From Fly Fishing to Tailoring: Why We Should Advocate for the Pursuits That Bring Us Joy

David Coggins
·5-min read

You may never be more grateful than after you catch an Atlantic salmon. Though consider yourself warned: It won’t be easy. Which is, of course, the point.

Born in rivers, salmon head out to sea, where they grow strong, turn silver, and live large. They travel hundreds, even thousands of miles before returning to their waters of origin, where they swim upstream to their native pool and spawn. Anglers try to connect with the salmon on this path, and we spend a considerable amount of time, attention, and money in order to do so. This summer I stood on the banks of the Flowers River in Labrador, Canada, having braved a six-hour layover in Halifax, an overnight in Goose Bay, and a float-plane ride into the Flowers—wearing an inflatable life vest that did not inspire confidence—just to get there. It was a pack-in effort (the lodge has its own solar-powered generator), and the liquor we ordered for the week wouldn’t arrive until the next plane.

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When you’re picturing me wading in frigid water, it’s important to understand that I was prepared to spend days hunting for a fish that might not even be there—this isn’t casting to trout, where the fish are present but may not be feeding. This is casting over and over and over again into what very well might be an empty pool. Salmon are called the fish of a thousand casts, and while we had heard that they would be in the Flowers, you never quite believe it—until you connect with one.

I cast toward a large rock and swung a bomber (which looks like a short, stout, hairy caterpillar) through the pool; there was a surge of water behind the fly and a visible take. In a mild state of shock, I managed to set the hook. The fish jumped, then tore downstream. I started reeling, then it turned again and went on another galloping run, shorter this time, and finally, after some more nervy reeling, there was a 16-pound hen in the guide’s net, strong and vivid silver and straight from the sea. What an animal!

Like many anglers, I look to fishing as an escape from what we might call real life: cell-phone reception, social media, news updates, professional responsibilities. Standing in the remote river, with nothing but forest in every direction, I felt a deep connection to the landscape, to those who built and maintained this camp in the wilderness, and to the knowledge that has been passed down through generations of guides, all of which contributed to this fleeting intersection of angler and fish. Sentimental? No doubt. But it’s worth remembering that none of us succeed on our own.

To that end, the numbers of Atlantic salmon, which have been embarking on these miraculous migrations for millions of years, are down wherever they’re measured. Which means that even on the water, we can’t get away from decisions made in global capitals and the shortsighted priorities of politicians and developers. It’s easy to decry this sort of thing and more complicated to come up with solutions, but here’s one: When we enjoy the traditions of fishing, sport, suiting, food, wine, art, or anything else, it’s our duty to take the long view.

Whether we like it or not, recreation is no longer a passive act. Climate change is affecting fishing, naturally—but I don’t just selfishly want to catch more fish. I want fish (and fishing!) to thrive far into the future, after I’m gone. We should want the rituals and customs we relish continuing for others. What will happen to the vineyards that grow the planet’s most celebrated wine? What about the diminishing numbers of artisans who uphold the bespoke-tailoring tradition? It’s a good thing Savile Row values its sartorial history enough that the tailors aren’t forced to pay market rents they can’t afford, and we need places like Liverano & Liverano, the venerable Florentine tailor, which continues to instruct apprentices from all over the world. Want to meet them? Go to the back of the lovely atelier on Via dei Fossi and you can.

When you spend time on the water, you can’t help but become an evangelist for the cause, and it’s good to remember that we are not alone. As I get older, I’m more and more impressed by the environmental legacies that I’m embarrassed to have once taken for granted. The Atlantic Salmon Federation commits time, expertise, and resources to research, conservation efforts, and dam removal and has been fighting the good fight since 1948. Silver Creek Preserve, south of Ketchum, Idaho, is open to the public. Ernest Hemingway’s son, Jack—a far better trout angler than his old man—persuaded his wealthy friends to buy the land surrounding some of the best fishing in America, and they made it a destination for people from around the world who make pilgrimages to fish there.

That’s the spirit. These things don’t just happen on their own. When we appreciate something, we have to do our part to make sure the tradition continues. That’s a worthy price for devotion.

David Coggins is the author of The Believer: A Year in the Fly Fishing Life (Scribner) and the New York Times bestseller Men and Style: Essays, Interviews and Considerations (Abrams). He writes a newsletter, The Contender, and contributes to a number of publications. He lives in New York. 

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