An informal poll of anglers would reveal that many revere the works of John Gierach because he takes fly fishers to the places we have all been and places we long to fish. With accessible prose, Gierach’s words wade descriptively through trout streams, steelhead waters, and bass ponds with accuracy and passion.
As he fishes different waters and crashes in seedy motels, Gierach’s stories capture the familiar elements about our own quests for fish with a fly rod – from missed fish to the necessarily iconic nature of a thermos of coffee. For Gierach, often the journey between waters, that preparation, attention to detail, comedic mishap, and post-fishing exhaustion provide the backbone for all of his works. The latest collection by John Gieirach is no different.
In No Shortage of Good Days, the reader travels from familiar waters of Colorado to new adventures in Baja to chase rooster fish, the Skagit in search of wild steelhead, or the Miramichi for Atlantic salmon. Along the way, he pauses to reflect upon the oddities of book tours, which provides a refreshing and comedic glimpse into the life of a well-travelled fly fishing author. Of course, there are blue wing olive hatches amidst elk hunts near Colorado’s Frying Pan River and Hex hatches in Wisconsin.
In the world of fishing literature, there are other authors, such as David James Duncan, Ted Leeson, or Harry Middleton who have seemed, more intentionally and deftly, to dive into the philosophical dimensions of fly fishing or its history. Yet, in this latest edition, a lifetime of fishing and writing results in more explicit commentary on deeper issues. Notably, he wrestles with issues of class in culture and sport as evident in the chapters “Third-Rate Trout Streams” and “The Other Half,” in which he climbs aboard a golf cart to fish with a guide on stocked water in a private community. Of course, these conversations are tempered with well-placed reflections on food of the road and steak dinners on the outskirts of Valentine, Nebraska.
At risk of critiquing a legend, however, at times I find the most celebrated dimensions of Gierach’s works to be his downfall. Too often, as I read, I forget which book it is that I am reading. His perfectly scripted short stories follow a pattern: new river, new fish, new adventure. He has a formula, for sure. And, Gierach playfully admits as much when he writes about a moment on a book tour when a fan applauds that he liked the short chapters because “they were just the right length to read on the toilet every morning.”
Humble commentary aside, in this work Gierach does dive into issues that I recall lacked in his previous books. Notably, as an environmental historian, I was pleased to see him pause on the state of wild steelhead. Or, as he waded through issues of class in angling culture, I found myself nodding as Gierach noted:
“With the environment generally going from bad to worse, I’ve always thought we should all band together to save the remaining fisheries and rehabilitate the others where possible. Once that’s done, we can go ahead and fight over how the fish could be caught.”
In the end, No Shortage of Good Days reminds us why we have home water and what it means to know watersheds as deeply as he does the St. Vrain. Simultaneously, the reader can tell that his enjoyment of new waters and new road trips never tires, no matter how many times he sets out for a new spot on the map. Like fishing with old friends, Gierach’s captures the nostalgia of our own fishing campfires and glasses of bourbon.