It’s one thing to be early and lucky enough to stumble on fish no one knows about – but that happens so infrequently – it’s time to “soldier up” and plan on fishing betwixt other anglers.

Most anglers prefer the solitude and quiet, but it’s an antisocial luxury we cannot count on in semi-urban settings and with migratory fish.

Anything coming up the river is at the mercy of the first dam upstream, diminishing their historic range and concentrating them in whatever free-flowing portion remains. It makes fish accessible and breeds anglers in uncomfortable proximity. Rumors of fish fly as fast as the Internet, and like Stripers  running on the beach, a crowd can form in minutes.

There’s a big difference being the first guy on the fish versus being the last fellow to arrive. We’ve all lamented the boorish angler who makes our good fortune less so – some assistance in how to avoid being “that guy” can be useful.

If you’re the lucky SOB that got there first – you’re not keeping those fish, enjoy them in solitude as long as possible, but when the avenging hordes of fellow fishermen arrive, and they will, suck in the lower lip and share. It’s expected of you.

I really like fishermen, as they’re one of the few groups of humans that don’t seem to have boundaries. You can make small talk with a “gang-banger” or swap flies with a religious zealot, somehow vocation and color, class, sexual orientation, and political persuasion all take the day off.

I try to share my fish gracefully and recognize they’re not mine. If I’ve got a couple of stalwarts scanning the water, I’ll motion them over and put them onto the meat bucket with little reserve. It’s always more fun to fish with friends – and by doing so, I’ve made two more.

If you don’t they’ll be edging closer anyway – and I’d rather be whooping it up with new pals than endure those sulking predator poses as they “crab-walk” closer, hoping I don’t notice.

It’s different if you’re the last fellow arriving, greeted by a line of fellows casting like synchronized swimmers. There’s good reason for precision and a smart fellow spends a few moments observing what’s going on before blindly wading in at head or tail.

I want to know who’s doing the catching, and where are they in relation to the rest of the line? This’ll give a clue as to whether the head of the group or tail is closest to the “money.”

I always prefer to wade in at the head, it’s easier for me to judge whether I’m crowding the man below. Watch his casts to see how far upstream he’s quartering, then pick that limit as the entry point. You can guess how far the lowest fellow’s swinging his fly – but you can’t see it, so it’s much harder to judge.

Learn to be the gregarious outgoing type as a means of introduction. Ask the fellow below you whether you’re too close. Nobody likes a silent standoffish prick in their midst, so don’t act like one.

You will always crowd someone, there isn’t enough room in the Solar System to be far enough away from the fellow who arrived earlier, don’t expect to be greeted warmly – and thaw the SOB to the best of your abilities without seeming chatty or obnoxious.

If you’re in the middle you’ve got two obligations, to watch the man above and cast when he does, ensuring your fly lands downstream of his. The fellow below will be watching you, so don’t dawdle or screw around when in the thick of things. If either fellow hooks up yank your line in smartly and hang fire until he’s reaching for the net.

If the fellow loses it, mention how enormous it was and he’s fortunate not to have lost a hand to razor sharp teeth. If he’s a friendly type consider mentioning his questionable ancestry, and how your 3 year old could have done it in half the time…

Never squander an opportunity to insult your fellow angler.

Always “Belly up” to the line of anglers, wade out until you’re making a straight line with the fellow above and below. If something happens and you’re late in making the next cast your line will be directly downstream of you – no sense making friends by pulling your fly into the leg of your neighbor.

Always fish barbless, it’s not an option when “cheek to jowl” with a press of humanity in proximity. Some fellow is going to get a cell phone call reminding him where he should be, will lose track of his surroundings and walk into your cast, or some interested jogger will wander too close and take one in the face – he won’t know better, but you will.

We all wish it otherwise – but the combination of too few fish and too many fishermen requires refining those dormant social skills, it’s like a cocktail party with fish hooks and no liquor.

One Olive or two, Sweetpea?

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