Posted on Nov 1, 1999

Peter Tobiessen fishing at the Schoharie Creek.

It is nearly six o'clock on a beautiful evening in July, and Peter Tobiessen, professor of biology, is in a committee meeting. Scheduled to last only an hour, the meeting has dragged on for nearly two hours, and he is itching to leave — fishing is on his mind.

When the meeting finally ends, Tobiessen dashes to his office, changes into a pair of jeans, and heads off to pick up Tom Werner, Florence B. Sherwood professor of physical science. By a little after six, the biologist and the chemist are heading west to the Schoharie Creek, the trunk of Tobiessen's Toyota packed with waders, fly rods, fishing vests, boots, and socks.

Tobiessen and Werner have been fishing together for about ten years. On quiet evenings from the spring through the fall, the duo will hop into a car and leave the bustle of the city and the College behind, sneaking away to cool streams surrounded by rolling hills and lush woods, where they can appreciate the pure relaxation and elegance of the sport.

“It is very relaxing because it takes total concentration,” Tobiessen says. “You can't think about anything else.”

Both started fishing intensely when they were department chairs, a fact that is not simply coincidence. “I don't think that there is anything else that I do where I don't think about anything else,” Werner says. “When I'm fishing, I am thinking about the next cast — that's all.”

An evening of fishing with the pair reveals the intricacies and attraction of the sport. “There is a technical level to casting,” Tobiessen says. “You have to make the presentation of the fly look exactly like the insect that you think that the trout is eating.”

Each cast requires analysis, placement, concentration. Each move of the fisherman's body is precise, fluid, natural. It is this elegance that first attracted Werner to the sport. “The way that you can make the rod move and then gently let the fly hit the water — there is a certain grace about it that appealed to me,” he says.

“It is a dance,” Tobiessen adds. “It is just an incredibly esthetic experience.”

Success at the dance is also scientific, something that comes naturally to Tobiessen and Werner. Tobiessen, who has a Ph.D. in botany, is intrigued by the ecosystems in which trout live. His research involves aquatic plants and the forests of the Northeast, so he always has his eyes on streams and forests.

Werner, on the other hand, is an analytical chemist who investigates fluorescence and luminescence of certain chemicals. But the precision of flyfishing is not unlike the patience and persistence he demands of himself and his students in the laboratory; like chemistry, fishing demands skill and attention.

“You read the stream and try to figure out where the fish might be,” Tobiessen says. “Then you try and get the right fly and present it in exactly the right way, since fish won't take flies that don't mimic the food they are eating. Even if there is a little drag on the line, the fish won't take it. Fish can be very selective. As a biologist, it fascinates me.”

The most exciting part of the evening is catching a fish, partly because that is the entire goal of the sport, but also because the catch confirms that the fisherman's cast was just right, his fly choice appropriate, his reading of the river exact. And even though Tobiessen and Werner release all of the fish they catch, they — like fishermen everywhere — enjoy telling fishing stories.

“I remember fishing in a place by the side of the stream where there was so much overhang I really couldn't cast normally,” Werner says, clearly telling one of his favorite fishing stories. “But there was a little undercut of the bank, and I managed to literally throw my line out and let the fly just float right in there, and bang, I had a fish!”

While much of trout fishing is an esthetic experience, the sport is more than just an evening on a beautiful stream. For this duo, it is about nature and science, too. “When I catch a fish, I almost feel like I am sampling the ecosystem,” Tobiessen says. “When I have a fish on the end of a line and I feel it wriggling, I feel like I am communicating with the stream. It's a semi-religious experience.”