Moving beyond mere C&R
The very first two hits I ever got to a fly were on the Sacramento River near Dunsmuir. It was the first time I'd ever gone flyfishing for trout. I couldn't believe it; I had risen two trout. I was a flyfisher!
The takes stopped coming, and I eventually reeled in and prepared to move on, still quite proud of myself. When I tried to hook the little red humpy to my cork, I realized I had broken the point off the hook on the boulders behind me. I was not a very good flyfisher!
(I did manage to land several fish on that first trip and have never looked back.)
I used to disdain that touch and go ethic. I wanted to hold them, tell them thank you and let them go on purpose. I never counted a fish that did not come to hand, and was often bitterly disappointed in myself when I lost a fish. A good angler can do more than approach and fool fish; Christ, a birder can get that done! An angler can also skilfully play and land big fish, with this unreasonably fine and primitive tackle.
Yes, the good takes are swell, and stay with you. But I'll never forget the feeling when I was releasing that 21 at Lenice, who I'd turned from the reeds twice on 6x tippit, and the old buck over my shoulder quietly mumbled, "nicely played." Likewise, over some fish, hooked and lost years and even decades ago, I still torture myself over what I could have done differently.
I will admit though that these days the LDRs don't bother as much (generally, unless I really cracker it, and as long as they're not broken off, which I will not tolerate). I'm more apt to salute the little hellcat than blame myself. I take it as a sign of getting old.