Fish and Tell
One thing that is decidedly human is the impulse to explore new territory. If one was being simplistic, you know , for the sake of argument, one might say that this single impulse has resulted in the domination of the world by humans, and by the way, every bad thing that has come with it. Early humans said, "hey, let's see what's around the bend in the river", one thing lead to another, and now we have guys in Gore-tex flogging every damp patch on the globe to see if it contains life. Someone says, "Man, those Honduran bat fish will spool you in ten seconds flat!" We just go, "Yeah? How much is the ticket?"

Sharing of information is a good thing, no one would argue otherwise. I spend way too much of what should be productive time reading traveller's accounts and dreaming of exotic watery venues, capturing new, strange and slimy creatures, then holding them at arm's length toward a camera so they look really big. The world is suddenly a different place. My only worry is that I will not live long enough to sample even a tiny piece of the action available. I mean, have you considered the length of the Australian coastline?

So, that much is fine. Lots of room for everybody out there in the big world of international destination fly-fishing; inaccessibility and cost are enough to limit the pressure. Where it gets problematic is on our home waters. As much as I wish my fellow anglers well, tight lines and all that, I get a little cagey when it comes to public bragging about my favorite spots. Not that these spots are particularly hot; I doubt if Lefty Kreh would change out of his street shoes to fish my best spots. However, they are places I can get to in an hour or so from Glasgow, and that means so can the whole trout fishing population of Central Scotland. Frankly, the fact that these spots have any fish in them at all is a miracle. So, you know, I like to keep these places dark.
Private water is not the issue. That's safe enough. It's the open ticket association water that one needs to think about before one opens one's trap. If not exactly Tierra Del Fuego, it's still pretty good fishing, and, more often than not, one has it to one's self. And, if I can help it, that's just the way I'd like to keep it. A little fish and tell is good for a water, the attention is actually protective. But it can go the other way, and fast.

When I was a young blood in western Canada, I used to shoot my mouth off all the time. Gave away fishing spots like they were old Status Quo albums. The important thing was to have been there first; there were plenty of other places to fish and no other fishermen to speak of. Well, that changed fast enough, as we've seen. By the 70's, it was clear that there was a new kind of angler evolving; tooled up, aggressive, and expert. Worse, they don't just brag to their buddies, they write about it in national magzines, with glossy photographs that make fly fishing look cooler than alpine skiing. For instance, fishing clothes now actually look good. Worse yet, fly-fishing is now a thriving commercial industry; so, open your beak, and your old fishin' hole could suddenly become a 'destination'.

If you have visited an American, 'blue-ribbon' trout water lately, you will know what I'm talking about. Some days, say, when a hatch is on, anglers actually queue up on the famous stretches of the Henry's Fork, the Firehole or the Yellowstone. Any summer weekday on the Bow, one of my own home waters in Alberta and now a 'destination' fishery, the drift boat queue at the Fish Creek boat ramp looks like a two-for-one line up at Wendy's. As far the welfare of the fish themselves is concerned, there is no problem. The trout are fine; increasingly sceptical, perhaps, but healthy and in substantial numbers. But, as good as the fishing is, it's not really what I have in mind when I think of a true 'quality' experience.

I mean, only yesterday, it seems, when fishing the Bow really was a quality experience, it didn't involve being run down by a Mackenzie drift boat, the guide glaring at you from under his outlaw bull rider's stetson, and then encouraging his somewhat nervous sport to fish less than a rod length away from where you stand, open mouthed in astonishment, staring at his back. God forbid that the commercial sport angling interests in Britain ever succeed in creating a level of professional competition like that of North America. I doubt they will, but just in case, when it comes to the precise locations of your favourite spots, you might want to practice the art of dissembling. That's a polite word for bullshit.