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I’ve got a confession to make. I’m a fishing failure. When I say failure, I don’t mean I have only caught a couple the last three times I went. I mean a complete fishless failure. Faliure so bad that when I got home my wife asked if I hit a skunk. 

I’m supposed to be this outdoor writer and outdoorsman who knows how to catch fish anytime and anywhere. Sorry folks, I’m a fishing failure and feel like a fraud.

The first fishless trip didn’t bother me much. At a stocked North Carolina pond, I tried to entice some trout with no success. The main point of this trip was to get the kids outside. The kids had fun running around the lake and could care less about catching fish. This fishless trip did not bother me at all, until the next trip.

In the mountains of North Georgia, there are private trout streams that are managed for heavy fish and light pressure. I received access to one of these places and decided I should go see what all the fuss was about. My wife and son went there recently and caught lots of large fish. “No problem,” I thought. 

After five hours I had tried every fly in my fly box and a couple I found broken off in the bushes. No bites. 

At this point, I remembered getting skunked at the stocked pond during my last outing and considered donating my fly-fishing gear.

I don’t give up that easily though. A week later, I went to Tennessee to float down a river with two friends. The section we would be floating and fishing was labeled as a “trophy water.” Our spirits were high starting our six-hour float. After three hours we stopped at the bank for lunch. We watched as guided fishermen fished the river in front of us. Probing the depths with feathers and fur, they also came up empty. We pumped ourselves up for the remaining miles of river, knowing we were about to figure the fish out.

Around each bend brought new opportunities and theoretical fish to catch. But around the last bend, I saw the takeout and the writing on the wall. I was officially a fishing failure. 

Anyone can fail at fishing. With my knowledge of local rivers and fly tying, I was able to fail spectacularly. Three states, hundreds of miles on the road, multiple bodies of water, and hundreds of fly changes brought about my largest fishing slump since Obama was in office.  

If you are driving around town and smell a skunk, don’t be too quick to blame the animal, it may just be me heading to the mountains to end my slump.