Every so often I find myself in a particularly lousy mood without knowing exactly why. In 99 percent of these cases, I have discovered the answer. It’s because I haven’t been up in north Georgia or east Tennessee recently enough, chasing the trout around.

With equal frequency, my non-angling friends ask me what’s the big about fly-fishing? While the adventure, the testing of one’s skills and the prospect of learning new things is allure enough, I have discovered that the answer for me is simple. It is the most restorative thing for my soul.

It all starts with getting there: at least out of Atlanta on a day or weekend trip. The smooth, speed limit transition out of the urban areas, through the suburbs, exurbs, and the gradual climb farther up into the southern Appalachian mountains is one long exhale after another into a slower heart rate and a clearer mind. Ah, there’s the Forest Service road. Six more miles at 15 miles per hour to go.

Setting up camp and all that entails (for a weekend trip) makes the transition complete, especially once the campfire is well and truly going.

But the lion’s share of the restorative credit is in the fishing itself: select a site to get in, unlimber the rod, check the knots, select a fly, step into the stream when it’s finally necessary, become part of the river, read the water, move into position, stabilize yourself in often precarious purchases, make the cast, mend the line, get the drift right, and the sweet, sweet anticipation of a strike.

Seems like a lot to pay attention to, doesn’t it? Most anglers know that it is. And this is precisely the essence of why fly-fishing is so restorative to me. It is absolutely impossible for me to think about anything else while this is happening. There simply isn’t room for thoughts of career, or money, or failed relationships, or the next deadline. Becoming all one with the river, the trees, the hills, maybe the fish, and the sweet soundtrack of all that entails is method for the greatest restoration of the soul I know.

For all of those reasons I don’t mind the occasional “shut out.” Provided those days don’t occur with great frequency, they can be great motivators without losing the day’s restorative properties. So, dear reader, please allow me to express to you the following: get out. Go fish.