Fitness & Flyfishing

It often begins with a quiet moment—a cup of tea in hand and the best of intentions.

“I’ll just check the weather,” I tell myself. “See if the river levels are right. Maybe tie a few flies.” But hours can pass unnoticed. The rod stays untouched. A documentary plays in the background—someone in New Zealand landing trout the size of small dogs—while I'm doom scrolling on my phone.

The gear sits where I left it. My waders are still damp from the last outing, a trip that could be more accurately described as a lesson in humility: poor fly choices, and the usual reminder that nature has little interest in our plans.

A few years ago, I decided I should take better care of my health. Like many, I approached it with enthusiasm and a bit of naivety. I took up cycling—proper cycling. Lycra, carbon frame, the whole kit. I believed fitness would be straightforward: train hard, look sharp, feel great.

Instead, I landed in hospital.

Not from a dramatic fall or a brush with traffic, but from a rare condition triggered by overexertion. My muscles, pushed too far, began to break down and stress my kidneys. It was a wake-up call in the clearest sense.

At my most recent check-up, the doctor offered a different prescription: balance. “A good, fast walk,” she said. Not too much. Not too little. Just consistent, moderate movement—sustainable effort that restores rather than depletes.

At first, I resisted. In my mind, I saw the caricature of an Olympic race walker—arms swinging, hips exaggerated—a strange blend of urgency and choreography. But I gave it a go.

Five miles a day. A little over an hour. Nothing glamorous. No social media posts. Just me, my breath, my boots, and the Orvis

fly fishing podcast in my ears—Tom Rosenbauer sharing wisdom, tips, and reminders that this pursuit of ours is as much mental as physical.

What I’ve found is that walking has done more than build stamina. It’s cleared the clutter. It’s where I problem-solve—thinking through complex water, stubborn fish, and the why behind my last blank day on the river. It’s become the quiet space where answers form naturally.

The real surprise? It’s made me a better angler.

Not just in endurance—though I now reach those tucked-away pools others won’t hike to—but in mindset. I arrive more focused. I fish longer, more intentionally, and I leave less defeated when the fish win. Which, as we all know, they often do.

There’s wisdom in slowing down, in choosing consistency over extremes. In an age that celebrates hustle and highlight reels, walking might seem ordinary. But for me, it’s become foundational—not just for my health, but for my fishing, and for the clarity that comes when you give yourself the time to think.

So, if you find yourself stuck—on the sofa, doom scrolling or just procrastinating, try walking, it changes not only your health but you flyfishing too