I started fly-fishing like most other people do, driving around in my car pulling into parking lots or just downright blocking the road before running down a hill to get to the stream in waders. I did that for between 5-10 years, and somewhere around the early 2000’s, I started to notice more drift boats around. One day in particular stands out in my mind when I decided I was getting a drift boat. I was standing chest deep one day as a hatch was ensuing during high water, bugs everywhere and some big fish rising on the far bank. I had 3-4 fish across from me tight to the far bank, but despite trying to figure out every which way to get to them, I couldn’t. Then a drift boat showed upstream. They came down and as they were passing me I said you might as well go for those fish because I’m not going to be able to get them. The guy thanked me, but really rubbed it in. He anchored, pulled out a sandwich and enjoyed himself for 10-15 minutes, then picked up his rod and within 3 casts had the fish hooked that I had watched rise for over an hour. He landed a beautiful 20” brown and I thought what the hell am I doing here freezing my balls off when I could be eating a sandwich and catching fish in total comfort?
At the end of that season, we got a drift boat. That next season, we hit a few guys with oars and sloshed around getting comfortable on the oars. We were so bad on the oars that we often didn’t have the confidence to anchor directly on fish, and anchored when we found them well off the fish. We basically used the boat to get from A to B . But after a couple of seasons, the rowing became natural and we used the boat as a means to fish from more and more over time. This persisted for a couple of years.
Maybe 3-5 years into having a boat, I remember a distinct day when I realized a bad habit had formed. My dad, buddy, and I were floating together and were in the middle of a heavy Hendrickson hatch. Fish were rising everywhere and we were alternating on who got the shot as we went down. At one point though, the amount of fish rising became too much to watch, and I started sneaking casts out from the back of the boat while my buddy was up front throwing to a fish. Within 3 casts, our lines crossed and we tangled badly- requiring us both to chop off much of our leader and rebuild. When that happened, I had a conscious thought of why the hell are we fishing one at a time in the boat and insisting on fishing from it? It was then that I realized how married to the boat I had become. Yes, we were floating a river that was not all wadeable water, but there were definitely many spots you could wade. Yet, we were so happy to have and be in the boat, we never thought practically about the fact of setting ourselves up right on foot and preparing for the hatch by anchoring and getting out so all 3 of us could fish.
After I rebuilt my leader that day, I said this is ridiculous, pulled anchor, and thought about the next spot downstream where we could all set up and fish on foot for the remainder of the hatch. In or around that same time period but after I realized how the boat had jaded me, I was driving up on a Friday afternoon after work to my cabin and got up with about an hour of light left to fish. I threw my waders on and hit a river on the way up that was wade only, and when I got out there that night realized I hadn’t had a pure wade only session in a long time. Too long. The hatch was good that night and it reminded me of the challenging but fun things you miss when fishing in a boat like seeing that same fish I couldn’t reach on the far bank at the beginning of this story, having to find a way to position and get to them if possible, but also the rewarding feeling of figuring that puzzle out when you do. I ended that night with a large brown that I could not reach from the far bank, which required me to ultimately find a way to cross the river, which I did with about 15 minutes of daylight left. I crept down to the fish, and with just enough light left made a straight downstream cast to it which was either getting eaten or spooking him after my fly line went over its head. He ate and I distinctly remember chasing it down and landing it in a muddied, sloppy piece of water under essentially pure darkness. It wasn’t pretty, but rewarding and brought me back. From then on, I not only questioned, but changed the way I viewed and used my drift boat. Both for strategic and personal reasons.
Wanting to get back to what I had forgotten, I started using the boat more as a “taxi” again. Launching on more remote floats, getting into water that was wadeable and fishy, and then anchoring on the side and getting out on foot to cover it. I came to find this was an effective strategy, and started shortening up my floats to allow for enough time to fish in this way and cover all the water I wanted to hit in this fashion. Then I took it one step further, as I started to think about stretches I would like to do this on, but were too long to realistically do it. To make it possible, I started using Saturday as a day that I would do unofficial floats, meaning I would launch at a given ramp, but set my car up downstream at a location that was not at a ramp. Instead, I’d leave it where I just planned on ending the float, and would tie my boat up overnight at a location where I knew I could walk out and get to my car, taking my gear with me and leaving my boat at that bank location. This served a duel purpose of letting me both (1) get off pace with other anglers (2) let me fish more slowly and thoroughly on water I wanted to fish and be on water that was “mid float” and often not hit during the prime evening hours because other boats were already well downstream timing their float to hit the ramp at dark. It really opened things up.
I though this idea was great, but oddly had a lot of fishing buddies bitch when I told them the plan once this became my regular routine. This being sometime in the 2008-2010 timeframe. They thought I was overcomplicating things, thought my boat was going to get stolen (who cares its my boat), and when it came to the fishing didn’t like taking it slow to pick apart water in the boat. If fish weren’t up or active, they wanted to keep covering rather than stay put and pick apart the good water we were on. But most of all, they hated my anchor and wade approach as I got more than a few grunts as I would anchor and say alright we’re getting out here lets cover this. These reactions and the time period made me realize that everyone was getting married to the boat- and liked them because you didn’t have to roll up your sleeves. They allow you to not wear waders, not carry flies on your person, have a lunch and everything else readily accessible, not have to do anything but cast from a fixed position with no water tension on your line as you lay it out there. The start of the pussification of this sport.
As crowds have worsened, I’ve taken it either further having a 2 man drift boat that floats in 3’’ of water (ship name “the duck”), a raft, a traditional 16 foot drift boat, and even a canoe to allow me to fish in this same “taxi” style method on a variety of different waters. I’ve found that coming up with unique float plans, put ins, take outs, and so on is the difference between a crowded float and seeing no one. It also allows hooking fish in the stream knee deep and that refreshing feeling of netting a fish in the water rather than having your fishing partner scoop it up with a massive boat net while you sit down in a chair, something that feels too much like the office to feel wild or accomplishing.
I understand there is always that initial “we have a boat now” thrill and you are bound to fish that boat to death for the next 1-3 years. But once that part of the learning curve is over, you either remain jaded or have a flashback to what fishing was like before you had the luxury of a boat, and some form of equilibrium becomes established. Whether it be the realization you know you have gone soft, the practical reality that you always end up on the oars when its your boat, or something else, every angler that evaluates themselves overcompensates and then brings it back in after getting a boat. You don’t get better fishing from a boat, you get lazy and comfortable.
A final thing I’ll say about having a boat is it tends to dictate your decision making on where to fish because you almost pre-determine in your head that you have to float. But let me ask you this- if one river is not floatable but fishing well, but another river is floatable but fishing decent at best- what river should you fish? Clearly the river you have to wade that is fishing well. However, boat folks don’t think that way. They have all their fly boxes in a huge gear bag, they have their IPAS and other shit they could, but can’t live without, they don’t even wear waders anymore, too much to think about. They are even willing to put finicky fish down by pulling anchor and trying to row into range, rather than just simplifying the whole process and getting out of the boat to adjust and improve their position in a stealth like fashion. Boat lovers literally chose the worse option of the two just to remain functional. In closing, I strongly urge you to keep the warning in mind that a boat can be a crutch, and change you for the worse if you become married to it. Use it as a tool, not a necessity.
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