There's nothing like sitting in a golf cart doing a little fishing. That's a bonus at tournaments like the Doral-Ryder Open and the Players Championship. The Tour's fishermen—guys like Paul Azinger, Billy Ray Brown, Brad Bryant and me—can back our carts up to lakes on the courses and fish. When people ask what boat I use to fish in Florida, I say it's an E-Z-Go.
At Doral there's an annual prize for the largest bass. We'll take laundry bags from our hotel rooms, fill them with water and put our catches in there. Then we take them to a fish scale that's kept at tournament headquarters, weigh them and let them go.
There's more to the sport than just throwing a hook in the water. Four years ago, when I got into fly-fishing, I learned that there's an art to it. It's a thrill to fool a fish with a collection of feathers you tie yourself with needle and thread. The idea is to give the fly the silhouette of something the fish wants to eat—a shrimp or a crab. You also have to learn what times of year to fish at various water levels, and which lures and flies to use under which light conditions. Fly casting is like golf in that way. It's so hard to get it just right. When I was starting out, my wife used to say, "If you spent as much time on golf as you do with that fly rod, you'd play better." Now I keep my priorities in line. I'd much rather win a golf tournament than catch a world-record saltwater spotted trout. Honest.
Recently I took my two sons out in my boat near our home in Corpus Christi, Texas. Mark—he's five—mostly ran around and talked about having lunch. Nine-year-old Philip said, "I didn't come out here to eat, I came out here to fish." That's when I knew we had another fisherman in the family.