I like fishing...

A knowing look. A gentle touch. Sand brushed from her cheek. Holding hands. Ocean breezes gently blowing. Her hair flowing easily. Romance and a moonlit beach. The sea glistening, shimmering. Water sounds. Ah....the essence of it all. Makes one think of fishing.

Fishing reminds of a mule I bought some years back from an old Oklahoma farmer. Nothing particularly unusual about this mule except that it pointed quail. Actually, it was a multiple‑use animal. In addition to finding birds, you could ride it while hunting. When I offered more money for the mule than the farmer could refuse, the mule was sold. The farmer advised me, however, that I would have trouble getting the mule to cross a nearby river.

"I don't see why," I said, "there's a bridge over the river."

"I know there's a bridge," the old farmer said, "but that mule likes to fish more than it likes to hunt." I know the feeling.

So do a lot of others. During last year nearly 50,000,000 Americans bought fishing licenses. Less than 4,000,000 applied for a marriage license during this same period. These statistics confirm that fishing is 20 times more popular than marriage. This conclusion may be debatable, but the figures are pretty close to the truth.

One thing is certain....fishing is the most popular participant sport in the United States. It is an activity that crosses nearly all social and economic boundaries, a pastime that is steeped in history and tradition. A diversion that provides a gratifying challenge as well as a chance to immerse yourself in nature.

Fishing is a sport for anyone, any age‑‑8 to 80, blind, crippled, or crazy. I'm not sure into which category I fit. Certainly my eyes aren't what they used to be, I do have a noticeable limp from an old war wound, and I'm crazy about fishing.

And I enjoy extending my angling knowledge to others through my writings. Almost everybody's attitude will change considerably once they have had a successful fishing experience. It's up to all of us who are enthusiastic anglers to pass along not only our knowledge of the sport, but also our love of the game and our desire to preserve it for future generations.

But I'm not the sort of fisherman who fishes just for the pleasure of catching lots of fish. My enjoyment of fishing comes from the challenge that any particular fish or location delivers. I'm not nearly as excited by the thought of catching 100 walleye as I am by stalking the biggest fish in the school.

I am delirious when I have to lean into my fly rod with a large northern pike on the end of my line. I lose all awareness of time and place. I am aware only of the light tippet, the subtle motions that signal a fish's unpredictable moves, and the angle of pressure that disturbs it.

And I like fishing anytime‑‑for any kind of fish. Catfish or grayling or paddlefish or tarpon or whatever. But I like some better than others. If one has no priorities, one has nothing.

And one of my priorities is the smallmouth bass. Inch for inch, pound for pound, the bronze‑back is the gamest fish of all.

Anticipation high. Another cast. Nothing. And another. This time I land the Klasing popper on the pebbled bank and work it into the water, a technique I've used before. "Very nice," I mumble to myself as the popper hops niftily into the water.

Having written hundreds of fishing stories, for me, a comfortable way no longer remains to get to the fish that's suddenly there. Do I say "And then it happened!" or "Suddenly, kaboosh!" And do I follow with my Fenwick 9‑weight fly rod bent U‑shape, the fish surging, the line singing, my pulse racing, the rod dancing, and my mind wondering whether the tiny tippet will hold? Does that do something for you? And finally how to describe the incredible creature, this muscular bronze fish finally lifted, admired, and released? Is it enough to know that it happened? And more?