JB: How did you first discover fly fishing?
AH: I've been fascinated by fishing for as long as I can remember.
I still have an old photograph from the early 1970s of me standing next to a fisherman at a harbour somewhere in Japan. My parents always said that was the day I discovered fishing. And apparently, I've never really stopped since!
I started with ordinary bait fishing, then moved on to lure fishing and eventually fly fishing.
There was a famous Japanese manga and television animation called Tsurikichi Sanpei (Fishing Crazy Sanpei). Sanpei was a young boy fascinated by every kind of fishing, from freshwater fishing to big-game fishing, including fly fishing.
I remember watching the fly-fishing episode on television around 1980. I was about ten years old, and I was completely mesmerised by the beauty of the fly line moving through the air. It seemed such an elegant and almost magical way to fish.
At that time, fly fishing was still something quite mysterious in Japan. My local fishing shop didn't even sell fly-fishing equipment, so I started making my own tackle, trying to create something that resembled what I'd seen on television.
I think that's where the obsession really began.
JB: What did it give you early on that you weren't expecting?
AH: I had the opportunity to work for L.L.Bean Japan when they opened several stores in Tokyo. I was responsible for the fly-fishing and hunting section and also worked as a fly-fishing instructor.
During those four years, I learned a huge amount about American fly-fishing and outdoor culture, as well as the more classical British approach.
Then the film A River Runs Through It arrived in Japan, and suddenly fly fishing became incredibly popular.
L.L.Bean was much more approachable for beginners than the specialist fly-fishing shops in Tokyo. People were queuing to buy their first fly-fishing kits.
One of L.L.Bean's golden rules was that you shouldn't sell a product unless you could properly explain how to use it.
So I ended up giving casting lessons to almost every customer who bought a fly rod. My diary was completely full for four years, and I taught thousands of people to cast, often surrounded by skyscrapers in the middle of Tokyo. I also organised and led fishing trips into the mountains for groups of guests.
It was an extraordinary experience.
For the first time in my life, I felt I was genuinely good at something. After struggling academically at school, that feeling was incredibly important to me.
It gave me confidence and opened up a completely different future.
Fishing had become much more than just catching fish. It had changed my life.
JB: What was it about Paris, and about Hemingway, that made you want to move there?
AH: I've always been attracted to things that are a little unusual or alternative, whether in music, art, fashion or fishing.
One day, I came across a few magazine articles about French fly fishing. Until then, I'd mainly been influenced by American and British traditions, so discovering the French approach was fascinating.
I became particularly interested in a legendary Parisian fly-fishing shop called La Maison de la Mouche Dubos, established by René Dubos, whose son, Jean-Michel Dubos, became a renowned French rod builder.
To me, it sounded almost like a temple of fly fishing. It had connections with legendary figures such as Charles Ritz and Ernest Hemingway, and even Coco Chanel was said to have visited.
I couldn't stop thinking about it.
So I started learning French and writing letters to the shop. Over time, we became friends, and I visited Paris several times before eventually deciding to move there.
I was just over 25 when I moved to Paris and became an instructor at La Maison de la Mouche.
Looking back, it was quite a crazy decision. I moved to another country, speaking very little of the language, simply because I was fascinated by a particular culture of fly fishing.
But that's how I've made many of the important decisions in my life. I tend to follow whatever genuinely fascinates me.
JB: When you arrive at a stretch of water, what are you actually looking for?
AH: I think it depends on what stage of life I'm in.
Naturally, the first thing I do is look at the surface of the water, searching for any signs of fish feeding, insects emerging or subtle movements.
But these days, I sometimes find myself simply watching the water.
It looks so simple, but it's incredibly complex. There's an endless flow of water passing in front of you, and every single moment is different. The same river is never quite the same river.
I find that fascinating.
Sometimes I realise I've spent a very long time just sitting there, watching, without even making a cast.
It's almost like meditation. It gives me space to think, to reflect on life, or sometimes to find answers to problems I've been struggling with.
The river has a wonderful way of clearing your mind.
JB: When you're standing at the edge of a river, what do you feel that you don't feel anywhere else?
AH: I feel connected to something much bigger than myself.
Sometimes I stop looking at the water and turn around to take in everything around me — the trees, birds, animals, changing light and sky.
When you're fishing, you become very sensitive to tiny changes in nature. You notice things that you might normally walk straight past.
And eventually, you stop thinking of yourself as a fisherman trying to catch something.
You become just another living creature standing beside the river, part of the landscape.
I think that's a very special feeling, and quite difficult to find in everyday life.
