Fishing... just the mention of it means something to almost everyone. I can tell you that as a sport or hobby that if you have never tried it, you don't understand its allure. I believe that it holds you under a magic spell and you cannot escape it, no matter how hard you try or how old you get.
For me, trout fishing has been a part of my life since the age of five. A time well spent with my family, especially my Dad. There is nothing like spending the day on the bank of a easy running river in hopes that your line will be put in motion by a trout on the other end. This past year, I decided to step up from bank or shore fishing to the coup de gracie of all trout fishing... fly-fishing.
My Dad is a fantastic fly fisherman, as is my husband, and brother, so I felt it was the next step for me. I have wanted to learn this art for many years, but really didn't have the time to devote to it like I needed to. I have watched for years as my Dad made the line dance on air and bring the "big ones" up from their hiding place. It was my turn to be "one" with the river, my turn to have someone stand in awe as my line danced so gracefully through the air, my turn to pull the big ones out of their hiding place as if my sheer magic. Yes, it was my turn.
Jim, my husband has many fly rods. Some were given to him as gifts, some handed down by his Grandpa and some that he has bought. When I told him I wanted to start fly fishing his smile said it all. "It's about time you came around!" We began with lessons in the back yard, learning to cast, keeping the fly up in the air until you have enough line out to put it in the spot you've picked. Back and forth, back and forth the little fly would go. Man, this was fun! Why had I waited so long to figure out what I was missing?
Needless to say, Dad was excited as well and we planned some fishing trips to our old haunts. Jim unfortunately would not get to go on our fly fishing expeditions because of work, but he was happy that Dad and I would get to spend some much needed time together.
Our first trip would take us to Cataloochee where the elk were released several years ago here in the Blue Ridge Mountains and it's fly waters only. I couldn't wait to get there and wade into the river with the old Fenwick Featherlite that Jim had given me. It's a 6 foot rod, 2 oz. number 5 fly line, just perfect for our thick dense vegetation, complete with a Scientific Angler reel and Jim's box of mostly hand-tied flies. He has had the Fenwick for years, but had never fished with it. It would be our maiden voyage... both of us getting wet for the first time, so to speak.
Dad and I found our spot, got our gear ready and enjoyed our walk up the trail to the river. It was a perfect sunny day in the mountains with the temperature in the mid 70's, a slight breeze to help keep the mosquitoes off and the perfect spot in the river with plenty of shaded areas to hide from the fish and make a great presentation with the fly. Yes, everything was in place. Now you have to understand my Dad... he loves fly-fishing and knows the importance of being quit and staying in the shadows so the trout will not see or hear you. His expert eye ran up and down the river until he found the honey hole. We slipped along like two thieves in the night. He pointed to show me where to get in and whispered that it was my day. He would stay on the bank and help me spot the trout.
I stepped into the river without so much as a ripple and got into position. Everything I had learned was flowing through my mind like the river that was flowing past me. I was there... where I had dreamed of being for so long... just me with the sun warm on my face. I put the fly in motion and the line danced above my head, to and fro, back and forth, the little fly landed in the spot I had picked. Paradise on earth, a dream realized. The little fly came floating to me and I gently picked it up and set it back in motion, to and fro, back and...back...What? No forth? SNAGGED... How did that laurel bush get there?? It's wasn't there a minute ago?? I looked up at Dad and there he stood puffed up like a big toad with the smile of the Cheshire cat on his face. "I believe you have caught a trophy laurel," he whispered. "Just ease over there, get it untangled and try again, your doing a fine job”.
I knew it was bound to happen sometime, so away I went to retrieve my fly from it's new home. Gliding through the river is easy unless you have on waders that really don't fit, like mine. Glide, Glide, STAWG, SPLASH, STUMBLE. Just put a tutu on me and call me Grace. You would have thought it was the first time I had ever walked in a river. I glanced back at Dad and there he stood, smiling “ It’s OK... everyone does that,” he said.
With my fly unwrapped and back in the air, I had to chuckle to myself... a real picture of grace and beauty... I was almost a part of the river as I had almost fell in. I fished for a while longer and didn’t get hung any more as bad as the first time. I will admit to a few more stumbles and splashes though. I even had a few bites. Dad waved and told me to come out of the river. We were going to relocate. As we walked up the trail he told me I was doing better, again with the smile, and like all things it would just take time, patience, and practice. Our day ended. Trout: 432,000,000. Lynne: 0. But we both had a great day.
Our next fly-fishing trip would take us to Cherokee. I have fished the waters on the Indian Reservation more than anywhere else. Dad drove us to one of our favorite fishing holes and was I ever ready to try again to look like the picture etched in my mind. This would be the day I had dreamed of. I could feel it. What a day it turned out to be! I snagged every laurel, stump, rock, and limb on and in the river. Dad on the other hand looked like that picture I have etched in my mind... the epitome of a fly fisherman. Yes, I understand that he has been doing this for years, but I just can’t wait to get to the point that I too, actually look like I know what I am doing.
That is the day that I renamed my new found joy, it’s now known as "Ugly Fishing." Easy... it’s not. A picture of grace and elegance... I’m not, but I love it. If it was easy, everyone would do it and I have never been a quieter. When it all comes together, it’s an experience like no other, but for every good day, you will have two days when all you do is scare the fish, try to become one with the river (by falling in), and spank the river. (Oh, "spank the river" is my term for when your fly slaps the water on your forward and backward cast. It only counts if you slap the water in both directions!) I am an official spanker of the river. Not only am I a member of the Spank the River Club... I own it. When that happens you don’t have to worry about fishing, all the trout run for safety and laugh when they get there. When this happens, it gives you plenty of time to practice casting .
Ugly fishing I know will someday turn into fly fishing, I know this is pay back for all the years I have laughed at Dad when he fell in. People tell me to read books, but I have always been a hands-on kinda gal. Knowing the proper terms will make me feel more educated, but time is what it will take. Time to spend in the river, time to spend with the ones I love, and time to perfect the new art of UGLY FISHING.
