“The Kid”

As a soon to be 21 year-old young man, I am often asked a variety of questions regarding multiple “serious” aspects of life. What are you going to do after you graduate? Where do you want to live after school is over? What motivates you? What industry do you want to be in? Other questions, in which I am not so proud to always receive, also seem to be prevalent at my stage in life. Why were you up at 4am? You know there’s a dry cleaner literally five minutes away from your house, right? How do you see eight water moccasins on the river when you are out fishing and choose not to wear your snake boots? (Yes, I clearly don’t mind embarrassing myself.)

Although I have an idea of where I see myself going in life, and can honestly say that my motivation and happiness level are at an all-time high, I truthfully do not have concrete answers to these questions. Even with a high GPA, three summers full of internships with big name companies, and the drive to continue succeeding in my academic and professional endeavors, I still cannot firmly say that I always have answers to the above questions (obviously I am now referring to the serious questions, not the “use your God given brain Joe” moments).

However, there is one question that I do know the answer to. Even though I do indeed know the answer to this question, I have found myself not knowing exactly how to verbalize my thoughts when asked by others. Thus, I thought a write up would better allow me to express these thoughts, and allow those who ask me this one seemingly simple question to get a better glimpse as to how a passion can mean everything to a “kid” my age.

Why do you fly-fish?

I once watched a fly-fishing documentary in which one of the main people in the film stated the reason as to why he fly fished: Fly fishing is a micro examination of life itself. Within five seconds of hooking onto a fish, you are able to fully grasp a little piece of the natural world that goes unnoticed by the majority every single day. Although I 100% agree with the idea of fly-fishing examining the micro-aspects of life, specifically involving nature and science, I would even go further with this point. Specifically taking this concept from the natural world (i.e. the big fish eats the small fish), and relating it directly to an emotional and spiritual realm that is not appreciated by anyone other than a select few. Although I have always loved nature, especially the ocean, and have used my knowledge in these areas to make myself a more accomplished fly fisherman, I fly fish because fly-fishing is an internal representation of life itself to me. More specifically, fly-fishing is an affirmation of my faith, heart, fight, and character that my parents have instilled in me throughout the past twenty years of an amazing life.

Let’s start with faith. There are no guarantees with fly-fishing. There are going to be days when the wind is blowing 20 knots, the air temperature is going to be below freezing, and the river is going to be flooded. In life, there are multiple obstacles that need to be overcome to achieve success. Just because there may be some ice on the tip of your rod, or the wind won’t let you throw a perfect double haul cast to a pod of tarpon 60 feet out, doesn’t mean that you aren’t going to go try. There is no difference to this than a salesman optimistically walking into a meeting knowing that the customer is going to be reluctant to buy a product. There is no difference to this than the shortest kid in his middle school class being told that he won’t make the basketball team, but still showing up to the tryouts with a chip on his shoulder and boxing out for a rebound like his life depends on it. The one constant to this all is that faith remains high. You are going to get into that boat (or into that gym, or into that meeting) and give it all you’ve got. Because at the end of the day, when we are looking into a brutally honest mirror of self judgment, no matter what the outcome may be, we will always know that we gave it our all, allowing us to wake up the next day with even more of a drive to win. To me, I even begin to look at statistics here: if I throw to four reluctant bonefish, my odds of the fifth one being willing to eat just got that much greater.
Not only this, but there are many perceived “guarantees” that come with fly fishing in which serve as an ideal teacher for humbleness and reality. There are times where you are going to think that it is a perfect sunny day out on the water, and that you are absolutely going to CRUSH the redfish. It’s not going to even matter what fly you tie on, it could even be a shoe lace and those reds are still going to be all over it. This all sounds great until you realize that it is so clear that every redfish you are sight-casting to sees the shadow of your fly line before it hits the water. One fish, big one, 2 o’clock. Cast. On the money. Spooked. Insert explicative here. Three of them, swimming to the right, 11 o’clock. Cast. On the money. Spooked. Insert explicative here. To any experienced fly fisherman, there is no worse feeling than physically seeing the fish turn down a fly or getting spooked. Especially on a good cast, with the culprit being an external factor that was never perceived to even be there. One of the biggest lessons that I have learned growing up is to never feel entitled to anything before I have earned it. Sure, if I go and land that monster bull redfish on a fly I can call that fish an accomplishment. But until then, all bets are on the table, with patience and faith being the two primary stakeholders. However, faith is still fully valuable, in that when you are provided with seemingly perfect conditions, you need to realize your blessing and make the most out of it. You have to remember the days of raincoats, fifteen foot swells, and flooded out rivers in order to fully appreciate these days. You need to have faith that today is the day. Not tomorrow. Today.
The one constant in both of these occasions is faith. I will always have faith on a fly-fishing trip or adventure no matter what the conditions may be. Because it is at the moment of doubt or despair in which a potential fish of a lifetime is going to swipe at my fly, and I better be ready to fight that fish until I am able to hold it in my hands and release it back to where God intended for it to be. There are thousands of opportunities that life presents to us every single day, and we won’t even notice 99.99% of them. Fly-fishing has taught me that every single cast has the potential to change my life completely, and no matter what environment I’m in, I better be ready to fight the fish of a lifetime. Below see the pictures of my pending world record Wels catfish on the fly caught in the middle of the night in Florence, Italy, and a monster bull redfish that was finally landed after four days of unfavorable conditions.

Another aspect of fly-fishing that has made this life-long passion of mine a reality is the uniqueness that every day on the water brings, which I directly relate to the heart aspect of fly-fishing. No two fly-fishing trips are the same, and that is the honest truth. There will always be those dozens of days in which you absolutely hammered the fish, you know, the days consisting of twenty iPhone pictures with the famous fly allowing the day to happen now being hooked into the felt of your Jeep above the radio (sorry Dad…). Whether this was a time fly fishing for redfish in Florida and all of a sudden sight casting to a massive tripletail up on the flats (see below), or catching a pending world record Wels Catfish on the fly at 1am in the middle of Florence, or even my best friend Jackson Burns and I sprinting away from a pissed off mother elk in the middle of Rocky Mountain National Park, every trip is unique. Or one trip with Jackson consisting of blind casting a sinking line into a huge, random Wisconsin lake, and catching walleye, freshwater drum, smallmouth bass, and something that took my eight weight to its backing and broke of with about 15 feet of line left on my reel: what is more unique than that? Or a trip down to Florida and picking a random canal to blind cast into, and catching the biggest largemouth of my life on the fly. Fishing wasn’t even the focus of these trips, but we still made it happen. Many times almost too unique in that many fishing stories come from events that involve danger, exaggerated events, and even stupidity at times. But who are we if we can’t laugh at ourselves having to use one of our socks as toilet paper in the middle of the woods (sorry Jackson I had to). Every time something unique happens when I’m fly-fishing, it brings out “the kid” in me, which is almost too perfect because I have often been referred to as this title growing up fly fishing. Due to many fly-fishermen having quite a bit of “seasoning” to their age column, many fly-fishermen that have seen me out fishing or have seen my pictures have said or asked “there’s that kid out there again today” or “how many did the kid catch yesterday?” I think that fly-fishing brings the kid out in all of us, in that you are a lying fool if you tell me that your hands or legs aren’t shaking when you finally see that fish in your net. And you are also a lying fool if you can’t personally admit that when you finally catch the fish of a lifetime or a fish that you have been searching after for years, that you have to take a moment to let your heart beat slow down before you start casting again. Especially for you old geezers. But those are all examples of your heart talking to you, that passion with fly-fishing in that moment is so alive that you are physically noticing how much it means to you.
In addition to this, most of my fond memories growing up involve fly-fishing. I will never forget the fishing trips with my dad. It even makes me tear up thinking back to some of these trips, in that these trips allowed me to discover my dad as my best friend. He always lets me cast to the first fish. I will never forget casting to tarpon for the first time in Belize. He gave me the first opportunity, and I vividly remember spooking it away on an awful cast, to which we both laughed it off because what else are you going to do. But then he told me that his shoulder was hurting that day, and that he couldn’t cast. At the time I was oblivious. Now I realize what he did. Even if his shoulder did hurt, my dad is not the kind of guy to stop what he’s doing because of something like that. The truth is, there is no way in hell he wants to catch a tarpon before I do, because he knows how much fly-fishing means to me, and he has seen how much time I have put into it. He knows that it is in my blood, and he gets more of a thrill out of it knowing that his son catches a fish of a lifetime rather than himself. I can’t wait to do that for my kid one day. We will get that tarpon soon enough Dad, our day for the silver king has just not come yet. And to my mom, you are the biggest trooper I have ever met, and your camera skills and smile on the boat are to be applauded. I will never forget the day that my mom sat in the back seat of a drift boat while I casted on the front all day, catching brown trout after brown trout down the Colorado. It was a blazing hot day, and fly line was missing your hair by about six inches for over eight hours. I love you is all I can say about that. I even remember the first time I took my girlfriend fly-fishing in Colorado. We were standing in a freezing cold river for three hours, catching nothing, but she still stood there with me wearing my mad bomber hat and laughing at how hard I was trying to hook onto a fish for her. Her toes were so cold when we got back to the Jeep that I remember blasting the heat and telling her to put her feet up on the dash.
My last point on heart regards nature and the fish itself. When fly-fishing, I am able to truly feel at one with the world that God has created, and am able to realize that a day without a ringing cell phone or instant Facebook notifications is needed to keep me sane. Being able to be out there and not have another thought or worry in the world other than catching a fish is something that I will forever cherish. Whether it is perfectly drifting a dry fly for a Brook trout in a small mountain creek, or seeing a bonefish nose a shrimp pattern for ten feet without eating it, my full focus is in the moment, and a ten-hour day on the water always seems like two.

As for the fight, the saying of the “tug is the drug” could not be any further from the truth. I vividly can remember the take and the fight of almost every fish I catch, and the fights are where I am able to realize the true strength, beauty, and power that these fish hold. It is also a pretty amazing thing to me that even if you are bling casting a streamer into a lake, or a clouser minnow into the surf, you are able to know what kind of fish you are bringing in before you ever even see it. Each fish has its own personality and fight, just like every single human being. I believe that fish have a chip on their shoulder, and certain fish such as tarpon, permit, and musky know that they are hard to catch. It’s like the hot girl at a bar, she’s going to need everything to pretty much be perfect with your presentation in order to get a shot with her.
But from more of an internal aspect, the fight of a fish allows me to remember the “fight” I have in myself. The “fight” as in meaning the willingness I have to overcome obstacles, no matter what it may be. This differs from faith in that although faith deals with having something to put your heart and belief into, fight deals with internal battles that must be overcome in order to find faith. At least that’s how I have always thought about fight. Many people say that it’s not good to have a chip on your shoulder, and that life should be about yourself and not feeling as if there are things to prove, but I am a firm believer in using past experiences to help yourself succeed moving forward. As for me, these experiences consist of both physical and emotional pain at times. Some of my best times fly fishing are during times in which I need a couple of hours to clear my head, in that it allows me to go back to something that I am good at. Not only am I good at it, it is something that I want to become the best at. Growing up with an underdog mindset has always made me work extremely hard, and even fish hard, thus I attribute much of my fly-fishing success to not wanting to stop casting and never giving up on the day. To this day, catching a “puppy” redfish on the fly remains one of life’s most special moments to me, in that these hard-fighting, scrappy fish are out on the flat trying to get big and strong; even if this means getting caught once or twice. But the beauty in these guys is that everyone seems to convey this sense of faith and contentment every time I catch one. They always let me get the fly out easily, they always let me take a picture without squirming, and I always feel as if they know that getting caught is going to allow them to be smarter and grow up even bigger and stronger one day. Maybe I was a redfish in a past life.
It is also amazing how fly-fishing has allowed me to accomplish things that were once seemingly impossible to me. I remember trying to cast an eight weight for the first time in the pond behind my house, and thinking that whoever could cast this really has to be some old guy who really knew what he was doing. And now, looking back at that almost seven years ago, it is a beautiful thing that throwing eight, ten, and twelve weights in the saltwater are now my preferred way to fly-fish. The stages in which I have seen myself grow as a fly-fisherman show the fight that I had in how bad I wanted to have this passion as “my thing.” I can definitely now say that fly-fishing is “my thing.”

My last point as to why I fly-fish is because I wouldn’t have the character that I have today without it. Although I follow a set of values in how I try to live everyday of my life, I find myself constantly going with my gut decision in everything I do. Maybe this is the reason why I can’t give answers to many of these typical “adult” questions yet: my gut hasn’t told me. Fly-fishing has taught me to be disciplined, but to yet take risks and not be afraid to try something new. Fly-fishing has taught me to take the time to become a better friend, and to share a passion with someone else. Fly-fishing has taught me to always have faith in myself, and to always have the mindset of catching a fish on the next cast, no matter how hard the wind is blowing. Last but not least, fly-fishing has taught me to never shy away from being a trailblazer and thinking differently than everyone else. Sometimes in life you are going to have to tie on a sink tip, or use a bonefish fly on a carp, in that everything else has been tried to catch a certain fish. How else is a passion supposed to form if you don’t give it the chance to?

Fly-fishing is something that I love to do, and is something that I cannot live without. With fly-fishing, I find myself. And in myself, I find God, my family, my friends, and a little bit of a selfish desire to catch a fish that I will never forget. Fly-fishing gives me faith, finds my heart, reminds me of my fight, and affirms my character. No matter what life decisions need to be made, or how crazy life can become, I will always have fly-fishing to bring me back to where I need to be. So the next time someone asks me why I fly-fish, my answer is going to be because it allows me to see who I am always meant to be: “the kid” with faith, a big heart, constant fight, and character that will let me double haul through 20 knot winds when a tarpon is headed my way.

Tight lines and to “the kid” in all of us,

Joe Petrow