The sun comes up slowly over Driftless Region, Wisconsin. The cows in the pasture watch with curiosity as Jason Long ‘96 walks to the stream, the one that cuts through a dairy farm. The stream Long walks is hardly a stream at all; it’s a few feet wide in some parts, but full of what Long is looking for: trout.
He’ll move upstream without worry. He’s satisfied just to be in such a place.
Long, professor of economics at Wheaton College who recounted a fishing trip in a recent conversation, is many things. An economist, teacher, father, husband. But not least of all, he is a fly fisherman.
From Central Pennsylvania, Long grew up in the outdoors. By the time he entered Wheaton College as an undergraduate student in 1992, he had spent his fair share of time hunting and fishing, but had never tried fly fishing. While Long was working on his PhD at Northwestern University, the outdoors became secondary to life in the city with his wife, another Wheaton grad. But once Long accepted an economics professorship at Colby College in Waterville, Maine, he found himself back outside.
“Moving kind of pushed both my wife and me to rediscover some of the stuff we loved about the outdoors: camping, fishing, hiking, stuff like that,” said Long. “And I had an idea that I would like fly fishing.”
His brother was an avid fly fisherman, so Long thought he should try it. But he didn’t quite have the needed inspiration until he was fully entrenched in the busy life of a scholar.
“I was basically at the end of my pre-tenure window, and I was like, ‘Man, I need a hobby. I need to do something other than teaching and research,’” Long said.
But even with the proper motivation to start, it took time to mount his courage. He said that because it’s an expensive hobby to get into, fly fishing felt like more risk than it was worth.
“I actually drove to the local fly shop, and I chickened out, and I drove home,” Long said. “I was like I can’t do it — it’s too much money. Then I thought it over again, and I was like no, I’m doing it! So I went into the fly shop and said, ‘I’m a total newbie — hook me up.’”
Later, after striking up a conversation with Steven Sonders, a music professor at Colby who loved to fly fish, he agreed to teach Long. The two set out, and Long’s life was changed forever.
“I fell in love with it almost right away,” Long said. “I knew immediately I was not gonna waste the gear. This was gonna stick.”
Fourteen years later, it’s still sticking.
In the Driftless region, Long analyzes the stream and its flow to measure out where to cast. He finds the right fly — a small, fake insect which Long attaches to his hook so as to fool the fish into eating it. For the Driftless, he might try a parachute Adams, a simple gray “dry fly that looks like almost anything”, according to Long.
“You have to learn about what trout eat, how to present it, and how to make it look reasonable to a trout,” Long says about the precision of the sport. “I’m an economist too. Problem solving is fun. And to me, trout fishing is a bunch of problem solving in a beautiful place and in a satisfying way.”
Long looks for the trout eating the insects on the surface of the water. He spots his fish, raises his pole, and casts gently into the water.
The trick is to get the fly just in front of the fish. If the fly lands too close to the trout, it will get spooked and move. If he casts too far away, the fish won’t eat it. Long wants the trout to see the fly just ahead of it, drifting naturally on the surface of the water. Hungry, the trout will eat it, and Long will reel in as a result. “You’re always hoping for rising trout — that’s the best,” Long said.
This is called “dry fly fishing,” which describes the way the flies lay on top of the water, rather than submerged, like in conventional fishing involving worms and lures. When done correctly, dry fly fishing earns the satisfaction of watching a trout eat the fly right off the top of the water. But this isn’t easy — it takes years of practice, years Long has happily put in.
“My first year, I didn’t know what I was doing,” Long said. He said he remembers going on a trip with friends from church in Maine. After three days without catching a single trout, most would be discouraged. But all Long had to say about the experience was, “I couldn’t wait to go back.”
The Driftless Valley is a plateau of land of 24,000 square miles that stretches across Minnesota, Wisconsin, Iowa and Illinois. It was formed — or rather, left unformed — by the last glacial ice age in North America, about 12,000 years ago. As the ice conquered and shaped the Midwest into its common valleys and prairies, it did not drift into this part of the region, leaving the valley the way it was: driftless.
As a result, the valley is opposite of its flat surrounding area, instead filled with hills and valleys of trees, lush grass, and winding streams teeming with trout. Some liken it to a “Little Norway.”
While the Driftless is great for its locality, Long also enjoys the forests of Idaho, where he travels annually with his brother for summer fishing trips. But no matter the place, as long as there’s water and fish, Long finds peace.
“The older I get, the more personal, emotional and spiritual value I find in just being outside in beautiful places,” Long said.
Long isn’t the only professor on Wheaton’s campus who finds joy in fishing. James Gordon, associate lecturer of philosophy, grew up fishing for brook trout with worms on streams near the AuSable River in Northern Michigan. Like Long, Gordon grew up around fish but didn’t begin fly fishing until he was an adult. Also similar to Long, Gordon became a fly fisherman only after meeting a colleague who agreed to help him learn. For Gordon, this was Adam Wood, chair of the philosophy department, in 2015.
Gordon said that, while he struggled at first, Wood remained patient and taught him how to cast.
“His casting was all whoppy,” Wood said with a laugh. “But it didn’t take him very long. And I mean, he catches way more fish than I do now.”
Wood was happy to help Gordon learn —he had also been taught how to fly fish by a Wheaton colleague.
Wood grew up less than a mile away from Blanchard Hall. Because he was homeschooled, Wood said he often had lots of free time on his hands, which he used for pursuing adventure or education. Once Wood found the rod that had once belonged to his father, professor of philosophy emeritus W. Jay Wood, he realized that with fly fishing, he could pursue both.
“I learned how to cast in the backyard,” Wood said. “I would ride my bike around to local ponds and catch bluegill and crappie and bass if I could.”
When he wasn’t sitting by ponds, Wood often sat in the classroom, auditing classes. While auditing American Civilization, taught by Dave Maas ‘62, now-emeritus professor of history, Wood learned that Maas had a fly tying club.
“He started inviting me,” Wood said. “So I would go tie flies with his old man friends.”
Now an avid fly fisherman himself, Gordon tries to fish between 20 and 30 days a year, usually at the same AuSable River he grew up going to in Northern Michigan. He’s popular, too: he said he often takes one trip with his father, another with his wife and kids, one alone and, when they can swing it, one with his fellow philosophy professors.
On Sunday mornings, Wood, Long, and Gordon attend All Souls Anglican Church on Jewell Road in Wheaton, along with their colleague Ryan Kemp and Greg Lynch, an associate professor of philosophy at North Central College. They love to teach, and they all love to fish. Once a year, those who are able go on a fishing trip.
In the past, the group has gone to the White River in Northwest Arkansas and the Driftless Valley. This year, Gordon is especially excited, as they’re going to his hometown stream in Northern Michigan, which is his ideal trip.
Gordon has found spiritual resonance in knowing the environment more thoroughly through fishing.
“I’ve been really convinced about the importance of knowing a particular place,” he said. “The river is a real fragile resource that I’ve learned to care about by being invested in its well being.”
For Long, spending time in creation alongside friends is an act of gratitude and solitude in God’s creation.
“I feel that fishing is a form of communing with God in a state of profound thankfulness,” he said. “I’m just so thankful for God creating us in such a way to derive this kind of joy from doing a thing, especially a thing in a beautiful place.”
As the sun sets on streams across the Midwest, there’s a chance fishermen like Long, Gordon and Wood are there, smiles on their faces, casting to the trout.
