Eden, God told them that they must leave and earn their bread through hard work. God then made garments for Adam and Eve and clothed them. God’s hands were loving, ensure that His children did not have to go out into the world with no protection at all.

When I was holding those trout in my hands, I too felt this type of caring. I could not help but think of the sensation of petting a dog. It is an imperfect analogy, as man’s best friend likes being scratched, and a fish is in danger in human hands. Yet, I still found myself wondering if maybe all of the trout in the world are like our pets, and by spending a moment with them in our hands, we too can appreciate their beauty and grandeur. Then like God releasing Adam and Eve into the world so that they could live, I opened my hand and returned the trout to the stream, unharmed and whole.

Fly Fishing in the Rain

I am not a hard-core fly fisher when it comes to the weather. I generally fish when the air temperature is at least 60 degrees, which limits my fly fishing season in the Northeast to the months of April through September. When planning a trip to the river, I always check the weather and I will cancel a fly fishing excursion if the sky is too gray or storms are imminent.

I suppose that my willingness to stay home rather than take a chance on getting rained out came from a fly fishing excursion five years ago. When living in Brooklyn, New York, I traveled to the Connetquot River on Long Island a few times each summer. One time after an hour drive and a half hour hike to the river, I arrived to find the stream high and muddy. Then it began to rain. I stood there frustrated, wondering why I had come so far only to be rained out. I packed my things and left.

Five years later, the memory of the rainy fishing experience still with me, I contemplated an afternoon of fishing. That day, Hurricane Hanna was supposed to make its way up to the Northeast. It always gives me pause when a hurricane, so dangerous and powerful in New Orleans, Texas or North Carolina, arrives in Connecticut and all we get is a few inches of rain.

As I gathered my fishing gear, I knew that the forecast was bleak. But I needed to fish that day, the same way that a baseball player needs to swing a bat or Michael Phelps needs to be in the pool. Life was pretty hectic, and my very sense of well-being demanded some time away from the stresses of work and everyday life, time spent in the solitude and beauty of nature.

It was sprinkling when I walked from my car to the river. As I began to cast, it began to pour. There I was, standing in a river with a hat and waders up to my chest, and I was getting soaked. At that moment, I could have thought about how I would not catch any fish in the rain and how I would have to go home early. Instead, I stood there watching the drops hitting the water and feeling the warm 80 degree rain on my neck.

As the rain fell, I was surrounded by water on all sides, from above and below. I was reminded of the Creation story in Genesis. In the very beginning, the earth was unformed and chaotic, and a wind from God swept over the primeval water. On the second day of the world, God shaped that initial body of water by forming an expanse, separating the waters above from the waters below. Waist deep in a river with thick drops of rain falling everywhere, I felt myself a part of the waters above and the waters below.

There was something deeply cleansing about that moment in the rain. In Judaism, the mikvah, ritual bath, provides a similar sort of experience. A mikvah is a small pool of water located indoors. The water used in the ritual bath must be very pure, and can come from a spring fed-river or collected rain water.

When a person converts to Judaism, they go to a mikvah. The man or woman removes all clothing and jewelry. With a rabbi, friends and family outside the room but within earshot, the convert dunks in the water three times and now has become a Jew. Many converts tell me that dunking in the mikvah is powerful, and they come out of the water feeling cleansed and purified. Standing in the stream in the summer rain, I too felt as if I had entered a higher state of being, with all material concerns washed away by the living waters.

After a few minutes of hard rain, it got cold and I went back to the car. On the drive home, I tried to reflect on why I enjoyed this trip in the rain and my excursion five years ago in Long Island left me feeling so frustrated. There were the practical reasons. When it began to pour, I was only twenty minutes from home, not a half hour hike and one hour drive. This time, I also caught and released an eight-inch brown trout right before the rain became too strong. But there was more.

Fly fishing in the summer rain was an experience. It was a moment when I felt truly grateful, for the river, the warm rain and the fish. The best memories of fly fishing trips do not always center on large trout brought to the net. The times that I will always cherish are those when I appreciate nature all around me, and I give thanks for time spent on the water and a warm summer rain.

Praying for Trout?

In the course of my years of fly fishing, I have probably spoken dozens of prayers while on the stream. When the sun was well below the horizon, and there was just enough light to tie on one more fly, I said to myself: “Please let one more trout rise.” When the rain clouds were forming, and it looked like my day of fly fishing was going to be cut short, I may have whispered: “Just a little longer, please.” And of course, when the trout were not biting, and every cast and every fly was ineffective, I might have said out of frustration: “Come on, just one bite.”

As The Fly Fishing Rabbi, sometimes people ask me if my prayers for trout to rise are answered more readily than those of everyone else. I think not. I’m just as likely to get rained on, or to lose my fly in the dark or not to catch a single fish as anyone else.

As I thought about praying on the stream, I asked myself: What should we pray for when fly fishing? Is there such a thing as a blessing for fly fishing?

In Judaism there are two types of prayers, petition and thanksgiving. When we say “Come on, just one bite,” we offer a petition, asking for something specific. But I am not sure that this is really a prayer. To pray usually means bringing God into the equation. At my Temple, we say a healing prayer, called the mishebeirach, each week at services. I look around the sanctuary and ask people to share the names of those that are ill. And then we sing and pray together that they will find healing. Asking for a fish to rise is not exactly a prayer. It is a wish. Asking God to heal a person is a prayer.

There are prayers that are good for fly fishing, and they are prayers of thanksgiving. Ironically, I am more likely to say a prayer of thanks when I am not catching fish. When the trout are rising, I am to busy or excited to think about anything but the fishing. But when the water is silent, and I cannot get a bite, and I am not too frustrated, then I sometimes take a moment to look around. I watch the river flow by. I feel the breeze. I smell the pine needles.

Picture: A beautiful stream to be thankful for.

When I see the beauty of nature, I ask myself: How did such an amazing earth come to be? What did I do to deserve to live in such a beautiful place? Feelings of awe, connection and humility come to me. And then I am led to a simple response: “thank you.” Saying “thank you” when fly fishing is to acknowledge that this earth we live on is a gift. Saying “Dear God, thank you” when on the stream is to offer up a prayer.

In Judaism, there is a formula to begin a blessing: Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech HaOlam, Blessed are you, Adonai our God, Ruler of the Universe. Then you add thing for which you want to say “thank you.” Sometimes when fly fishing, I speak the words of this blessing from Jewish tradition: Blessed are you, Adonai our God, Ruler of the Universe, Creator of light and darkness, Maker of peace, Creator of all.

The next time I am on the stream, I will probably still wish for the rain to hold off and a big trout to take my fly. But I will also try to take a moment to offer up a simpler prayer. I might just say something like this: “Dear God, thank you for the gift of this amazing world.”

Fly Fishing and Harmony

Harmony is when things fit together. In music, harmony occurs when two notes are sung together and they create a more beautiful sound. In art, a masterful painting has the perfect combination of color and line. The colors of a Monet painting compliment one another and form beautiful images of lilies and peaceful lakes. The great mathematicians speak of the harmony of a proof. When all of the pieces of a complex mathematical formula work together, they create a harmony leading to new knowledge and understanding.

Harmony is not reserved for musicians, painters or mathematicians. We all experience moments of being in harmony with our surroundings. At these times, we feel that we fit in perfectly where we are, that we are a natural piece of the puzzle. For me, one place to find harmony is by fly fishing the cold water trout streams.

One river that I often fish, the Connectquot, is located in a nature preserve. Since the river sees many fly fishers, the wildlife is accustomed to human beings. When walking back from the stream at sunset, I sometimes see a small herd of deer among the trees. I stop walking. They stare at me. I look at them. There is a moment of silence. And I feel the harmony, when two of God’s creatures, a human and a deer, can spend a moment together in peace.

When in the stream, I also feel harmony with nature. Of course, I know that the trout and I do not have such a peaceful relationship. I’m either catching and releasing them or getting frustrated that they will not take my fly. But when I am waist deep in cold water, and I am tying a new fly on my line, and I am not moving, and I am not talking, and all I hear are the sounds of the bugs and the flowing river, then I feel at peace with all that is around me.

Picture: A peaceful place on the Battenkill River in Vermont.

Sometimes a family of ducks swims by, first the mother, then 5 or 6 young ones with their fluffy baby feathers. I stop what I am doing, I watch them, and they swim by going about their business. I crave these moments of harmony, when I feel like a natural part of the world, when I fit in with the river, the deer and the ducks.

In Hebrew, the language of the Bible and the Jewish people, you greet someone by saying "shalom." The word has many meanings. Shalom means “hello” and “goodbye.” Shalom means “peace” so that when two countries cease fighting, they have reached a state of shalom. The root meaning of shalom is wholeness or completeness. When we are in harmony with our surroundings, we feel whole and we find shalom, peace. In Judaism, a family strives for shalom bayit, which means a peaceful home. When the members of a family live in harmony, working together to compromise, listen, and care for one another, they create a peaceful home.

The Bible says that we all can be rodfei shalom, seekers of peace. That means that we must strive to end conflict and war. But the phrase also has a spiritual meaning; we all seek harmony and wholeness in our lives. I find that sense of shalom, of peace, when fishing on a beautiful river. And sometimes I think to say shalom to the passing ducks or deer, but I’m not sure how well they know Hebrew.

Feelings of harmony are hard to find and they are fleeting. On my drive home from the trout stream to New York City, my feelings of peace are easily challenged. The sound of two honking car horns is not very harmonious. But when I return home, I try to store away those feelings of shalom, of peace. Then when I close my eyes, and I think of the ducks, and the trout and the trees, I remember the harmony I felt on the stream. And it carries and sustains me for many days.

Fly Fishing and Solitude

I live in New York City with 8 million other people. I am a Rabbi in a Temple with over 2000 members. There are 125 apartments in my building. I have voice mails, e-mails, a cell phone and a blog. In my life, it can be hard to find solitude. And that is ok, because I am a people-person. I love being part of a Temple and a community. But sometimes we all need a few moments alone. It is then that I pack my waders into the car, drive to upstate New York, and spend some time in the cold water streams with only the occasional trout that I may be fortunate enough to land.

When fishing, I am always looking for that spot along the stream that is deserted. I leave behind the well known fishing holes, those with the famous names and stories of large trout rising to the fly. And instead I walk, hike and search for that spot on the river where the fishing may not be as good, but I can soak in the solitude. The places I crave are remote enough that my senses will only detect the sights and sounds of nature. The perfect spot is one where I see trees rather than other fishermen, and when I hear the sounds of rustling water, wind and crickets, rather than airplanes and cars.

A bit of solitude I enjoyed while fishing at Montauk State Park in Missouri.

Solitude is valuable because it cultivates within us other traits, like perspective. When I am on the stream, all of the everyday annoyances of life melt away. E-mails go unchecked, the cell-phone is out of range, and all of the problems at work, errands to be run and everyday problems begin to fade away. Fly fishing is about living in the moment, being so caught up in your casting and search for trout, that everything else disappears. The solitude of fly fishing brings a welcome break from the world.

Another form of perspective begins to rise when I am on the stream long enough, and that is the feeling of appreciation. After a while in my waders, I find myself counting my blessings. It is not the problems that come to the surface, but rather all of the good things I have: my health, family and friends. I recall good memories of the past. And I think of other blessings, having a job and a place to live. When alone in the cold water, I often say thank you, and I appreciate all of the amazing gifts that life offers.

Of course, the trout stream is not the only place to search for solitude, perspective and appreciation. These are found also when praying. In a Jewish house of worship, the room where one prays is called the Sanctuary. The name of the room describes its purpose; a Sanctuary is a place to escape from the outside world, to be protected, shielded and safe.

And even during a prayer service, when the sanctuary is filled with hundreds of people, there are still moments of precious solitude. During each service, I invite everyone in the congregation to pray silently. I often introduce the silent prayer this way: “Take a moment to close your eyes. Feel the air coming in and out of your lungs. Listen to your heart beat. And then offer a blessing for all that is good, holy and precious in your life.”

It turns out that we can find solitude when alone and with others—when fishing a deserted stream or when we close our eyes with 300 other people in a Sanctuary. For solitude is not just about being alone. It is about creating a space within ourselves. A space to find perspective. And a space to appreciate all that we have been given.