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Back to fishing
When I was a kid, I used to cast fish on the banks of the Garonne or the Canal du Midi with my buddies. We caught black bass, pike, pike-perch... With spoons and other "rapalas" that swallowed almost all our pocket money. But we thought it was great.
Then Parisian life swallowed me up: metro-boulot-apéro-Netflix-dodo. Until that famous Sunday when, after scrolling for two hours over YouTube videos of sharp guys in the middle of crystal-clear rivers, I said to myself, "What if I got back into it?"
This time, however, soft lures and spinning rods are out, and artificial flies in.
What appealed to me? The idea of disconnecting for real. No network, no notifications, just the sound of water and a moment to myself.
Fly fishing is the perfect opposite of our times, or at least the way I live them. It's about slowing down, observing, screwing up a thousand times before you figure it out. It's contemplative. Well, that's the theory. Practice, at first, is a torment to the ego.
Flies everywhere, all the time, for everyone
First discovery: fly fishing isn't ONLY about trout in mountain streams. I learned that fly-fishing is just as good for sea bass in Brittany as it is for pike in lakes.
What's more, you can practice all year round, in summer of course, but also in winter, thanks to the reservoirs. Wherever there's water, there's potentially fish. And wherever there are fish, you can (theoretically) fly-fish.
Let's say "theoretically", because there's a gulf between theory and actually landing your fly where you want. A chasm into which every beginner must fall, and fall many times.
How did I survive my early days (and where can I find help)?
Learning to fly fish when you live in Paris, work and have a family is possible, but you need to be motivated. I obviously started from the comfort of my living room, via YouTube and tutorials where everything seems easy and accessible.
Then I discovered the local fishing association, which organizes fishing initiations. First Saturday in July, we meet in the heart of the Bois de Vincennes, and I'm alone among the regulars. Didier, my guide, is a young retiree, dynamic and passionate. Thanks to me, he'll discover his Buddhist patience.
Didier lends me a rod and gives me my first tips. After 2 hours, I realized it wasn't easy, but it wasn't impossible either. Then my line got tangled. Nine times. But the pleasure was there.
Since then, I've become a member of a small association. We meet almost every Sunday.
So, yes, Paris and large urban areas are less suitable than places bathed in nature. But there are enthusiasts everywhere, ready to pass on their knowledge and give you a head start. All it takes is a little searching. And be prepared to look like an idiot for the first three months.
My advice after 3 months and 7 sessions: go for it. Literally. Even if you suck. Even if your cast doesn't look like anything. Fly fishing is the school of humility. And frankly, in this day and age when everyone's bragging about themselves on LinkedIn, it feels really good to be a beginner again.
Next, I'll tell you about my first equipment purchase. Or how I almost spent 2000 euros because a salesman told me that "Japanese carbon changes everything".
