Fish occupy a lot of space and time in my mind, but in different ways than their physical forms or something akin to counting sheep (though I’m not opposed to either of those interpretations). More often, I’m thinking about the various and many things related to them — their behavior, habitats, foods, health, whereabouts, etc. — or the pursuit of them with fly rod, reel, line, and fly, both tactically and philosophically.
Within this mixing pot of thoughts, questions, and hypotheses is a fairly frequent use of the word “fishy,” despite the fact that its definition and application remains somewhat opaque. As one blatant example, frequent readers here may recognize the word as the standard opening of my newsletters: “My Fishy Friends,”.
So, what do we mean? I suppose we could say that being fishy means catching fish, but that’s too simple, and there’s more to it.
From Merriam-Webster:
fishy
adjective
ˈfi-shē
fishier; fishiest
1: of or resembling fish especially in taste or odor
2: creating doubt or suspicion : questionable
Of course, a double-meaning is always nice. As to Merriam’s first, what comes to mind are the numerous instances while fishing when I have distinctly smelled, or caught a whiff of fish in the air, and then soon thereafter hooked a one. Or perhaps when returning home from fishing, have smelled accordingly. As to the latter, I find a chicken-and-egg debate: are anglers and their tales inherently questionable in behavior, accuracy, and honesty, or does engaging in the activity of angling foster such a qualities?
In my readings lately, I’ve come across several other unique definitions of ‘fishy’ that I think warrant a look. First, consider this one, from Nathaniel Philbrick’s In the Heart of the Sea: The Tragedy of the Whaleship Essex:
“Whalemen in the nineteenth century had a clear understanding of these two approaches [‘social’ and ‘authoritarian’ leadership]. The captain was expected to be the authoritarian, what Nantucketers called a fishy man. A fishy man loved to kill whales and lacked the tendency toward self-doubt and self-examination that could get in the way of making a quick decision. To be called “fishy to the backbone” was the ultimate compliment a Nantucketer could receive and meant that he was destined to become, if he wasn’t already, a captain.”
What strikes me here is the undeniable quality of confidence. No doubt, no examination, only action and an end. ‘Confidence or skills, all you need is one,’ a good friend says, regarding fly fishing, or running rapids… or just about anything, I suppose. We all know about, and have our own confidence flies. And we probably all have a confidence pool, run, or river. These are flies and places that, for various reasons, we know how to fish — or, at least think we do enough such that success is manifested. Just how the whalemen did it.
If you fish long enough, you’ll undoubtedly have moments where the rod, line, and fly seem to cast themselves, and it all lands in the exact place and in the exact way that a fish wants, and the fish takes the fly. Similarly, fish long enough with friends, and eventually you, or someone will say, “Put one over there.” The other angler does, and voila, a fish. This is fishiness in real time, and it’s driven by belief and confidence, which is a result of time on the water.
Still, within belief and confidence is also the ability or tendency to forget or ignore instances when Put one over there doesn’t work. These moments are much less memorable because there isn’t a fish involved, but it’s still helpful information (no fish there or the fly didn’t work), and there’s no harm in a fish-less prediction or cast. In that way of thinking, maybe confidence is more of an accumulation of failures rather than an ability to perform the intended thing.
Good fly fishing guides are exceptionally fishy, but in many cases, they actually fish far less than most people; reason being, they’re too busy guiding to go fishing. But this fact calls into question the element of time, as being fishy then has an indeterminate correlation to time spent actually fishing. We might say, then, that time on the water is more of a determining factor, but it could go a step further: time spent in observation of fishing.
Consider the following, from Monte Burke’s Rivers Always Reach the Sea, in reference to Florida fly fishing guide Steve Huff:
“Huff has made a case study on the nature of anglers, too. He’s seen men who can cast a country mile and land the fly on a dime but who couldn’t catch a fish in an aquarium. He’s seen others who have ugly casts and manage to catch everything they see.
’Some people just have a fish sense,’ Huff says. ‘I don’t care what someone’s cast looks like. I’d rather have a person who has some sense of where the fly should be and how to manipulate it and talk the fish to the fly.’”
Huff brings up a point about aesthetics, style, and technique: they are secondary to catching fish or being fishy. I see this often in recreational basketball leagues and games, where my decades of formal coaching and practice and instruction are sometimes worth the same exact amount as (or less than) another’s ability to put the ball in the basket, no matter how it gets there. We simply cannot argue against the ball in the hoop, or the fish in the net.
But Huff also uses an interesting word in his take: sense. What a great word.
Sensing how to catch fish brings into play external factors like the environment, conditions, and in some cases, the fish’s reaction(s). How an angler processes and synthesizes the available information is a direct application of their fishiness, and an ability to efficiently adjust tactics and techniques as situations change is an even greater show of it. Fishy anglers know if this, then that. Or maybe better stated, if not this, then that.
Let’s get out of the angler’s head for a minute, though. If we really want to know how to encourage a fish to take a fly, then the logical thing to know would be to know what a fish thinks. Instead of immediately trying to guess an answer, we might try to better define the question, or find the clues beforehand; simply give the fish what it wants.
Sounds easy enough, but will we ever really know what fish think? How often do we really even know what we ourselves want?? In the latter case, hopefully more often than not, but in the former, we won’t. We can only guess what a fish thinks, but we can take a pretty good guess by accumulating answers to fishing questions, like: will they take this pattern as an imitation of this insect? Or, will this combination of materials and colors induce a take, in this water?
There are many fishy, fictional characters, but my favorite is probably Gus from The River Why. In introducing himself and his story, he writes:
“It should surprise no one, then, that as a small child I became a ‘fishing prodigy’ and am to this day not unjustly known as a ‘fishing genius.’ It has been given to me to understand the way in which fish think; it is therefore as easy for me to catch fish as it is for a skilled huckster to swindle honest and innocent men. And anyone who thinks I brag in stating that I understand fish-thought is obviously ignorant of the way fish think. Believe me, it’s nothing to brag about.”
I appreciate Gus’ humility, but remember: he’s a fishing genius! It’s also “nothing to brag about” for Stephen Curry to make a dozen three pointers in a row; he’s a basketball genius. So I’m not convinced that understanding ‘fish think’ is nothing; in fact, I think it’s something big!
I believe all of the above to be true (at least at the time of writing), but it all is dependent on one critical assumption: that the angler is trying to catch the fish. And here is where things get fishy (Merriam definition #2).
Why bother spending time on the water in observation of, or in the pursuit of catching fish if not the intention? For this question, I have plenty of answers, and I bet you do too.
So do you have to actually catch fish to be fishy? According to the definition I gave earlier, you do.
But now, I wonder: Do you have to even care about catching fish to be fishy? Or do you just have to care about fish?
