The bedazzled angler | Hatch Magazine

They sit in a forgotten drawer in my tying desk, intermingling with odd-sized hooks, old fly boxes, and other ephemera that have eddied into this backwater over time. Some are bright and cartoonish, others stately and serious. All remain unused and will probably end up in the trash someday soon.

They are the dozens of assorted fly-fishing stickers I have accumulated through the years. They came with either new rods, or an order from an online shop, or as giveaways by assorted tackle companies at fly fishing shows. They seem to stare back at me, eager as puppies wagging their tails. Their adhesives beg to be peeled and stuck to something, anything.

It’s not going to happen.

Everywhere I look, there’s an increasing array of trucks, boats, roof-mounted rod vaults – really any smooth surface owned by fly fishers – bedazzled in a kaleidoscope of fishing advertisements in sticker or decal form. There’s R.L Winston Rod Co. with its fancy font straight from the cover of a Jane Austen novel. Orvis has that strange tarpon with half a tail. And of course, the bizarre G. Loomis skeletal fish. Not to mention TFO, Sage, Ross Reels, Renzetti, Umpqua, etcetera, etcetera.

Whenever I see all this bedazzlement, I always wonder the same thing: Why? Why would you cover your stuff with ads for the products you fish with? Are they compensating you? Are you a brand ambassador getting free stuff? If so, cool. But I suspect many anglers actually purchase stickers, paying good money for the privilege to show the world their tackle allegiance. I don’t get it.

Don’t get me wrong – I understand brand loyalty and all that. I have recommended to fishing friends various rods, tippet, waders and other tackle I use – provided it comes up in normal conversation, as in “how do you like those new XXXX waders?” But you will never see a High and Dry Gel Floatant sticker (if there is such a thing) on the back window of anything I drive, even though I love the stuff. Or any sticker for that matter.

Part of the reason is that when I fish, I prefer to do so in stealth mode. I like to enter a stream, make my casts, and then leave, quiet as an otter or great blue heron. This holds especially true if I park along a little-known – and hard earned – access point, or along certain streams that still fall under the radar. The last thing I want to do is advertise to the greater fishing world: HEY! I’M A FLY FISHERMAN AND THERE’S A SLEEPER TROUT STREAM HERE! HAVE AT IT.

No offense to my fellow anglers, but some streams need to remain secreted away. In a world with ever-vanishing fishing access coupled with increased pressure, why would I want to spotlight potentially little-known water? We cherish these spots; none of us want to see them overused or worse, potentially posted. And who exactly are we advertising to, anyway? Stringer-wielding bait fishers? Slobs who leave their trash behind? Poachers? Is the next YouTube hero about to blow up your favorite blueline because they happened upon your G. Loomis sticker, and one thing led to another?

Am I paranoid? Hell, yeah. But I can back up my fears with scars. A few years ago, on a Pennsylvania trout stream I had quietly fished for years along with a handful of regulars, I ran into a bait guy hauling out two dead twenty-inch wild browns on a rope stringer. It was his first time there, he told me. Saw a few “fishing rigs” pulled over and decided to give it a shot. The trout were legal and there was little I could say, though I’m sure I muttered something.

There are other reasons, too. John Gierach once wrote that he eschewed putting stickers on his old fishing trucks because they advertised to potential thieves the kind of gear they might find inside. (By the way, I recently saw a fishing sticker for sale with a Gierach quote on it. Yes, irony is not dead).

Let’s talk about something less comfortable: conspicuous consumerism. Like many anglers, I own too much fishing stuff. I admit that. In fact, I’m a little embarrassed by the amount of rods and reels, fly tying materials, and various gadgetry, I continue to accumulate. So why would I want to tell the world: LOOK AT ALL THE EXPENSIVE TACKLE I BUY! Is this where fly fishing is headed? Bona fides measured in dollars spent on gear? What’s next, waders or vests covered with patches like those jumpsuits the Bassmaster’s used to wear? Are we fly fishers or NASCAR drivers?

If any of this comes off as curmudgeonly or even snobbish, that’s not my intention. I truly appreciate meeting and talking with my fellow anglers on the river or at public access points. I have met genuinely nice people on the water and enjoy discussing everything from hatches, to yes, even gear. We are fly fishers after all. We care deeply about our sport, and most of us appreciate nice tackle. I get that. But none of that means I need to scream about it to the world by plastering stickers all over the back window of my vehicle. To me, it feels tacky. Or, as the Amish say of buttons: hochmut – proud and vain.

So, if you see a non-descript gray car with New Jersey tags pulled next to a stream, and it’s conspicuously devoid of any sort of sticker, decal, or other identifier, just keep driving. Whoever is there probably stopped to take a leak or something. Or maybe they are just watching birds or picking raspberries. They are definitely not quietly fishing in some hidden spot. No way. So move along, nothing to see here.