Let me introduce an idea - Just something to kick around: Maybe your stature
as a flyfisherman isn't determined by how big trout you can catch, but how 
small a trout you can catch without being dissapointed, and, of course, 
without losing the faith that there is a bigger one in there. 

Dette er yndlingssitatet mitt og noe av det glupeste som noengang er skrevet om fluefiske. 
Sitatet er fra boka Fly Fishing Small Stream skrevet av en av mine absolutt 
yndlingsforfattere, amerikanske John Gierach. Han har også skrevet flere andre, 
gode, fiskebøker. VINTER ER LESETID!

Go softly by that river's side
Or when you would depart
You'll find its every winding tied
And knotted round your heart

Rydyard Kipling. Diktet st
år også i bokutgaven av Glommaguiden.

The bigger the trout, the more satisfying the release.

Fra TROUT BUM av John Gierach. 

Is a man who is too busy to go fishing a success?

Fra TROUT BUM av John Gierach. 

For eg samlar på opplevingar. Kvart vindpust, kvar lyskulør, kvar bølgje, rørsle, lyd. Kvar regndråpe. Alt dette som høyrer stunda og staden til vil eg hugse. Slik blir fluga mi ei anna utan å endre seg det spor. For slik kjem ei meisterfluge til. I fantasien blir ho klekt ut. Ved bindestikka blir ho fødd, og på framgangsrike fisketurar blir ho vaksen. Derfor er ei god fiskefluge ein sum av fantasi av røynsle, ein tilstand mellom draum og rynd.

Fra EG, EIN FISKAR av Gjermund Andreassen. 

Mi fluge er ikke ei, men mange. Men framfor alt er ho ikkje berre ei fluge - av fiber og fjør. Ho held usynlege dimensjonar. Kvalitetar som berre eg veit om. Som berre eg kan vite om. Denne dimensjonen utgjer skilnaden mellom ein husflidsartikkel og eit drapsvåpen. Dette usynlege tek flugefiske fra sportsgrein til naturoppleving. Dette usynlege er mi røynsle med ho. I tid og rom.

Fra EG, EIN FISKAR av Gjermund Andreassen. 

I enjoy fishing too much to risk my life about it. Death can really cut into your fishing time.

Fra TROUT BUM av John Gierach. 

Around the steel no tortur'd worm shall twine,
No blood of living insect stain my line;

Let me, less cruel, cast feather'd hook,
With pliant rod athwart the pebbled brook,
Silent along the mazy margin stray,
And with fur-wrought fly delude the prey.

John Gay. 

Fly_fishing certainly partakes more of sience than bottom-fishing, and, of course, requires much time, study, and practice, before the Angler can become anything like an adept at making or casting a fly.....

Thomas Salter. 

Thus the dragon-fly enters upon a more nobler life than that it had hithero led in the water, for in the latter it was obliged to live in misery, creeping and swimming slowly, but now it wings the air.

Jan Swammerdam. 

The bright little wink under water!
Mysterious wink under water!
Delightful to ply
The subaqueous fly
And watch for the wink under water!

G. E. M. Skues. 

The naturalist-angler is a common species.....Fishing takes him bird's-nesting, insect-watching, flower-gathering, into places where otherwise he would be a trespasser.

J. C. Mottram. 

When if an insect fall (his certain guide)
He gently takes him from the whirling tide;
Examines well his form, with curious eyes,
His gaudy west, his wings, his horns and size:
Then round his hook the chosen fur he winds,
And on the back a speckled feather binds;
So just the colours shine through ev'ry part,
The nature seems to live again in art.

John Gay. 


Auren biter ikke lenger,

kvelden kverver skumringstiden,
og en glo ved elva fenger
til et bål som flammer i den,

knitrer rødt mot høstskog-mørket.
Hufsen fisker varmer ryggen,
kjenner fuktig trøye tørke.
Røyken gir ham fred for myggen.

Sotsvart kjele over ilden,
fisken steiker han på gloen.
Kaffeduften anger kilden
mellom granene. Kan noen

ha det bedre enn en fisker
i sin trygge skog om kvelden.
der en mild godnatt-vind hvisker
når han kryper under fellen

under granens vide greiner.
Ligge mykt på granbar-matten,
høre søvnig at det regner
i den dype Nordmarks-natten.

Reidar Gulbrandsen. 

The fight, the actual landing - for fish this size, none of that counts. It's the first flash I am after - the brief but exquisite pleasure that comes when a swirl of water swirls suddenly faster and a life from out of nowhere firmly tugs you, shouting "Here"
From UPLAND STREAM  by W. D. Wetherell

There's another thing to keep in mind: small is not necessary easy. The trout com e willingly enough to a fly, but they are quick, quicker than the current, and it takes near perfect timing to connect. Then too, for all their innocence these fish are not gullible rubes; the trout that strikes and misses will not come again. Add to this the sheer difficulty of placing the fly on the water - the protective overlay of blowdown and branches, briars and boulders - and you have a fishing that is as challenging in its small way as any other.
From UPLAND STREAM  by W. D. Wetherell 

I am free to devote myself, for a few minutes anyway, to one of those vast metaphysical questions that only occasionally seem worth  asking. Why, if I am so enchanted with the sheer beauty of this stream, must I bring along a rod and reel in order to fully appreciate it? Why can't I just stroll down its banks in simple adoration? Why, when you come right down to it, fish?
From UPLAND STREAM  by W. D. Wetherell

Our nerves are transmitted to a tethered cell of tinsel and feather - that and the added, exhilarating bonus of knowing any second we may be jumped.... that our surrogate selves are liable to be eaten. Anyone who compares fishing to hunting has got it backwards; it's the thrill of being hunted that gives fishing its charm. For the few seconds our lures swim beneath the surface we recapture the innocence  - the dangerous, stimulating innocence - of the days when a man walked the earth not as a master but as prey. It was, it is, a dangerous thing to be a human, and we need to be reminded from time to time not only of our abstract mortality, but of a mortality that springs from ambush and clamps down.
From UPLAND STREAM  by W. D. Wetherell

Catching a trout is a joy, but what is even better is having someone you love catch one, when the delight is doubled.
From VERMONT RIVER by W. D. Wetherell

A river can't be rushed - this is the first rule of fishing, the second, and the third - and so any time spent along its banks not fishing is a worthy investment, slowing, quite literally, the speeding hands of our inner, overwound clocks.
From ONE RIVER MORE by W. D. Wetherell

- it's impossible to understand what the last trout in a river must feel without taking into consideration what must surely be a cosmic kind of lonliness. For a moment I was tempted to put it out of its misery, break its neck with a little pressure of my hand, but I found I couldn't do this. If the trout in the brook hovered on the point of extinction, I wasn't going to be the one to give them the final shove, or at least pretend I wasn't, me who drives a car, consumes too much energy, accepts too meekly the prevailing order of things.
From ONE RIVER MORE by W. D. Wetherell

Den stille ventingen som utgjr den s� foraktede fiskertålmodigheten er små, frydefulle stunder da sinnet finner sin rikdom i det enkleste av alle ting: lysets lek over et gresstrå, poplenes sitrende bladverk, et myggesurr om øret og de utallige andre små lydene som fyller den reneste stillhet. Er det for mye å snakke om lykksalighet når man har nok i ingenting og likevel sitter med forventningen om at alt kan skje?
Fra LYSTFISKERLIV av Svend Saabye

Forst det den som kan - ikke all verdens spekulasjoner kan bringe klarhet i hva fiskets pasjoner bunner i. Det kan kanskje lykkes påvise den uhyre makt lidenskapen øver på fiskeren, akkurat som spillegalskapen kan måles ved spillerens tap; men det forklarer ikke noe om sinnets dunkle mysterium.
Fra LYSTFISKERLIV av Svend Saabye

...by the little ephemerals of the desert will spring up and proceed with with what looks like indecent haste to the business of reproduction, as though - as for them is almost the case - life where not long enough for anything except preparation for the next generation
From LOVE IN THE DESERT by Joseph Wood Krutch

Why, tonight, am I acting like a hunter? All my training, social and intellectual as well as my genetic predisposition, moves me to act like a predator rather than a grateful, careful guest at Gaia's table. Why am I acting as if this is an encounter that has a winner and a loser, even though I am perfectly aware that the goal of the encounter is to keep the fish alive?

Rolig og blank glider Tufsinga mellem de skogkldte bredder; elven er bred og de fleste steder temmelig dyp med ganske svak strøm. Indimellem grunder elven op som med en tanke paa stryk: men virkelige stryk med stri størm og stenet bund er sjeldne, saa båten kommer frem nesten overalt. Her i Tufsinga er harrens rette hjem og den staar mest paa de svakt skraanende, stenete svaer og på strømhodene.
Fra kapitlet HARR i boka PAA JAGT OG FISKE av Hjalmar Broch

Felles for alle som fisker for sin fornøyelses skyld, er lysten til fange fisk, men måten tilfredsstille denne lyst på er høyst forskjellig. Noen får tilfredsstilt sin lyst ved fangsten alene, likegyldig på hvilken måte fangsten foregår,  for andre spiller framgangsmåten større rolle. De ser ikke sin lyst tilfredsstilt hvis ikke fangsten blir noe av en sportslig prestasjon - et resultat av deres egen ferdighet og kyndighet. For disse sistnevnte blir fiske en kombinasjon av fangst og sport, og deres egen ferdighet blir en vesentlig del av deres glede ved fisket.
Fra OM ØRRET- OG LAKSEFISKE I NORGE av Reidar Brekke (Oslo 1940).


Engang for tidlig,
Engang for sent,
Engang for regnfullt,
Engang for pent,
Engang for kjølig,
Engang for mildt,
Engang for stormfullt,
Engang for stilt,
Engang for liten,
Engang for flom,
noe var gæli hver gang jeg kom.

Fra OM ØRRET- OG LAKSEFISKE I NORGE av Reidar Brekke (Oslo 1940).

Jo rikere en utklekning er, jo vanskeligere er det for sportsfiskeren vekke oppmerksomhet med sine fluer. De ofte forekommende hektiske utklekkinger av vær- og steinfluer og tovingede vanninnsekter gir ofte mer ergrelse enn glede, mens utklekningen av døgnfluer, som vanligvis foregår mer spredt og over lengre tid, gir betydelig større løfter for sportsfiskeren. Det er vel også grunnen til at døgnfluen har spilt den største rolle som forbilde for tørrfluen.
Fra OM ØRRET- OG LAKSEFISKE I NORGE av Reidar Brekke (Oslo 1940).

Blir det da bedre og bedre sport jo mer vi kan prestere, jo mer vi vet, jo finere form for fiske vi bedriver? Mye og fin redskap skaper ingen fisker, og heller ikke en mengde teori. Man får ikke gå så opp i redskap, kast og lærebøker at man taper kontakten med fiskegleden. En kan ha glede av fluefiske selv om man ikke går ned til stranden, og der binder den flue som er vakgiver. La teorien suppleres med erfaringer, kasteinstruksjon med praktisk øvelse, og la ikke formen overskygge innholdet, og la det ikke bli for mye vitenskap og registrert systematikk. Fiske er opplevelse av det ukjente. Jeg tror på huldra, og nøkken er min gode venn.
Fra artikkelen HVA ER SPORTSFISKE? av Egil Aamodt i STANGFISKEREN 1944.

Den glinsende ørret i hans hånd løser ikke spytt og fordyelsessafter i ham, men fyller hans hjernevindinger med landskapets evighet, med vannets klarhet, med sol og himmel og vindens stemmer. Han erobrer et rom av frihet som kulturen har tatt fra ham.
Nils Johan Rud.

Her er et av de mer kuriøse avsnittene fra verdens mest kjente fiskebok:
En bra mann, som nå bor i Worchestershire, fortalte at han en gang fikk se en gjedde med en slags lenke eller et bånd av rumpetroll om halsen, og at disse rumpetrollene tok livet av gjedden. Om de gjorde det i sinne eller for å få seg mat, se det vet jeg ikke.

Fra DEN FULLENDTE SPORTSFISKER av Izaak Walton (1653).

At the dedication of the international Fly_fishing Center in West Yellowstone, Montana, in 1981, the former U.S. president Jimmy Carter made the following remarks:
For those who have been in publick life, or those who have major responsibilitis as a mother, or father, or teacher, or a doctor, or an engineer, or a farmer like me, you know that there's a place where solitude is precious and where companionship with friends is equally precious. A place where quiet, undisturbed peace is precious and where the most enjoyable excitement of catching a big fish, or even loosing a big fish, is precious. I'm grateful to have a chance to be here for the groundbreaking of this fine place, which will mean a lot to fly fishermen not only in our own country but throughout the world. You have blessed me by inviting me. I am one of you, and we share a lot in life. I hope that when my own time is past, and ours, that we'll leave the Earth a little more beautiful and a little purer, and the trout a little more ferocious and maybe a little more larger, than when we arrived, not because we didn't catch our share, but because we invested for the Amys and little Saras of the world that are coming along behind us.
I was pleased as president to have a chance to make some momentous desicions. One of the most exciting days of my life was when Cecil Andrus, a neighboring governor of yours, as secretary of the interior, and I were able to save with one stroke of the pen a hundred million acres of wilderness area in Alaska.
This is the kind of thing that is gratifying to a president, but to be on a solitary stream with good friends, with a fly rod in your hand, and to have a success or even an unsuccessful day - they are all successful - is an even greater delight...

Sportsfiskere har besøkt Rena i massevis av år. Her er en rapport fra en engelskmann som fisket i Deset-omrdet og på Renas beste fiskeplasser ved Løsset (nå dessverre demmet ned med Storsjødemninga). Var det etter ha lest boka og etter ha snakket med forfatteren at nymfefiskets far, G. M. Skues, valgte legge flere fisketurer til Rena?

Quitting Lesje, it again took me several days to reach Diset in Aarmot, for as usual I delayed on the way to fish many waters, a waste of time as it proved for most part, but at length reaching my destination I was well rewarded.

I put up at a log shanty situated on the very bank of the river. Arriving about midday in fine weather, I found the farmer enjoying his siesta before returning to his work in the hay-field. On learning my object in coming, he took down and lit a long pipe, and then for a good half-hour did sentry go up and down the long room of the hut, leaving an indelible track on the floor by reasons of his expectations. 

He lectured me the whole time concerning the delights of his river, and promised to take me out that evening, and later in the day selected ruddy flies and red spinners from my book which certainly proved undeniable killers. While he held the boat near a bank of rushes, I cast towards the reeds and killed many trout of a good size, strong fighters, some of them running up to 2 lbs.

After two evenings of this sport I moved on to Løsset, and here I not only got large trout but plenty of fine grayling. It proved to be one of the best rivers I had come across up to this.

Years afterwards I revisited the spot, and found it in the hands of a Norwegian gentleman who seemed to own most of the country about there, for besides letting me fish, he took me hare shooting in his woods.

He received me most kindly. I had learned by this time to conform to the usages of the country; I was careful to thank my hosts after every meal according to the pleasant custom: Tak for mad. He let me fish as much as I liked, yet the trout were by no means such free risers as on my previous visit.
Fra TIRTY SEASONS IN SCANDINAVIA av E. B. Kennedy, London 1903. 

Jeg fant f�lgende glupe (?) sitat av ukjent opprinnelse i boka: 

DET TAPTE PARADIS. Jakt og fiskehistorier fra S�rlandet. 
Rolf Gorboe, 1944.

Every fool can catch a salmon, but not a trout.


When I moved here I was slow to find out just how good the bass fishing was. There were trout streams to fish, ponds to explore, ant it wasn't until my third summer that I began trying to understand what the Connecticut was all about. Even then, I did most of my early fishing with spinning tackle and plugs, and I soon got bored with the assemblyline monotony of that kind of fishing. It was only when a friend gave me a fly rod heavy enough for serious bugging and a tackle box crammed full og poppers that I began to find the proper methodology - began to see how the disiplined ethic of fly-fishing I'd managed to teach myself over twenty years of chasing trout could be expanded to take in this new kind of river, this different kind of fish. Spin casting is casting at a fish, but fly casting is casting to them, and the difference, small as it sounds, is is enough to elevate a recreation into a craft.
UPLAND STREAM notes on the fishing passion by W. D. Wetherell, 1991


There are two schools of thought on catching big fish. One school holds that you fish for them deliberately, use outsize lures and streamers, fish only those lies capable of sheltering fish of weight. The second maintains the best way to catch big fish is to work your way through as many lesser fish as possible, harness the laws of probability to your cause. This last may be called the lottery school of fly-fishing, and it's the one to which I belong, since it pretty well matches what I'v learned of life. The big things come unexpectedly amid the ordinariess of daily routine, and to deliberately go hunting Joy or Love with a metaphoric net would be to doom yourself to failure by the very nature of the quest. No, I'm a small-fish fisher, a small-fate man, who hopes, like we all do, for miraculous things.
UPLAND STREAM notes on the fishing passion by W. D. Wetherell, 1991


Den stille Venten som udgør den saa foragtede Fisker-Taalmodighed, er smaa, frydefulde Stunder, hvor Sindet finner sin Rigdom i det enkleste af alt: Lysets leg over Græsstraa, Poplernes sitrende Blade, en Mygs Surren om øret og de utallige smaa andre Lyde, som fylder den reneste Stilhed. Er det for meget at tale om Lyksalighed, naar man har nok i intet og dog sidder med Forventningen om, at alt kan ske? Passiviteten forvandles til Spændthed, hvis en lille Bevægelse af Flaadproppen røber, at noget hænder i det sorte Dyb, noget, der skal føles og forstaas, som kan løses af Tempoet i de smaa Nyk og Dyp, der slutter med, at korket trækkes helt under Vand og udløser en handling, naar det sitrende af liv skyder sig ned i Dybet. Saadan er de smaa Fiskeres Glæder udviklende for Sindet og Fantasien, en Vej mod Duelighed, som faar sin Belønning, og det hele lille Foretagende ganske i Pagt med den store Natur - noget helt andet end det ækle Dyreplageri, Mødre, Søstre og Alverdens Tanter forestiller sig.
LYSTFISKERLIV av Svend Saabye. Odense 1957.

Man skal have fisket Laks gennem mange Aar, tabt adskillige og fanget flere endnu, før man tør betegne sig selv som en virkelig Laksefisker - men man behøver kun at have fisket een Laks for at have tabt sin Sjel.
LYSTFISKERLIV av Svend Saabye. Odense 1957.

Ethvert Spil har sine regler, og i Fiskeri kan enhver bestemme sine; hvis Lystfiskeri fortjener Betegnelsen "Sport", bestaar Sporten i at overholde de Regler, man faststter for sig selv eller i Overensstemmelse med andre Fiskere. Jo større Hensyn, Reglerne tager til Fiskene og andre Fiskere, jo ædlere bliver Sporten. For Fisken er det dødelig Alvor, og hvis den kunde, skulde den sikkert betakke sig for at blive gjort delagtig i nogen "Sport".
Fra LYSTFISKERLIV av Svend Saabye. Odense 1957.

Maaske - skal man være Fisker eller Poet for at forbinde Fiskedrab med nogen Livsfilosofi - eller omvendt, måske skal man være Filosof for at forbinde Fisk med Poesi. En anden af mine Venner i Fiskeri blev af en nydelig og velmenende Dame bebrejdet for sin Trang til at fange fisk. Lystfiskeri kunde hun ved dyb Eftertanke kun opfatte som en sadistisk Hang til at gøre Dyr Fortred. " Tværtimod," forklarede min Ven mildt og belærende, "som der i ethvert Samfund er onde Mennesker, der vil andre til Livs, saadan er der i Vandets mærke Dyb ogsaa onde Fisk, som vil de uskyldige smaa Fisk. - Men ligesom der mellom Mennesker er en øverighed, som fanger Forbrydere, saadan fanger jeg kun de onde Fisk, der er graadige nok til at sluge min Krog - medens de gode og artige Fisk, der ikke vil gøre andre Fisk Fortræd, slæt ikke rører min Krog". Hans særlige Iver skyldtes kun den Omstændighed, at der blev ved med at være nogle meget store og meget onde Fisk, som samtidig ogsaa var meget kloge og derfor trodsede alle hans Anstrngelser.
Saadan er en sand Fiskers Filosofi, taalmodigt afvæbnende og tolerant overbærende mod dystre Beskyldninger, den indbefatter en Opfattelse af Fisk, der rækker langt dybere end Videnskabens og den øvrige Menneskeheds. For Fiskere er Fisk rigt udstyrede Skabninger med veludviglede
Evner til at bedømme, skelne og vrage mellem Fiskerens Sluhed og Livets ægte Goder. Hvis Fisk blot var sløve og stupide Væsener, der mekanisk kastede sig over ethvert Agn, som ved Slumpetrf kom indenfor deres Rækkevidde, vilde Fiskeriet miste al Tillokkelse. - Fiskere kunde med ligesaa megen Glæde spille Sorteper mellom Mosens Siv. 
Fra LYSTFISKERLIV av Svend Saabye. Odense 1957.

Anyone who compares fishing to hunting has got it backwards; it's the thrill of being hunted that gives fishing its charm.
From UPLAND STREAM by W. D. Wetherell.

Ola fortalte hvordan han nylig var kommet rekende til en større gård i en vestlandsbygd, hvor han fikk bli over en dags tid. Elva gikk fiskefin straks nedenfor gården, og han spurte om det var noe fisk der? Jo da, det var da det. - Om det var noe i veien for at han fisket litt der? Nei da, det kunne han så gjerne få lov til. Hva slags fluer ville nå auren helst ha i denne elva? å, mente gårdeieren, den likte nå aller best lyse fluer, nesten helst dem med kvite vinger. En slik Lord Salthoun eller en White Moth var nå ekstra gode.

Ola takket ham, ruslet ned til elva med stanga og prøvde først både Lord Salthoun og White Moth, men uten noe resultat. Et par andre lyse mønstre viste seg like heldige. Så satte han for moro skyld på en sølvkroppet svart Zulu. Nå gikk det riktig fint, og en stund seinere ruslet han oppover til gården igjen med en ganske fin hank med finfin aure. På tunet måtte han gårdeieren som først sø forundret på både Ola og på fiskehanken hans. Men så kom det med et lunt smil: Å,eg ser du har no brukt en svart Zulu med sølvkropp og råd stjert, du ja.

Etter dette er Helge begynt tvile på en del av alle de gode rådene han har fått. Nå har han begynt prøve seg fram sjøl først, før han repeterer alle bøkene og de store gutta.
Fra boka SOLGANGSVR av Hjalmar Broch 1942

Thank the Lord for next season.
From WHAT THE TROUT SAID by Datus C. Proper.

Since there is six times as much water as dry land on earth, any fool can plainly see the Good Lord meant for man to fish six times as much as he works!
Tekst p
en av mine T-skjorter.

The fishermen I know who land the most fish are the ones who play them the hardest.

That's why I seldom fish with a rod lighter than a fiveweight and don't care for the ultralight rods in one, two, and three-weight. A rod that's too light won't handle wind, can't cast long distances, won't handle large flies and, most importantly, can't play a big fish with enough authority.

Of course it's possible to land large, heavy trout on something like a two-weight rod and 7x tippet, but by the time most of us have managed that, we've played the fish nearly to death and it may well die after it's released. The way I see it, ultralight tackle makes real sence only for small fish or big ones you plan to kill to eat.

.....I hear, rather than see, the rush of the great fish; I set hard, and the battle is on.

No prudent man would risk a dollar's worth of fly and leader pulling a trout upstream through the giant toothbrush of alder stems comprising the bend of that creek. But as I said, no prudent man is a fisherman. By and by, with much cautious unraveling, I got him up into open water, and finally aboard the creel.

I shall now confess to you that none of those three trout had to be beheaded, or folded double, to fit their casket. What was big was not the trout, but the chance. What was full was not my creel, but my memory.

Don't contemplate, just fish!
Definition for a waste of time: Time spent contemplating going fishing. Just grab your rod and go - you never know what might happen, og what you might learn!
From the December 2005 issue of the English magazine FLY FISHING AND FLY TYING.

I fish because I love to; because I love the environs where trout are found, which are invariably beautiful, and hate the environs where crowds of people are found, which are invariably ugly; because of all the television commercials, coctail parties, and assorted social posturing I thus escape; because, in a world where most men seem to spend their lives doing things they hate, my fishing is at once an endless source of delight and an act of small rebellion; because trout do not lie or cheat and cannot be bought or bribed or impressed by power, but respond only to quietude and humility and endless patience; because I suspect that men are going along this way for the last time, and I for one don't want to waste the trip; because mercifully there are no telephones on trout waters; because only in the woods can I find solitude without loneliness; because burbon out of an old tin cup always tastes better out there; because maybe one day I will catch a mermaid; and, finally, not because I regard fishing as being so terribly important but because I suspect that so many of the other concerns of men are equally unimportant - and not nearly so much fun.
John Voelker.

But getting back to the question that keeps me up at night. Were will fly fishing be for your children and grandchildren? If you don't have any children, who is going to pass the torch you were handed? Who taught you stream etics? Barbless hooks? Catch-and-release? Resting a pool? Sharing a pool?

Who is teaching the love of the sport these days? Whose responsibility is that? Is it something that can be taught or are certain blessed souls born with it? Is it merely a love of fly fishing or awe and respect for nature and all its marvels? Does a newcomer need a mentor to drop little gems of wisdom? Little seed of thought? Like how to wade silently or avoid stepping on wildflowers or redds, how to give the other guy his space. How to walk well away from the streamside when passing a fellow angler. How to lovingly land and release a fine trout. What is a fine trout?

Can a new fly fisher enjoy catching only one trout in a day of fishing? Can an experienced fly fisher? Should you? How can you? Should you quit fishing when your first fish of the day is the largest fish of your life and it is 9:00 A.M.? How many fish per one day do you need to land to call a successful day? Do number of fish per day really count for something? What? At what number do you lose count of the fish you've caught? Do we need to catch "enough fish" to begin thinking about this? How many is enough? How much do you enjoy watching your fishing partner catch more fish than you? Are our actions governed by some primordial instinct to capture, dominate, or prove manhood? Is that really a viable thaought today?

From FLY FISHING with A. K. by A. K. Best. (Stackpole Books 2005)

"Beast of the earth...fowl of the air...fishes of the sea...every moving thing that liveth shall be meat for you." Those verses give the primal permission to kill for food; they voice in the language of religion what in other context could be called the biological law of life through death. A scale of values runs throughout the whole field of life, proving the upward nisus of evolutionary trends; the lower dies that the higher may live. Man has a right to kill for food. It is the law of God. It is the law of nature. It is the law of God in nature, defining the ultimate condition of human life. Man has a right and duty to kill for food. As long as angling keeps within the limits of that right, it is blameless, and the charge of cruelty fails; for the pain incidental to the act of killing for food has to be accepted as an unavoidable part of the present scheme of things; the problem of pain is acute and at times distressing to the thinker; religion and philosophy can help to ease it; the fact of pain cannot be avoided. The right to kill for food, however, does not confer the right to kill for fun, or amusement, or sport, or pleasure. It does not confer the right to cause unnecessary pain; and the duty of reducing the sufferings of fish, and making the death pang brief and merciful is Article No. 1 in the angler's code of honour.


I think, therefore I fish.....


Gudene trekker ikke fra i et menneskes levetid de timer det har brukt p� fiske.

Babylonsk innskrift fra r 2000 f. kr.

A river can't be rushed - this is the first rule of fishing, the second, and third - and so any time spent along its banks not fishing is a worthy investment, slowly, quite literally, the speeding hands of our inner, overwound clocks.

....I could also point out examples of fly fishers for whom none of this counts - those that are too wrapped up in their own passion to focus on anything but the fish there in front of them. Not understanding the country's rythms, they are locked into the the rythm they bring from home, so there's a clash right from the start; not catching very much understanding, they will not catch very many trout. Not catching many trout, they will hire a guide next time, or buy yet another book on fishing how-to, and, because they are mistaken in their basic assumptions, the river will always run away from them and never be grasped.

From ONE RIVER MORE, A Celebration of Rivers and Fly Fishing by W. D. Wetherell. (The Lyons Press 1998)

The saddest part of this has been the commercialization of a sport that should offer a refreshing antidote to commercialization. A modest dose of material interest has always been one of fly fishing's subsidiary delights...the odd cluttered tackle shop; the catalog crammed full of gadgets...but, as with so many other things, it becomes a matter of scale. Soon thousand-dollar rods will become de rigueur for all of us: already, reels come in at three hundred dollars, and that's not counting an extra spool. Magazines, the worst of them, create fly-fishing "personalities" who are then used to sell things no one needs, and even publications having nothing whatsoever to do the sport feature fly fishing in their ads, using it to move everything from Jeeps to whiskey. (In the old days, if you saw a fly fisher in an ad, guaranteed he was hilding the reel wrong side up; nowadays the ad men are slicker and everything looks authentic, albeit far too prissy and neat.) Fly fishing, like so much else in our culture, becomes a mystique that's for sale.

American consumerism at full throttle is not a pretty sight. A good many are confused by all the glitz, yet attracted to the sport just the same; they sence something spiritual may be had in being out on a river, something they can't find anymore in their boardroom, their bedroom, or their church. These are the pilgrims, and it is hard not to sympathize wit hthem, even while, on their way to Canterbury, they let themselves br fleeced.

From ONE RIVER MORE, A Celebration of Rivers and Fly Fishing by W. D. Wetherell. (The Lyons Press 1998)

Without brook trout, a stream is dead no matter how pretty it looks from the highway; beauty, dead, turns ugly very fast: ugliness, piled high enough, corrodes the soul. There must be a thousand streams in New England capable of supporting wild brookies. Stripped of them, these form a thousand cemeteries, complete with headstones and the keening wail of empty water. Graced with trout, they becomes springs of delight, reservoirs of solace, fountains of well-being - and not just for trout.

From ONE RIVER MORE, A Celebration of Rivers and Fly Fishing by W. D. Wetherell. (The Lyons Press 1998)

At first fly fishing was valued for its taking qualities - the fact that when trout were feeding on the prolific insect hatches of spring it was far and away the best means of taking these fish from the river for food. Quite early in its development (at least as early as Charles Cotton, writing in 1676) it was discovered that there was a lot more to it than this taking power alone - that it was an extraorinarily interesting, graceful, and challenging sport, one that, with thime, became increasingly divorced from its purely fish-taking function. By the eighteenth century it was caught up in the aristocratic sporting tradition, where doing things the hard way, simultaneously increasing the difficulties and simplifying the means, was seen to be the highest sporting virtue.

From ONE RIVER MORE, A Celebration of Rivers and Fly Fishing by W. D. Wetherell. (The Lyons Press 1998)

Den mest s�rprgede kulinariske fiskeoplevelse jeg har haft, er nok de levende fisk jeg spiste i Kina..

Men s� blev der b�ret et akvarium frem med en masse sm� fisk, der n�rmest lignede guldfisk. Ved siden af blev stillet et fad med kokende olie. Tjeneren tog en fisk op af akvariet, og pakkede dens hoved ind i en v�d klud. S� holt han i hovedet, og dyppede fiskens bagparti i olien. Derp� lagde han den p� min tallerken, og fjernede kluden. Der l� fisken og virrede med hovedet, mens den �bnede og lukkede munden, og jeg fik betydet at jeg skulle spise den bagfra. Det var frisk fisk.

Fra UDE MED SN�REN, Fisk og mennesker jeg har m�dt av Uffe Ellemann-Jensen (Gyldendal 2001)

I Rena gaar fisken helt op til Storsj�en.

Elven er rig paa harr og �rret. Gjedde og lake forekommer sparsomt.  Sik fanges kun undtagelsesvis. Tryte eller abbor skal findes paa et sted i ringe mengde. Antagelig er der ogsaa gorkim og steinbit, men ikke murt og neppe r�yr.

Allerede fra isl�sningen fiskes og hele sommeren og h�sten til ubestemt tid med not, garn og stang. Rev og oter benyttes. Med not kan paa en kveld fiskes fra en ubetydelighed op til 1 t�nde (L�set og maaske Deset).

Garn- og stangfisket er betydeligt, men fangsten variabel, enkelte dage indtil 12 - 24 kg. �rretens st�rrelse er indtil 3 kg., hvad der dog er sjelden. Harren findes paa indtil 11/2 kg., 1/2 - 3/4 kg. er almindeligt.

Fisket drives som bin�ring og er tildels af stor vigtighed. Tilreisende, tildels engl�ndere, fisker for forn�ielse. En sportsfisker kan paa en dag med flue fiske indtil 24 kg.; dette er dog ikke almindeligt.

I april og maaske ogsaa i mai gaar megen harr fra Storsjen nedover Rena til Glommen for at gyde, og en hel del harr tager saa veien atter opover Glommen til Atna og opover til faldet og dammen ved udl�bet af Atnasjen. Harren naar f�rst i sidste halvdel af juni op til Atnas �verste del, og den maa derfor gyde i den nedre del og sandsynligvis ogsaa i Glommen. En mindre del af den harr, som kommer nedover Rena, fortstter vandringen nedover Glommen, dog neppe l�nger ned end til nederst i Elverum. Ialfald er "gangfisk" ikke seet nedenfor Braskerudfos.

I juli tager harren, som er standset i Glommen, opover Rena til Storsj�en igjen, men harren forlader ikke Atna f�r i september og oktober.

Paa vandring i gydetiden fanges harren i st�rre m�ngde ved isfiske og anden agning, og der �delgges en m�ngde smaa standfiske.

utgivet ved Amund Helland. Kristiania 1902


Mens vi vandrer til v�r frokost, skal jeg fortelle en historie for dere. Det var en gang en l�regutt, - nei, jeg mener en prest, som skulle holde pr�vepreken i en forsamling hvor han h�pet p� � bli kapellan. Av en venn fikk han l�ne en avskrift av en preken som hadde vakt stor begeistring da den f�rste gang ble lest opp av sin forfatter. Men enda v�r prest fulgte avskriften ord for ord, falt den platt til jorden. Da han etterp� beklaget seg overfor sin venn, sa denne til ham: "Jeg l�nte deg riktignok min fiolin, men buen ga jeg deg ikke. Og du b�r huske p� at ikke hvem som helst kan f� mine ord til lyde, for de er gjort for min munn". P� samme m�te, kj�re elever, som en d�rlig uttale eller en gal betoning kan �delegge en preken, p� samme m�te kan du �delegge alt ved h�ndtere fiskestangen galt, eller bare ved kaste noen tommer ved siden av den riktige plassen. Riktignok har dere f�tt l�ne min fiolin, men min fiskestang, mitt sn�re og min krok, og dere har sett hvor fint jeg klarte det. Men min bue har dere ikke. Eller med andre ord: Dere har ikke det samme h�ndlaget med sn�ret, og dere vet ikke hvor dere skal plassere agnet. Det er dette dere m� l�re dere. Glem ikke hva jeg tidligere sa, at fiske er en kunst som man l�rer seg ved �velse eller etter langvarige iakttagelser, eller helst begge deler i forening. L�r f�rst denne regel: N�r dere skal fiske �rret med mark, skal dere som s�kke ha akkurat s� meget bly p� sn�ret som det passer for den elven dere fisker i. Det vil si at i strie og voldsomme str�mmer m� dere bruke mer bly enn i mindre og rolige vassdrag. S�kket skal v�re s� tungt at agnet trekkes ned mot bunnen, og alikevel m� det fremdeles holdes i bevegelse.

La oss n� lese v�r bordb�nn og s� hugge l�s p� frokosten.

Forfatter Henning Holm. Oslo 1955

The period of maximum growth for fish is the time between capture and when you tell your friends about it.

To put it another way, an ichthyologist knows about trout and an entomologist knows about bugs, but it is the fly tier who knows how to fool a trout into thinking something is a bug when its not.

From John Gierach Dances with Trout


To put it another way, an ichthyologist knows about trout and an entomologist knows about bugs, but it is the fly tier who knows how to fool a trout into thinking something is a bug when its not.

John Gierach

Det  var n� for eksempel han Ola Kj�k, som ikke likte at andre enn han sj�l fisket i det vesle vatnet her s�rp�, Leikangstjennet. Da ville han trolle de andre bort, og han kl�vjet med seg kirkegardsjord like dit. S� gikk han der sommernatta rundt tjennet og str�dde kirkegardsjord i ei fin strime langs stranda. Men da han hadde str�dd nesten hele tjernet rundt, slik at han hadde att bare en liten bit bort til der han begynte, da syntes han med ett det ropte navnet sitt.

Han stanste. Men fornam ikke mer.

S� tok han til g� og str� att. Men da h�rte han ganske tydelig det ropte Ola, fra et  lite berg. Og han ble st�ende og lye:

Du lyt laga l�,
du lyt laga l�!
S� ska vi fiske
b�de du og je!

ropte det borte fra berget, et ganske grant, kvinende m�l, som en rauskjor nesten.

Men han Ola laga ingen l�, ingen �pning, han lot stripa med kirkegardsjord bite i hop att, han ville stenge alle andre ute fra � f� fisk i tjennet, haugafolket ogs�.

Men fra den dagen fikk han ingen fisk der sj�l heller. Og Leikangstjennet g�r den dag i dag helst � v�re fisketomt. Men det er dem som sier at de i solskinn og blikkstilt v�r, n�r en fra stranda kan se et stykke ned gjennom vatnet - det er br�djupt nesten overalt langs landet - det er dem som sier at de da har skimtet m�rke skugger der nede, veldige sugger av fisk, som aldri g�r p� krok eller garn og aldri kommer opp i vassm�let og leiker etter fly; det kan v�re s� fin en myggkveld det v�re vil, s� ligger tjennet der helt d�dt for fiskevak.

av Mikkel Fnhus

Imagination is one of the greatest gift of fishermen.

by Alvin Grove

There are a lot of synthetic materials in use now - most marketed with the same kind of claims you'll hear from dishwashing detergent - and sometimes I worry that, what with graphite and boron rods, plastic lines, monofilament leaders, neoprene waders, and flies tied with petrochemical gunk, the sport is in danger of loosing its traditional hands-on connection with nature. Too much of this stuff doesn't come from the woods anymore. You don't need to develop an eye for quality, and you certainly can't impress anyone by hauling out a rare patch of young, female, costal Antron yarn.

Then again, maybe this is the wave of the future and therefore okay. If you release all the fish you catch, maybe it's entirely appropiate to fish with flies made of syntetics, even if they look a little phony. That way no living creature dies, and your credentials as a pacifist can remain impeccable. From that standpoint it's too bad that no one even comes close yet to making a fake dry fly hackle.

John Gierach

A flyfishing season begins in unfulfilled expectation sharpened by optimism; it should end in unfulfilled expectation softened by acceptance. 

From Vermont River by W. D. Wetherell 1984

The smaller the fly, the less there is for a trout to dislike. 

From Vermont River by W. D. Wetherell 1984


The American century is over, of course; what this means, in terms of fly fishing, is that were witnessing a perversion of what made our sport so special, a clash of the worst qualities of both traditions rather than a symbiosis of the best the aristocratic hauteur and snobbiness taken up by a greedy democratic mob. Its tempting to say that what American fly fishing needs is a heavy infusion of the older, purer aristocratic values, at least as regards fishing etiquette, where fly fishers who pride themselves on doing things right would disdain to enter a pool someone else was fishing, sneer in contempt at all the hucksterism, find interest in figuring things out for themselves, take their greatest pleasure from leaving the smaller environmental impact consistent with their presence on the river.

What we need what we need constantly is to remember why fly fishing is worth doing in the first place. The difficulties and pleasures of mastering a demanding craft; the reinforcement, the enhancement, provided by a long and proud tradition; the solace of its locales, the inspiration these offer; the healing power of water; the miraculous living beauty of the trout we seek. All these things, and with them a quality that is harder to define an anti-establishment kind of pleasure; the different drummer aspect that makes its practitioners favor the lonly places, doing their things away from the crowd, indipendently.the quality about fly fishing that has always appealed to the dissident part of us, that stubborn non-conforming raffish heretical freelance something that even our materialistic culture can never quite snuff out.

From Vermont River by W. D. Wetherell 1984


4: Interference with a dynamic system at your peril. It's the easiest thing in the world to get the toothpaste out of a tube; it's a slightly different matter getting it back in.

What is a dynamic system? Imagine a delicately balanced house of cards, with each individual card relying on the balance of every other card to maintain its own position and stability. Then envisage a card being added to , or substracted from, the construction. At the very least, the structure will no longer bear any resemblance to its original form. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Dynamic systems in nature exist as they are because of the participation of every indigenous living organism. Should the intereaction of one of these participating organisms be increased or reduced the whole dynamic system will change to adapt to the modification. Some life-forms will flourish to the detriment of others. Dynamic systems do occur by chance, they develop over time due to the balance between, and interaction of, participating life-forms. Human interference with such delicate arrangements always causes some form of upheaval because tampering with one aspect of a dynamic system will inevitably affect all the other factors.

by Stan Headley
found in Waterlog magazine no 62.

About three years ago, representatives of the Manchester Anglers' Association, which was formed in 1878, visited Warren to ask questions and examine his work. Over cups of tea round the kitchen table, plans were made, and that winter a presentation was made to the Association commitee, laying out all the pros and cons of taking a keeper.


The result was that Manchester Anglers, Association stopped putting stock fish into their ten miles of the river Ribble and took on a keeper. Sustainability became their main concern. Now, two years into their project, the result are a delight to both the members and their dedicated keeper. They have more fish, in more varieties of sizes, more wildlife and better sport - all without a single stockfish.

by "A REGULAR ROD" found in Waterlog magazine no 62.

However, declines in fish stocks are only partly the result of fishing. Anthropogenic activities, such as agriculture, damming, deforestation, navigation, wetland reclamation, urbanisation, water abstraction and transfer and waste disposal have altered freshwater ecosystems profoundly, probably more than terrestrial ecosystems. Consequently, in most areas of the world the principal impacts on freshwater recreational fisheries do not originate from the fishery itself but from outside the fishery. The need for concerted effort to prevent and reduce modification of fisheries habitats - as well as conservation of fish and fisheries as renewable common pool resorces or entities in their own right - are great challenges facing sustainable development of recreational fisheries.

Edited by ysten Aas. Blackwell publishing 2008

For eg samlar p� opplevingar. Kvart vindpust, kvar lyskul�r. Kvar b�lge, r�rsle, lyd. Kvar regndr�pe. Alt dette som hyrer stunda og staden til vil eg hugse. Slik blir fluga mi ei anna uten endre seg det spor. For slik kjem ei meisterfluge til. I fantasien blir ho klekt ut. Ved bindestikka blir ho f�dd, og p� framgangsrike fisketurar blir ho vaksen. Derfor er ei god fiskefluge ein sum av fantasi og r�ynsle, ein tilstand mellom draum og r�ynd.

Fra EG, EIN FISKAR av Gjermund Andreassen

T�rrflua l� stille, virket s� umotivert med sn�ret som strimer i vannet etter kastet. Jeg venter. Det g�r et minutt. S� plutselig bryter en lyskjegle vassyta, og sn�ret strammes i et renn, som nervene spennes i en kamp. Vel, fikk jeg ikke fisken, fisken i kj�tt og vekt, men skuffelsen var mindre enn gleden. Jeg hadde lykkes. Jeg hadde kastet et umulig kast med hell. Jeg bar fangsten i sinnet om ikke i skreppa.

Likevel, de st�rste gledene hentet jeg ved elva. Det er intet som rennende, str�mmende, fossene vann, som nynner, mumler og synger om ro, veier sinnet i likevekt . Og ingen str�m var som denne, der hvor vannet samlet seg ut av h�len, str�mkanten hvor
  vannrosenes ornamenter gled over i d�dvann.


Løgnens poesi
De gamle mestre sitter ikke lenger ved grua og skremmer vettet av barnebarna. De sitter på bingo, eller med vasne auer i stresslausstolen foran Sky channel. Tunga ligger ubrukt i en krok - det er dystre tider for lyging.

Men i dette nifse, mørke tomrommet fins et streif av lys: Ørretfiskeren. Han går fritt mellom himmel og jord, med stanga høyt som en fane. Rundt ham får verden mytologisk størrelse. I fotefarene spirer glade blomster. 

En duggfrisk morgen slo han øynene opp og kjente svaret: Ørreten skal ikke veies - den skal svøpes i drømmenes fnuggete sukkerspinn og vokse seg inn i løgnens susende skoger. Der inne får den evig liv. 

Vi trenger fargene og bannskapen og den folkelige poesien. Det er motgift mot ekspertene og statsrådene og økonomene som åpenbarer seg i det nye husalteret hver kveld, og henviser til nyere forskning og dystre prognoser og skrur ansiktet i mørke folder så det ligner en bekymra rosin. 

Det er et spørsmål om moral: Frodig løgn eller kjedelig sannhet.

Min barndoms storfisker fikk en laks på atten, en på seksten, to på femten, og noen tolvkilos. Hver hadde sin historie. " og så begynt' æ å FESK " sa han.

Rask hoderegning fortalte at han fikk godt over to hundre kilo laks på en ettermiddag i Røssåga. Han frakta fangsten heim i ryggsekken. I en tur. På moped. Javisst laug han! Men underet er at jeg ennå eier bildet: En raumussa mann med falma vindjakke, en Tempo knallert, og atten lusferske laksesporder opp av en sidrompa liten sekk. På vei heim langs kronglete grusveier i Sørfjellet. 

N�rmere kommer du ikke evig liv. 

Fra Ondt ofte lider den fiskermand, århundrets ørretsaga av Stig Bang. Cappelens forlag 1987. Boka kan lånes fra biblioteket på Norsk Skogmuseum.

In view of the fact, then (and I think it is a fact), that in most years and on most Irish waters the bulk of the fly hatches out in June, what explanations can be given on the name mayfly? Two explanations have been offered. The first is that the word may is not a month, but the hawthorn. The newly hatched fly on a wet and windy day will settle anywhere from a stone to a blade of grass; but in fair weather it is "choosy" and shows a preference for hawthorn bushes. On this explanation the mayfly is named from the bush may, or hawthorn, as the oak fly is named from the oak. There is a similar doubt about the meaning of the word May in the wise old saw, "Ne'er change a clout till May is out". Is the date-line for the change to be the flowering of the thorn, or the end of the month of May?
                The second explanation of the name mayfly makes the may refer to the month of May in the old, pre-Gregorian calendar, which differ from the present calendar by eleven days. In the year 1753 it was provided by Act of Parliament that the day following the first day of September should be known as the twelfth day of September, with consequential changes. Working backwards from that fact one sees that the twelfth day of September in 1752 and earlier years would correspond in real time to what we now know as the twenty-third day of September. Similarly 12 May in 1752 and earlier years would correspond to 23 May, as we now speak. On this reasoning the greater part of the June hatch of fly by present reckoning would have been a May hatch by the older calendar. "Give us back our eleven days," cried the London mob in 1753. If by the same token we give back their eleven days to the Green Drakes of Lough Sheelin, the greater part of the hatch of fly there in an average year would be a hatch of May-fly in fact as well as in name; and the "fly-up" telegram would be dispatched annually about 11 May.

From Fishing and Thinking by A. A. Luce. Hodder and Stoughton Ltd. 1959. 

I remember hanging out in a slightly tweedy fly shop one afternoon where the owner was promoting the first generation of powdered desiccant as a fly flotant. A young hippie friend of mine walked in - complete with long hair and tie-dyed T-shirt - and the owner asked, "Have you been using the magic powder?" The guy said, "Yeah, man, but not when I am fishing."

From NO SHORTAGE OF GOOD DAYS by John Gierach. Simon & Shuster 2011.

Å fiske.

Å fiske er et mysterium. Et spenn
av streng forbinder hånd med senkestykke
og deg med dyp. Du drar - og du vil dykke.
Du trekker - og blir trukket selv igjen.

For noe i deg gir seg bunnløst hen
det øyeblikk du kjenner snøret rykke:
Du drar den inn; du har hatt fiskerlykke;
men fanges ikke også du av den?

De tolv. Jeg ser en annen sjø, hvor ånd
gjør fangst som bare fiskere kan gjøre,
selv fisket av et grep som ikke glapp.

Fra vannet kroken og din hånd
går opp en kraft som når deg gjennom snøret.
Det rykker i deg. Fisken har fått napp.

Fra diktet Å FISKE av André Bjerke i diktsamlinga DET FINNES ENNU SEIL (1968)

Når bør en sportsfisker legge opp?

Ikke så lenge du kan måle og veie.
Ikke så lenge du har i ditt eie
litt snøre, no'n fluer og stang.
Ikke så lenge du føler trang
til å nyte naturen i fulle drag
og følge ørretens lette vak - .

Legge opp? - Never!
Ikke så lenge jeg lever!

L. L.

Fra Fiskesport nr 3 - 1949.