Photos by Christopher Flynn
There’s a hidden language shared between a fairway and a riverbank. It’s not written anywhere, but the good ones know it, the golfers and anglers who move with a kind of calm respect. They take care of what’s in front of them, give others space, and pay attention before they act.
These unwritten rules prioritize your attention over being proper. Whether you’re walking up to the first tee or wading into a run at sunrise, etiquette is how you show you belong there. I’ve spent plenty of time on both, sometimes breaking a few rules myself and learning the hard way. So here are a few of my takes on what good manners look like, on the green and on the stream.
Be on Time
In my mid-20s, I had a Sunday morning golf group at my local club. I’d put the groups together and run the betting games. We usually had four or five groups, a good crew and a fun game. The only problem was one guy who was always late and usually hungover. Sometimes a cart attendant would have to run him out to the second or third tee. We’d laugh at his expense, but don’t be that guy.
Plan your morning so you’re early. It sets the tone. The same goes for fishing, there’s nothing worse than waiting at the boat ramp while your buddy fumbles around and other anglers are already launching, grabbing the best water before you. I’ll admit, I’ve been that guy before, showing up late, coffee in hand, trying to make up time. I’ve gotten better over the years, but somehow my buddy Matt still beats me there every single time. I’m starting to think he sleeps in his car just to make a point.
Respect the Course, Respect the Stream
The golden rule of both games: leave it better than you found it. A golfer fills divots, rakes bunkers, and repairs ball marks. An angler untangles line from trees, packs out trash, and releases fish gently.
Lately, I’ve noticed more and more unfixed ball marks on greens. And on the river, I’m always picking up cans and bits of garbage (for some reason, Twisted Tea drinkers seem to be the biggest offenders). Each small gesture says the same thing: you’re borrowing this place for a few hours. Stewardship is the price of admission.
Fish It as It Lies
Golfers learn this early. So do anglers. The river doesn’t owe you perfect flow, just as the course doesn’t owe you a flat lie. You make do. You adjust. You find a way to make the shot or mend the line. That’s where the real artistry lives, not in perfection, but in how you respond to imperfection.
If winter rules aren’t in effect, I find golf more fun when you don’t manipulate your lie. You get to try different shots, and when you hit a bad one, you can always blame the lie. It’s a win-win.
A couple months ago at my local muni course, I hit one into the brush against a small acorn. I knew that if I moved it, the ball would move too. My buddy Bob and I were just playing a friendly game, I could’ve easily just nudged it. But I didn’t. I hit it as it lay and knocked it within five feet. I think about that shot more than any birdie I’ve made this year.
And as anglers, we’ve all got stories like that, a tough cast, a fish brought to hand after a few near misses. The challenge is what makes both games worth playing.
Patience Is a Virtue
A five-hour round or a day of fishing without seeing a fish can test anyone’s patience. But impatience ruins the rhythm.
When I was growing up, one of my father’s business associates would invite us to play. He always grabbed the earliest tee time and finished 18 holes in under two and a half hours. I used to joke with my dad that it was like playing polo from the cart, putts given at four or five feet, no honors on the tee box, just “hit when ready.”
That kind of golf isn’t for me. If I want to rush around, I’ll take up cross-country running.
And in fishing, one of the worst questions you can hear from a buddy is: “What time will we be getting home?” If someone invites you out for a day on the water, clear your calendar. You never know when the fishing will turn on, or what story you’ll come back with.
Line of Sight
Golfers give space on the tee and keep their shadows out of your putting line. Anglers do the same on the water by staying out of your casting space. My rule of thumb: if I see someone fishing a run on foot, I go somewhere else. If it’s a busy river, give them at least 200 yards.
A few years back, an older gentleman and I pulled into the same parking lot to fish. As he geared up, I asked which direction he planned to fish. A small courtesy, but it goes a long way when you’re sharing the outdoors.
On the course, keep pace, but never hit into the group ahead. If they’re slowing things up, flag a ranger before saying something. That’s literally what they’re there for.
Tip Your Guide and Caddy Well
A good caddie or fishing guide can change the whole trajectory of your day. Not all are created equal, but I can’t recall ever having a bad experience with either profession.
In 2013, I was invited to play Laurel Valley Golf Club, host of the 1965 PGA Championship and the 1975 Ryder Cup. Our caddie, in his early 60s, had been there for decades, you didn’t second-guess a single read. On the last two holes, I asked his handicap. “Four,” he said. “I used to be scratch before I lost sight in my right eye.” At the risk of getting him in trouble, we begged him to play the final two holes. He obliged and birdied both 17 and 18. I’ll never forget it.
When I was 16, my dad and I played Pinehurst No. 2 with a caddie. On the 18th, we both hit the green in two. As we walked up, our caddie said, “There’s no better feeling than walking up 18 with your father, putters in hand.” He was right. Those moments were made better by the caddies.
I’ve had experiences like that with fishing guides too, usually in drift boats. I’ll save those stories for another time. The point is: these guys pour their hearts into what they do. When the day’s over and you think you’ve tipped enough, you probably haven’t. Go above and beyond for the conservators of both sports.
The 19th Fishing Hole
This is a personal pet peeve of mine, but when the round is over or the fishing day’s done, don’t rush out of there. I blame Venmo a little for this, especially in a friendly golf game. When you lose five skins, it’s easy to say, “I’ll Venmo you later,” and head for the parking lot. I miss the cash days, everyone back in the grill room, huddled over stale popcorn and cold beers, checking cards and settling bets. Honestly, that was sometimes the best part of the day.
Even if it’s just one beer or a soda, take a few minutes to hang out and talk before heading home. In fishing, it’s the same, hitting a local hole-in-the-wall for a cheap burger and beer after rowing and casting all day. There’s nothing better.
I guess what I’m really saying is slow down and enjoy those moments with friends. You’ll look back and realize the best memories weren’t always the shots or the fish, but the time spent around them.
