Herbert Hoover once said, “To go fishing is the chance to wash one’s soul with pure air, with the rush of the brook, or with the shimmer of the sun on blue water. It brings meekness and inspiration from the decency of nature, charity toward tackle-makers, patience toward fish, a mockery of profits and egos, a quieting of hate, and a rejoicing that you don’t have to decide a damned thing until next week… and it is discipline in the equality of men — for all men are equal before fish.”

Perhaps you can pause here with me for a truly goosebump moment….

Okay, so in doing some research on Hoover several years ago, I stumbled upon this quote from him, and it well, stuck. It is now personally blown up (enlarged) and framed and rents a place in one of my few shrines on this earth — my Daddy bathroom downstairs…. a somewhat small room that is rapidly becoming my own personal fishing and hunting shrine, the one room in the house which the ol’ lady will allow me to be responsible for (most likely because she doesn’t want to clean it, nor does our weekly housecleaning lady, Maria.)

I’ve got some pictures of some serious magnum pescado buck daddys I’m holding in various places ranging from right here in our valley to Kansas, to Texas, to Texoma, to the Caribbean, to the Keys, and elsewhere. Yet, its that quote from Hoover that makes sense of my shrine.
I just turned 39 years old yesterday, and for at least two-thirds of that life, I’ve tried to downplay my sincere passion for fishing, as though it was a habit that might interfere with my other passions in life. Over time, though, I’ve begun taking pride in knowing that I had a passion that I not only enjoyed, but others recognized. People say that I’m a helluva fisherman, and perhaps so. Yet, I think its rather simple… you think like a fish, you read the water, you analyze the food source(s), you adapt and provide according.

I readily choose to fish whenever I find the opportunity, or when I somewhat might think there’s nothing better to do. And yes, I carry a fly rod and spinning tackle in my truck or service van at all times, and yes, I stop off for thirty minutes of serenity often.

Folks often ask if I catch anything or not. Sometimes I can brag of the many fish I caught. Othertimes, I am still fortunate to boast of the fact that I didnt’ catch a single fish. On those times, when I brag of catching no fish, people seem perplexed. They can not understand how I can come home empty-handed, sporting either a few hundred mosquito welts, or dehydration, or sporting a fresh sunburn, and still talk optimistically about my experience.

Othertimes, I come home empty-handed with frostbite symtoms complete with icicles hanging from my nose and a smile frozen to my face. We live in an age of couch potatoes and over-glorified commercialism and competiveness, so I guess I can understand their confusion and astonishment.

For years, I’ve tried to explain my enthusiam to others as to how I could actually enjoy fishing while not catching fish (doesn’t happen very often, though).

I think, quite simply, it is the mere act of being out somewhere that is enjoyable, serene, restful and stimulating to my thoughts and my soul. I’m sure I actually never truly was able to explain these things to others when trying to explain why I had a wonderful time without catching any fish.

Then, I stumbled upon Hoover’s quote. Then I realized I had a bona fide tool from someone famous, someone respectable and quotable, someone who also had a passion for fishing, someone who could help me explain to others why I enjoyed fishing — even when I did not catch fish!

Having shared this, I’ll now enlighten you about a recent fishing trip. I corraled someone who is fast becoming a good friend, and we loaded up and headed off to an unnamed mountain pond. The fish were down deep, on the bottom, so we sat there in our deluxe high-back fishing chairs and bait fished.

While the sun cooked our necks, even under cowboy hats,, we talked and waited for a bite. We talked some more and waited even more for a bite. After a while, the talk faded, and we both sat there, nursed our cold beers, and we probably began to think what the other was thinking.

Our talk remained ceased for an extended period of time, and it was then that I began to enjoy (again) everything it is that makes fishing enjoyable to me, things I could never effectively explain to others.

Then, as I listened to the wind rustling the grass, the brush, and breaking through the trees, and the water rippling as it waved, I realized that what I was really hearing was silence.

I thought to myself, “perhaps what I should be explaining to people when describing my passion for fishing is simply what I am presently hearing!”

I think we all listen too much to our phones, our fax machines, our televisions, our online news prompts, etc, and we listen too little to nature.

The wind, yes, the wind, alone, I think, is one of my sounds. It is a lonely sound, perhaps, yet soothing to me.

Everyone should have their own personal sounds to listen for, sounds that will make them exhilarated and alive, or quiet and calm. As a matter of fact… one of the greatest sounds of them all, and to me, it is a wonderful sound, — is utter, complete silence.

Why do I enjoy fishing so much? Because fishing most always affords me the opportunity to hear my favorite sounds of silence…

Sure enough, my friend and I departed for home with redened skin and extreme thirst, for water, that is. Did we have a stringer full? Well, it was Hoover that did say that all men are equal before fish, and I would have to say he was corrrect in his thesis, as we did not catch a damned thing this day.

But, we did have fun on the way home bragging of our most productive fishing days. My best recent story is of a 28 pound monster that the fishing Gods graciously allowed me to land a few months ago.

Catch me at a local watering hole or coffee shop for that story… or better yet, lets just go fishing!

B. Jon Traylor