Life is a Game: The fly-fishing game and meta game, Part 2

Earlier this summer, I stopped by The Fly Fisher’s Place, and asked the employees what drew people to the fly-fishing game and what pushed them away.

Shop employee Gavin Ferguson, of Camp Sherman, said, “Fly fishing appeals to people with a scientific outlook.” He went over to a shelf and took down a book. “Here’s a hatch guide filled with information on flies and nymphs and where you expect to find them in the river. Do you pay attention to things, or do you just stumble through life?”

Jeff Perin, the store owner, said, “Some people never put the various elements together. They need to be shown where to place the fly and never learn to read water for themselves. To me, ‘angler’ is a term of honor, one that’s earned. It’s a bit of a cliché truism that ten percent of the fishers catch ninety percent of the fish, but there’s something to it, and those are anglers.” (My own father – who brought a dip net for nymphs and water thermometer to the stream, who tied his own flies, and had shelves of books on fly patterns and stream entomology — occupied this echelon of sportsman.)

When during the same visit Jeff observed that fly fishing is life, alluding to the Danny Rojas statement on soccer from Ted Lasso, I don’t think he was just being glib. The right game can be your particular door into the world. It has an objective and rules that pattern all your experience. An objective risks being too narrow, though, which is why for Aaron Cousins, the goal of catching fish is instrumental to a larger game of education through observation and connection with nature. He said, “The days you learn the most are the days you aren’t catching fish. I discovered that primarily from bull trout on the Metolius. When you’re not catching, you’re obliged to pay attention to other things. You’re freed to think outside of what you already know. Instead of having a one-track focus, you consider new variables; you’re not so blinkered on the fish.”

In a visit over coffee at Sisters Athletic Club, I discussed my ideas for this article with fly-tying instructor Sherry Steele of the Oregon Council of Fly Fishers, and mentioned how for me that strike on the line represents a connection with not just the fish but the larger environment. Sherry said, “Yes, that’s right. It’s what I call the Circle. You close that loop out from the hatch and the water and the weather. It’s wonderful.”

At the time of my initial shop visit, Jeff’s preparations for a Belize trip had reached the final-day frenzy, so we agreed to pick up the interview on his return. In the interim, I called renowned game designer Skaff Elias about his take on fly fishing as metagame, and he surprised me with his enthusiasm.

“This is just the sort of thing Richard and I do for business consulting!” he said, referring to his partnership with the creator of “Magic: The Gathering,” and other popular tabletop games.

“Ask about average age, average spend, how customers come in. How many are new versus second-generation? How much do they interact with store employees? What’s the seasonality, the store retention for customers and employees? Why do folks leave the sport?”

I’d been so focused on how fly fishing connects people with the natural ecosystem, I hadn’t considered the vantage from Jeff’s business itself, so I took Skaff’s questions to my next interview.

“Sisters is a good place to have a fly shop,” Jeff said, “as it’s a gateway to great water and brings a lot of people from west of the mountains. People say we have the best fly selection in the state, and we curate for the local hatches. A typical customer will buy 10 to 30 flies, some leader, some floatant. They tend to be smart with their spending habits and buy what fills a niche. For some reason, we’ll have a good year of selling float tubes and then a few slow ones, as they replace ones that wore out. As for seasonality, winters used to be so slow that it couldn’t support more than the owner — this fly shop goes back to 1986 — but it’s not so seasonal anymore, with decent activity even from November to spring break, which is the off-season. November’s the slowest month, as the lakes close down and people gear up for the holidays. The growth of the town and year-round tourism has improved business.

“We’re lucky in that we see a variety of customers. Most are at or nearing retirement age, a lot of working-class and family people.”

Sequoia Hoffstetter, shop employee and guide, made similar observations: “Lots of customers like to interact. We have both repeat and new ones. We’re seeing more older people, and an increasing number of teenagers getting into the sport. And a lot more women who want to be more active and get outside. They say, ‘Thank you for helping get me out of my head, away from computers.’ They want to be more environmentally aware. It’s really nice that people come to visit.”

According to Jeff, the sport became more popular during COVID, and didn’t decline much after. He sees a fair number of generational anglers who learn from their parents, who in turn learned from theirs, but many in their twenties have recently come to fly fishing by way of Euro-nymphing, a style where anglers use heavy nymphs with no extra lead shot and no strike indicator. These fishermen haven’t learned the old art of matching a fly to an insect and its stage in the hatch — for instance, from mayfly nymph, to emerger, to dun, to spinner. Jeff sees an opportunity for old-timers and young new fishermen to exchange knowledge and mutually improve their game.

Aaron Cousins observed, “Euro nymphing is looked down on, but I hand my rod to someone to try it, and they find it’s not so easy.” I asked him why they’re dismissive, and he shrugged. “It works,” he said.

Jeff observed that most fly fishermen remain lifelong enthusiasts who pause when they’re busy, and quit when obliged by old age.

“People in their thirties and forties have family and career and not a lot of free time,” he said, explaining the gap between young and old. “They do leave the sport, turned off by the growing crowds on the water, but decreasing mobility tends to be a big factor — they just can’t wade or hike. And, also, people get lazy. It’s time-consuming, and you need to practice, and stay in practice. It can be difficult to find your rhythm again if you take a lot of time away.”