Let's Go Fly Fishing!

I was born and raised in Musashi-Koganei, and I remember often going fishing with my uncle in the Tama River. At Keio University, I joined a fishing club called the Chogyokai.

I heard that the Chogyokai at that time had four sections based on the type of fishing.

I joined the mountain stream section. I went fishing in places like Yamagata, Niigata, and Aomori, but I especially loved Hokkaido, so I ended up getting a job at the Hokkaido Takushoku Bank (laughs). There was a period when I was away from fishing, but about 30 years ago, I started bait fishing for yamame (called yamabe in Hokkaido and Tohoku) with some fishing buddies.

So you started with bait fishing.

Yes. But conversely, bait fishing was too easy and became boring. Then one day, I saw a yamame rising (a predatory behavior where the fish moves at the water's surface) in response to aquatic insects, and I thought it would be interesting to catch them with flies. So I went out with my friends to buy a rod and flies (artificial bait), and that was my entry into this world. I've been fly fishing for about 30 years now.

I graduated from Osaka Medical College, and when I finished graduate school, a professor in the same field in the UK invited me to come study there for a year or two. That boss loved fly fishing.

At the time, I was focused entirely on my studies, so I returned to Japan without ever being taught fly fishing. However, I continued to visit that professor frequently, and eventually, I started fishing every time I went to the UK.

That was an era when brands like Hardy were dominant in fishing tackle, and I even received some old British fishing gear from him.

Hardy makes wonderful reels. My encounter with fishing was through my family. When I was in junior high, it was a rule that every Saturday I would go fishing with my father from morning until night, and we would spend that time talking.

One time, my father invited me to watch a movie. It was "A River Runs Through It" (1992), famous as the film directed by Robert Redford and starring Brad Pitt in his first major role. It depicts family bonds connecting through fly fishing.

When I first saw it, to be honest, I didn't really understand the story, but I saw the stoneflies hatching in the sunset and flying into the sky over a majestic American river. In that setting, there was a scene of a father and son casting their rods in a four-beat rhythm, and I was strongly drawn to it.

It wasn't just the act of fishing; it was something about family relationships or life itself that resonated within me. That was the catalyst for me starting fly fishing.

There are various theories about fly fishing, but it is said to have been started by British aristocrats over 500 years ago. The equipment and methods are quite different from ordinary Japanese fishing.

In Japanese mountain streams, there is a type of fishing that uses kebari (artificial flies), but the big difference is that the Japanese version doesn't use a reel. In fly fishing, you use a thick colored line and a thin transparent line called a leader. You transfer the repulsive force generated by the rod to the line to cast a weightless fly a long distance without any sinkers to catch fish.

One of the charms of fly fishing, paradoxically, is "not catching anything." It often happens that a friend using bait catches three fish while I don't catch a single one.

But that's exactly why you think, "Why am I not catching anything?" Is the fly wrong? Is the system (rig) wrong? Is the spot I'm drifting it through wrong? Am I not catching anything because they aren't rising? Then you change the fly, change the drift... in short, there is so much room for ingenuity.

Because of that, the joy when you do catch one is several times greater than with bait fishing. I believe that is the essence of fly fishing.

Depending on where various fish are at any given time, the points and layers of the river you target change. This is incredibly interesting.

Therefore, there are countless combinations of rods, lines, and flies depending on the current you are targeting. How to use these systems to drift the fly, and how to target the exact moment a fish leaps to the surface for a winged insect.

There are floating flies called dry flies that mimic insects on the water's surface. In this case, reading the casting point is extremely important. Fish are always in places where a lot of food drifts by without them having to use much energy.

Since you often can't see the fish themselves, you read the surface current of the river to grasp the fish's position. That's the fun part.

Actually, my specialty in medical sciences is secretion and absorption. Gastric acid secretion involves liquid flowing across body membranes. The inside of a cell has a structure that looks exactly like water flowing between stones. I feel a similar sensation in the flow of a river.

So there are things in common.

If there's even the slightest sense of something being unnatural, the fish won't come. You have to devise ways to make the insect drift naturally. This is the difficult part.

I think the appeal of fly fishing can be broadly divided into four types of enjoyment.

One is casting. This is the key point of fly fishing—how to use the heavy line to throw the fly exactly where you want. Next is the fight. Fly fishing uses reels whose shape and principles haven't changed for a long time, so the fight when a fish is hooked is very exciting. The third is tying—making your own flies. You use bird feathers, animal fur, and so on.

Finally, and I think this is the philosophy of fly fishing, is nature observation. As both of you mentioned, you choose your fly based on the water flow, the movement of aquatic insects, and the characteristics of the fishing spot. There is that kind of enjoyment as well.

That's right. Regarding tying, the materials for flies include peacock feathers and animal fur, which you wrap. However, as you get older, you lose your patience and end up with nothing but leftover materials (laughs).

I'm not very good at it, so no matter what I tie, it just looks like a ball of fuzz (laughs).

However, the catch varies depending on how elaborately the fly is made. Some professional anglers camp out, examine the stomachs of the fish they catch to see what insects the fish prefer at that moment, tie flies that night, and use them the next day.

Flies can be broadly classified into four types.

One is the Dry Fly that Dr. Soma mentioned, which has buoyancy. They are designed to float on the water's surface and are characterized by representing the shapes of adult aquatic or terrestrial insects.

The second is the Wet Fly. Wet flies are designed to sink below the surface and mimic larvae, nymphs, pupae, or drowned insects.

There are also Nymphs, which are designed to resemble the immature forms of aquatic insects or small crustaceans.

The last one is the Streamer. These are flies that mimic small fish that are prey for predatory fish, and they are relatively large.

Streamers are used in relatively large rivers when targeting large fish like migratory species. In Hokkaido, there is a large river called the Tokachi River where white-spotted char come up from the sea. We target them with streamers using long double-handed rods.

We use different flies depending on the river conditions or the season. There's also the timing of when insects hatch.

Also, flies have what are called "patterns"—shapes, material combinations, and color schemes that have been tested over hundreds of years and proven to catch fish. There are an uncountable number of patterns, numbering in the millions. One of the most famous is a fly called the Royal Coachman.

That's a famous pattern. It can be used for anything. Also, the Elk Hair Caddis is a famous pattern. For something unusual, there's the Chernobyl Ant.

That's a fly mimicking a large ant, named ironically after giant ants were supposedly found in Chernobyl. New flies come out every year in magazines and online, so it's hard to keep up.

In terms of fly fields (fishing spots), Hokkaido is truly a utopia.

Even so, it's become much harder to catch fish there. Large rivers in Hokkaido are great for targeting migratory fish using streamers.

Fishing in lakes also has a different kind of appeal compared to rivers. When I went to Lake Shikotsu to fish for rainbow trout, I placed a cicada fly on the lake surface. Unlike a river, there is no current, so it just floats there. A large rainbow trout about 60 cm long came at it with a splash, but it didn't bite well that time. On my third visit, one about 50 cm finally snapped at the fly and I caught it—it was a thrill.

Also, the ability to row your own boat and move to your favorite spot is part of the charm. The best spots are where a river flows into the lake; you let a dry fly float there. Then a fish comes at it with a gulp. You just can't quit once you experience that excitement.

It has a different kind of fun than rivers, doesn't it? I've been to Hokkaido several times as well.

I went to Lake Daisetsu at the headwaters of the Ishikari River. In a wand (a deep, bay-like indentation) of the lake, a large rainbow trout was swimming around. Real cicadas were falling onto the water with a splash, so I thought it was my chance and started immediately. Then, instead of a real cicada, it gulped down my fly.

You'd think fish are smart enough to distinguish the real thing, but at that time, it ate my fly instead. That left an impression on me.

Even fish aren't perfect (laughs).

The fact that rivers have a flow and lakes don't is a very interesting point from the perspective of an essayist.

For us fly fishers, the day before going fishing always brings a sense of excitement, like the night before a school field trip when you were a kid. However, as you all said, fly fishing is a type of fishing where you don't catch much. Days where you can say "today was truly a great day" only happen a few times a year.

In that context, since there is a lot of time spent not catching anything, you think about many things. As many great writers have noted, the flow of a river has something that deeply attracts the angler's heart. Within that flow, the angler's thoughts wander. The wind flows, the water flows, and various thoughts—joys, sorrows, the hardships of life—overlap with the flow, and there the river exists.

Conversely, in a lake, the water is still. Especially in the morning when the wind is calm, it's like a mirror. I get the feeling that my own life is inevitably reflected there.

That's certainly true. When there's truly no wind, you float a fly mimicking a cicada on the lake and wait, wondering when it will come. There's a thrill and the interest of thinking about various things. You try not to stand out, sitting down by a tree and watching.

Sometimes you catch a series of decent fish over 30 cm, but if that continues for a while, it becomes less interesting. It's a luxury to say, but if I'm going to catch something, I want to catch a big one. But the big ones are cautious. So you quietly think about how to make them eat. That tension and the joy when you finally catch one are what make it great.

In the UK, I saw someone who appeared to be the landowner come to the river, and without even casting his rod, he suddenly sat on a bench and started reading a book. Then, when fish started jumping at the surface, he would suddenly close his book, stand up, start casting, catch one in a single shot, and go home. I thought, "This is truly an aristocratic fishing life" (laughs).

The interesting part is that it's not just about whether you catch something or not.

I think fly fishing is a type of fishing you can't do unless you have a certain amount of free time. That might be a bit difficult for people trying to start fresh.

However, I think it has become popular in Japan over the last 20 years or so. When I think about why people have started doing it in Japan, I think in the past, people fished in mountain streams and lakes with a hunting mentality.

In short, it was for the purpose of taking them home to eat. But nowadays, you can't really eat that many fish even if you catch them. Besides, modern Japan has plenty of other food options.

Rather, fly fishing has probably become popular now as an outdoor sport. That's why I think people can enjoy it even if they don't catch anything.

When I looked into it, the number of people doing fly fishing is actually decreasing. However, the market is growing. While there are no objective materials to investigate the fly fishing population, looking at the market trends by fishing type from the Japan Fishing Tackle Manufacturers Association and the overall fishing population in the "White Paper on Leisure," the population is decreasing in the long-term trend, but sales of fly fishing gear have grown over the last five years. Consumption per person is on the rise.

Does that mean more people are becoming particular about their gear?

Since many fly fishers are older, I think people with both time and money to spare are spending more on gear, which is driving up sales.

On the other hand, in recent years, there has been a significant increase in clothing inspired by fly fishing in the fashion industry. Barbour's short blousons were originally made for fly fishing, but they are very popular with the younger generation, and as 90s fashion—when fishing was popular—becomes a trend again, high-end brands are incorporating fishing elements into their clothing designs. I think some young people are starting fly fishing because they are attracted to this fashion.

Speaking of fashion, the American brand Simms is currently dominant in many ways. Now, even in places like Sapporo, almost no one wears big overcoats anymore; both women and men are wearing jackets made of light, durable materials like those made by Simms. It seems young people sometimes take things made for fishing and adapt them to enjoy as fashion.

There's also the fact that it's difficult to cast to a targeted point without a certain amount of practice.

There are also people who just love casting. There are Chogyokai alumni who practice casting at the Tama River, and that is also a form of enjoyment. In short, if you compare it to golf, there are people who are like driving range pros. There are clubs or gatherings like that at the Tama River.

So the act of throwing is fun.

Like having competitions to see who can throw the farthest. I'm sure they don't completely avoid catching fish, but there is that kind of enjoyment in casting as well.

I'm not very good at tying flies, and I've never really taken formal casting lessons.

If I had to say I learned something, it would be line mending—a casting technique where you adjust the line in advance to prevent it from being pulled by the river current. If the fly is pulled by the line and skims across the surface, the fish won't bite anymore. To make it flow as naturally as possible, you flip the rod immediately after casting to lay the line upstream and buy some time, but this is quite difficult.

Casting methods vary depending on the location. The basic casting style is the overhead cast, but since you swing the rod by extending the line back and forth, you'll get snagged if there are trees behind you.

That's why about 20 years ago, Spey casting—a method where you place the line on the water surface to load the rod—was born and became a huge hit. This style originated on the River Spey in Scotland.

However, fishing for Sakhalin taimen in places like the Sarufutsu River in Hokkaido is all about overhead casting to see how far you can throw and expand your range. It's quite difficult to decide what kind of line and system to use depending on the location and the fish. Even if you understand the theory, choosing which ones to combine depends on the actual location and time of day. That is also part of the fun of fly fishing.

Unlike in Japan, it is common to have a guide overseas. These are people who make a living by looking after anglers.

In Japan, cases of anglers being attacked by brown bears have been increasing since around last year. Last year, a veteran fly fisher who was visiting Lake Shumarinai in Hokkaido alone was unfortunately attacked and killed by a bear.

Does that mean we are moving toward a direction where it's better to always have a guide in Japan as well?

Yes. Since actual damage is occurring, opinions are emerging that it is time to reconsider the role of fishing guides from a safety perspective.

Anglers get so focused on fishing that they are highly likely not to notice a bear appearing. That's why it's necessary for guides to teach fishing while ensuring safety and receive a certain amount of compensation. There are guides in Japan now, but since each individual has their own way of doing things, there are some difficult aspects.

I have also gone fishing in Hokkaido a few times with a guide. They really know everything. It's standard to have a guide overseas, isn't it?

In places like New Zealand, there are spots without guides, but in reality, you don't catch much. The catch is completely different when you have a guide. Even on the same river, there are naturally places where you can catch fish and places where you can't, and there are many spots that only local guides know.

This is a story from when I went to Canada. There are forest rangers there who carry handguns on their hips just like police officers, and they come around on patrol.

What they are checking for is often violations, such as whether someone is hiding fish they aren't allowed to take on their boat. They came to us too, and what they were checking was the regulation that you must crush the "barb" of the hook. In short, it's to ensure the fish aren't injured by the barb.

Of course, the area and scale are completely different from Canada, but I feel that in Hokkaido, we need to start thinking about protecting fish and nature conservation with that kind of mindset from now on.

When I had the opportunity to hear the Canadian Ambassador to Japan, Ian McKay, give a lecture in Sapporo recently, I mentioned this story and we hit it off, with him saying, "I fish too." In both the UK and the US, fly fishing is often a hobby for people of a certain class.

In the UK, I have the impression that many university professors do it.

It originally started in the UK, but now it's more popular in the US. There are many manufacturers, and the population of fly fishers is also quite large. There are just so many locations there.

When fishing overseas, do you book a guide in advance?

Yes. That way, they can take care of everything for you.

In the UK, fishing spots are often privately owned by the aristocracy. A river flows, drops into a pool, flows out, and then there's the next pool—that single unit is called a "run," and private owners lease those runs as fishing spots.

For us to fish, we negotiate through an agent for those spots leased by the aristocracy. Reservations are often filled by the beginning of the year, and since you don't know exactly when the fish will come up, it's a bit of a gamble.

You pay an entrance fee there. In Patagonia, many people run ranches, and they raise sheep on that vast land with rivers flowing through it. People who want to fish there pay an entrance fee to the ranch owner.

Can you catch any unusual fish in Patagonia?

Sea trout, which are the anadromous form of brown trout, are famous. After brown trout are born in the river, they go down to the sea and return to the river to spawn. These fish in Patagonia repeat this up to eight times, so they grow very large. At first, I thought dolphins were swimming in the river (laughs).

The wind in Patagonia is so strong you can't even stand up. When the wind finally dies down a bit, you hide behind a car, lean out, and cast. If you don't consider the wind direction, the fly will end up in an unbelievable direction.

Last October, since the pandemic was over, I went to the Deschutes River in Oregon, USA, for the first time in a while. There are steelhead there, which are rainbow trout that have gone to the sea and returned. They grow to about 60 centimeters, and the fishing method is also interesting.

You use streamers or wet flies and sweep them (an action of moving the fly as if sweeping the current). Last year, I had two bites and finally managed to catch just one.

Steelhead are one of the dreams for any angler.

I would recommend Cuba. People from Northern Europe have built resorts there, and they have fishing guides so you can fish in the sea.

There are several types of fish, but the strongest fighter is the bonefish. You get on a boat that is flat from bow to stern and move through the beautiful shallow sea for miles, using your hands to push off the seabed with a pole.

The guide stands on a platform higher than the angler to look over the sea and gives instructions like "cast to 11 o'clock" or "cast to 2 o'clock."

We don't really know where the fish are. Since they are used to seeing fish, they know they are over there or over here. This is also extremely interesting.

That's amazing. There really are so many different kinds of fishing in the world.

I've been to Cuba twice and it was fun. Soma-san, how about places other than the UK?

I made some fishing friends in the US, and I once went with them to a lake high up in the mountains of Montana. Since there are no roads for cars to get there, we loaded our gear onto horses and went up in a pack train. The day before, they asked me, "Yoshiro, you can ride a horse, right?" (laughs). People around there all ride horses as if they were riding bicycles.

So I suddenly received intensive horse-riding training. We spent a whole day going up the mountain to fish in a mountain lake, and I caught cutthroat trout (a relative of the rainbow trout native to North America), which was fun.

The water is so transparent you can see almost to the bottom. Only the deepest part in the middle is dark and invisible. As you watch, large cutthroat trout swim slowly out from the dark area. So when fishing there, you wait and watch them come up from the depths, and catch the ones swimming toward you with a dry fly.

When I asked if they weren't afraid of bears, they said, "Bears are further down. It's safe here because the elevation is high."

In Japan, on the Chitose River in Hokkaido, which flows from Lake Shikotsu, there are several small lakes where you can't launch a boat, so you fish from a floater (a tube-like boat specialized for fishing).

I think it was brown trout, but when you cast the fly so it hits the bank, they strike hard. You fish while floating in the floater all day. It was a bit of a struggle to go to the bathroom, but it was quite fun.

Hokkaido has so many different spots, doesn't it?

As fly fishers, we naturally want many people to know how much fun it is. I think everyone has the desire to pass this fishing on to future generations.

I also hope to share this excitement with young people in their 20s and 30s. The gear is a hassle, it costs money, and casting is deep, but I think it's fine to just go, regardless of how bad you are, and start by catching two or three fish. In extreme terms, you can catch fish even if you can't cast well.

I want many people to know the fundamental joy of it. That's why I write essays.

There is an interesting book called "Trout Fishing: A Collection of American Fishing Essays," which includes a piece called "Spruce Creek Diary" written by former US President Jimmy Carter. I read it wondering what a great person like a former president would write, and he's no different from us.

He wakes up earlier than anyone, goes to the river, complains about ill-mannered anglers, loses a big one, and comes home in a huff. The President is no different from us. Since we fish with the same feelings, I want to lower the barrier and have many people enjoy it.

I spent a lot of time in the UK, and not just fly fishers, but everyone around is kind to anglers. Regarding the rivers I mentioned where you pay a lot of money to fish, further upstream they split into even narrower streams that are entirely private land. When you want to fish there, you ask the farmer if it's okay.

Then they ask, "Where are you from?" and when I say, "I'm from Japan," they are surprised: "You came all the way from Japan to a place like this?" And they always ask the same question. In Scotland, it's "Which do you like better, England or Scotland?" In Wales, it's "Which do you like better, Wales or England?" (laughs).

While I'm fishing with permission, the farmer will come by in his car, lean out the window, and tell me where the spots are: "Further up, further up!" Since the answer is already decided, they ask easy questions because they intended to let me fish from the start. The fishing itself is great, but I think the experience of going to places you wouldn't normally go and meeting various people is truly wonderful.

I mentioned earlier that not catching anything is also fun, but ultimately it's not fun if you don't catch anything. From now on, it's important to think seriously about nature conservation and environmental preservation in Hokkaido as well.

There might be rivers protected by the presence of bears, but it's vital to establish solid regulations and rules, such as deciding not to take home many fish.

In Hokkaido, this is already being done at places like the Shokotsu River, but if everyone doesn't follow such rules, the future of fly fishing will be difficult.

Fly fishing is deep even when it comes to exchanging information. It's not just about where you can catch fish; the amount of information exchanged with fellow enthusiasts—such as what systems or flies to use—is vast, which makes it very interesting.

In that sense, I think fly fishing is a very good thing as a hobby.

The author Takeshi Kaiko often used to say, "Fishing consists of three things: luck, intuition, and persistence." If I were to add to that, it would be the connection with people that Soma-san mentioned, which is incredibly significant.

I think there are few hobbies where people who have just met, with different nationalities, ages, and ideologies, can open up to each other like this. I would be happy if more people enjoyed it.

Nature conservation is necessary, and understanding different cultures is also necessary. I want to continue writing essays with the hope that younger generations will understand the appeal.