According to Webster’s —

game \’g m \ [Old English gamen — amusement] a physical or mental competition conducted according to rules with the participants in direct opposition to each other.

sport \ ‘sp ( )rt \ [Middle English sporten — to divert] a physical activity engaged in for pleasure; or, a companionable person.

According to me —

game — A competitive activity that requires a referee or umpire to enforce the rules of the game.

sport — A pleasant activity, the conventions and traditions of which are self-enforced for the sake of preserving the integrity of the sport; or, a companionable person.

            On the wall of my office in Fruit Heights is a black and white photo of me taken in 1951 when I was a very young child.  The setting, I believe, is Swift Creek, which rushes into Star Valley, Wyoming.  In my hands is the instrument directing my endeavors that day — a fly rod.  And over half my lifetime ago when I was a young man in my early twenties, fly fishing became my primary past time.  I have been plying water with a fly rod more years than most flyfishers have lived.  

            I’m old enough to recall effectively working a pair, or even a trio, of “wets” downstream, flinging them with a cast that was closer in technique to a one-handed Spey than a roll.  One of the wet flies was often a Professor, like the one depicted on the Fly Fishing Utah — Current Utah Fishing Conditions web page.  I’m still addicted to Soft Hackles.  I’ve seen, and mostly enjoyed, changes in fly lines, rods, attire, leaders, and such.  I hit the streams and lakes wearing Gore-Tex waders, wielding a carbon fiber rod, and grateful for the technology that has brought comfort and ease to my favorite sport.

            When I used to work my wets downstream I would often find myself approaching a dry fly angler.  I would take careful note of his pace as he worked up river, making my exit from the water in time to give it a 20-30 minute rest before he arrived.  I would walk past him, often stopping to exchange pleasantries and whatever lies we thought we could get away with, and re-enter the river below him.  It was universally understood that an angler working wets, streamers, or nymphs would yield to someone fishing dry.

            By contrast, a few months ago I was on the Weber at dusk with my younger brother.  He was nymphing with a strike indicator in a longish pool with me at his side.  A young fella busted out of the willows at the tail of the same pool, stripped off some line and began to cast a nymph.  Astounded at the inconsiderate cheek of the knot-head, I took a step away from my brother, stripped off the entire length of my weight-forward #5 line, whipped out the head in a couple of false casts, double-hauled, and punched my line down and directly across the intruder’s “presentation.”   He took the hint, reeled in and departed.  I guess he figured anyone who could direct a 100-foot cast with a light rod might have other mysterious powers he didn’t want to contend with.  There’s no mystery about such a cast, incidentally, just a few thousand hours of Norther California steelhead, salmon, and shad fishing to learn the trick of it.

            The impolite intruder I encountered on the Weber had transformed my evening of sport into a game.  True sport requires no officials or other interventions to enforce rules or traditions.  One may consult, as golfers often do, about a ruling as a participant makes sure they rigorously self-enforce the expected regulatory restraints about a situation.  The post “A River Runs Through It” fly fishing community has grown to the point that we’ve attracted an ignorant and un-companionable constituency — people who don’t understand what a sport is, and are generally unsporting people.

            I was moved to note these reflections after reading a few of the feckless reactions by the unsportsmanlike element in our community to ice-fishing Troy’s account on  Fly Fishing Utah — Current Utah Fishing Conditions — Personal Reports web page.  Last winter I took my grandson fishing for the first time: ice fishing at Pineview.  The lad was successful and delighted.  He didn’t have a fly rod in his hands, but the perch came to the pair of Soft Hackle flies he dropped through the ice.

Neal Humphrey lives in Layton, is the pastor of Westminster Presbyterian Church, plans on retiring near fly fishing water, working as a guide during the days, and playing jazz guitar at night in saloons for tips.  He’s the author of the Steelhead Fly Tying Manual (Amato Publications, out-of-print).