The Mental Stress of Getting Skunked

It's okay, it's no big deal. It's fine...really...IT'S...FINE.

"Well that was an incredible waste of time," I thought as I walked back to the bank, my right leg weighed down by a couple gallons of river water I'd taken on from a leak in my waders. Just icing on the cake. A skunk cake where I fished four hours without a single bite. I threw everything I had at the water, knowing there were fish in the area, and had no idea why I wasn't getting any action. I felt like I spent four hours doing nothing, learning nothing, and had nothing to show for it. That's not true at all, but we'll get to that.

As I steamed and fumed on the way home, dealing with emotions that I didn't really understand, I realized I needed to talk through things with my wife. As always, she helped me get to some good conclusions and ways forward.

Getting Skunked is a Failure

I tried for years to tell myself after getting skunked, "Hey, any day on the water is a good day." While there are plenty of people who genuinely have that outlook, I'm not one of them. Surprisingly, admitting that to myself actually made me feel better, not worse. Let me explain.

My overarching goal as a fly fisherperson is to become a more competent fly fisherperson. Whether I'm actually out on the water, or I'm tying flies, prepping my gear, looking at maps, listening to podcasts, reading books; all of these activities are in furtherance of getting better at fishing. When I go fishing, I may have subgoals that I have set for myself, such as working on nymphing presentations. But the most objective measure of my progress toward becoming a more competent angler is catching fish. Stated differently, catching fish is a sub-goal to becoming a better angler. So, if I catch no fish, I have failed my sub-goal of catching fish.

And that's okay.

There is still plenty to gain in the face of failure, but it requires honesty and reflection. For me, failure imparts a sense of personal responsibility. It creates an urge to make note of my mistakes, learn from them, change approaches, try again, and measure results. If I dismiss the skunk with a casual "hey, just another good day on the water; we'll get em next time," there's no urgency.

More importantly, I'm lying to myself by saying it was a good day. String enough "good" days on the water together, and eventually I'll just give up. With the adult responsibilties I have on my plate, I have better things to do than wander aimlessly on the water, and I'll go do those instead of wasting my time. And once you feel like you're wasting your time, that's when you get closer to making the dreaded TRUE LAST CAST, instead of the ONE MORE LAST CAST.

I Didn't Waste My Time Today

By starting from a place of honesty, I also have to be honest and say that, despite failing to catch fish, I didn't waste my time out on the water. I made progress toward my goal of becoming a more competent angler.

So looking back at this weekend, I failed by not catching fish, but I didn't waste my time. I fished a new stretch of water, in a new watershed. I learned the topography of that stretch. I saw multiple hatches of different aquatic insects. I took a new rod out for a spin. I fished with split shot for the first time. I saw that rigid edges of waterproofing tape on waders can cause premature failures. I learned that the spot I fished in is frequented by non-anglers visiting a state park, and that it's probably better to fish it on inclement weather days.

To wrap this stream of consciousness up, everybody has their own outlooks toward fishing. Above all else, I'd urge anybody to find what works for you, what makes you happy, and stick with it. But if you're struggling, if you're frustrated, take some time to think about how you feel, try to be honest with yourself, talk to someone whose input you trust, and you might gain a new outlook that brings you more happiness on the water.

You all should do that, though; not me. This article was entirely hypothetical. I never get skunked.