There’s a type of quiet you only find around water.
It’s not the kind of quiet where nothing’s really happening but the kind where everything is happening, maybe, exactly the way it should. A jon boat easing through fog before daylight, coffee steaming from a dented thermos and the sound of a trolling motor humming low while the world wakes up one bird at a time. That’s where most of us found fishing and if you’re reading this right now, you’ve probably experienced this.
It was long before opinions got loud and before every cast needed a camera angle. Folks weren’t arguing over brands, techniques, electronics or who’s doing it the “right” way. Before the sport became something people felt the need to defend online, fishing was simple. Somewhere underneath sonar screens, wrapped boats, tournament jerseys and social media chatter, the heart of fishing hasn’t changed one bit. A fish still lives where it lives, the water still rises and falls and every one of us, whether we’re fishing from a fiberglass rig or standing barefoot on the bank with a beat-up spinning reel getting eaten alive by fireants, started for the same reason. It made us feel something.
For a lot of us, fishing wasn’t just recreation. It was part of the rhythm of life and Saturdays started before daylight. Somebody’s granddaddy already had the truck running and you’d stop at a gas station that smelled like biscuits and black coffee. Maybe pick up crickets or night crawlers and head toward water. Nobody cared about followers because they didn’t exist, your tackle choices didn’t really matter. It was about being there and being present with God’s creation and your loved ones.
Fishing is one of the last honest places left in the world. Water doesn’t care who you voted for, what truck you drive or how many people “liked” your latest post. Lakes and rivers strip life down to what matters. Maybe that’s why people fall in love with it. A fisherman learns quickly that nature owes him nothing. You can study maps all week, spend thousands on equipment and still get whooped by a 14-year-old kid fishing a plastic worm from the bank. Isn’t that humility part of the beauty? Maybe that’s why so many people are craving the roots of it again.
Everybody seems like they’re trying to win an argument and be heard. If you’re standing knee-deep in river water at daylight and listening to cicadas sing through the hardwoods, none of that crap follows you there. The water cleans it all off.
That doesn’t mean progress is bad. Modern technology has made fishing more accessible, more efficient and more exciting than ever before. Today’s anglers have tools that help them understand fisheries better, locate fish faster and experience the sport in incredible new ways. That’s something worth appreciating, not criticizing. Let’s make that incredibly clear.
The soul of fishing remains untouched, however. A father will still watch his kid catch a bluegill like it’s the biggest fish on earth. That old man still sits on a dock at sunset because it beats sitting inside, thinking about his late wife. That young man sits on a pond bank trying to avoid his bad home situation. Friends still tell the same funny BS fish stories around tailgates and cleaning tables. That’s the beauty of it!
That’s Americana. It’s not perfect or pretty at times but rather honest living stitched together through tradition, family and time outdoors. Fishing might be one of the purest pieces of it left. The more we think about it and discuss it, every single cast you make carries a little piece of history and legacy. From old farm ponds in Georgia to winding rivers in Tennessee, from bass boats to cane poles, we’re all tied together by the same simple truth. We just love to damn fish.