By THE EDITORIAL STAFF Pictures by THOMAS WEIERGANG and DANIEL LINDVIG

A true multi-talent, Thomas Weier gang has carved out a name for himself as a great and innovative fly fisherman, fly tyer, freelance writer, photographer, instructor, and artist. He’s just one of those guys, who does it all – with an apparent air of ease and genuineness about him.We’ve sat down with Thomas for a chat about his artwork, how he got into fly fishing, and how everything has, somehow, come together and formed his life.

I’m not trained in painting as such. I do have a degree – an MA, and teach arts at a high school. I guess the in terest came with the passion for an gling as such. I recall the urge to capture the overwhelming experience of holding a live, slimy fish in my hands from a very young age. In my folders, somewhere, I have a very early draw ing of two crucian carp. I did have a camera at that time, but it wasn’t very good, so I just drew them instead, because, well, I was always drawing something anyway. I guess the syner gy between photography and painting has followed me ever since.

I work with paper. Some works are made with acrylic paint alone, others are mixed media. Pen, colour pen cils, ink, pencil. I like to use whatev er technique fits the subject at hand. But I stick with the paper, because it allows me a degree of transparency in the acrylic paint as well as using ink and pen for details and such.

But paper is a tough material to use, because so many things can go wrong. It’s very hard to correct mistakes. But I like the honesty in that.

Well, how about this counter ques tion: What compels us to celebrate the quarry we spend so many hours thinking about? I recently saw some cave paintings in a copy of a Nation al Geographic issue from 1967. Why did the hunter-gatherers paint their prey and themselves on a hunt?

Maybe the paintings are representa tions of their hopes and dreams; the successful killing of an animal. May be they painted a great and success ful hunt in order to celebrate and remember their catch? Perhaps they were trying to please and worship their gods that way.

I really don’t know why the urge to paint fish sometimes takes hold of me. Maybe I’m just primitive in that respect?

What Danish fly fishing art scene? I guess there used to be a Scandinavi an scene with the Swedes leading the way. If there is one today, I’m left in the dark. But really the flyfishing art

scene, today, is global. I find great pleasure and inspiration in following artists from all over the globe on In stagram.

Nobody actually taught me to fly fish. I just made a note of what the heroes of the day were doing by reading all I could, and then started out…

My first attempts were in a very small, treelined creek, where I tried to catch browns and rainbow trout on dry flies. It was a tough place to practice but I, somehow, got the hang of it. At that age, I was limited to waters I could ride my bike to. Later, I joined my local sportfishing club and was able to try flyfishing in different Danish waters: The larger rivers out west and coastal flyfishing for searun brown trout.

Famous authors have tried to answer that question for ages now. Some have come close. Let me tell you what fascinates me the least instead:

What kind of carbon fibres my rod is made with or which kind of coating my fly line has got. Those kinds of things.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m a sucker for great gear, and can’t stand tools that don’t work for the job. What is fascinating is what happens to your mind when your tools work and you are at one with the water. You would think that there is a barrier between you and the fish, because you are connected to the fly with a long stretchy fly line. But the oppo site is the case: You feel sublimely connected to what is going on at the end of your line. I guess that is what I’m fascinated with – the connec tion to the underwater world.

But what is interesting as well is what happens to your body as a whole: Even if I only spend an hour with a fly rod, I feel more at ease afterwards than I do if I had used my spinning gear. Maybe it’s because I use my body in a more harmonious flow. Somebody with knowledge of what happens to your brain during meditation ought to look into it.

The reverse is true as well – If I come home from a day at the river where gale-force winds have made me feel like the worst fly caster in the world, I feel upset and stupid. But I still bring the fly rod next time because I need to figure out how I can do things right.

It’s a compulsion to master some thing horribly difficult and won derfully simple at the same time. Like painting the perfect fish against all odds.

I don’t. If there is even the remotest chance of great fishing to be had, I go fishing. Painting must wait until the conditions are horrible. Which means precious little time for painting, I’m afraid.

The trouble is, I fish all kinds of species with all kinds of methods, so there are very few days I can’t go fishing. In fact, calling me a fish painter is a big misnomer. I’m just an angler who sometimes paint a fish.

I would prefer to talk about art and flyfish ing in general. Look at a Durham Ranger. Such elegance and balance of colour cannot be a mere fluke. May be fly fishing accompa nies aesthetic ambition for perfection in ways other kinds of angling do not.

In my years as a freelancer, I have watched skilled fly anglers for hours through the lens, to capture that moment when the line, caster and surround ings are in perfect bal ance within the frame. And isn’t that what we do when we are stand ing there in the stream wavin’ a stick?

If fly fishing made me a better crafts man, I should flyfish more. I am forever dissatisfied with the results on the paper. But maybe it is the other way around. All the hours spent with the pen or brush have been spent by the riverside. I’ve taken some fabulous trips in my head while doodling scales. Maybe that has helped my fishing.

I don’t really have any. I wish fish ing in Denmark was better and more varied, because I love dry fly fishing just as dearly as I do salmon or se atrout fishing, but things are looking grim when it comes to brown trout and grayling. These days I guess it’s a bit politically incorrect to talk about dream destinations, and I know that most fly fishers close their eyes and think about anything but the co2 bill, when they plan their next dream trip. I’ll probably do the same. Butthat said, there is lots of great fishing to be had in my neck of the woods and I enjoy that.

Not really. Let’s see…

Yes. Remember that what you draw, paint or model is a representation of YOUR dream. Don’t fall into the trap of rating yourself against the hyper-realist painters out there, be cause, unless you have the stamina and talent to invest, your stuff will probably not look like a photograph. Of course, it’s okay to dream about being able to paint in such a way that the result looks like a photograph. But hyper-realist painting is not the only or right way.

Also: There are no new ways of do ing art. Everything has been done before by someone else. Trust me. Skip the thought of inventing new ways of doing art. Do art new ways for you, because it’s a fun, time-con suming way to dream of big fish in waters you’d like to fish.