Sometimes beginnings come from endings.
We all owe a debt of gratitude to Don Oliver, who has entertained us, educated us and befriended us over these many years. Even though we may have never wetted a line together, we have shared the mutual addiction of placing a fly on water. While he moves on to new adventures and stories, Don stays with us for enriching our lives and inspiring us. His joy has been infectious.
Do you recall your first flyfishing experience? Did you begin at a young age, or maybe a friend introduced you to the wonders and mysteries of the fly wand at a later stage of life? We all share the same beginnings because every adventure must start from square one.
This is my inaugural contribution to your flyfishing and outdoors life. Hopefully, in the coming days, I’ll be able to share some insights and tips that I’ve accumulated over 50 years of chasing fins with a fly stick.
Upon reflection, my scorecard would reveal hundreds upon hundreds of days spent on streams, lakes and oceans. Reflecting on our successes and failures, we can all progress and move forward to become more knowledgeable and skilled at our beloved pastime. As we venture, we’ll explore the who, what, when, where, why and how of flyfishing the world.
You may have never considered the insight that the reason you became a flyfisher, whether you are young or old, female or male, is that you may have hooked the fish, but at the same time, the fish hooked you.
It’s a first-time sort of thing. I was 13 years old, fishing on Clear Creek in Northwest Arkansas with my newly purchased Montgomery Ward fiberglass rod, spring-loaded automatic reel, stiff level line and rubber-legged popping bug; all acquired from the proceeds of my 2-mile circuitous, newspaper delivery route. I must have only been able to whip out a cast of twenty feet, like buggy whip or crack the whip. Heck, my casting was based on watching Lee Wulff on “The American Sportsman.”
No one taught me to flyfish. I was the first ever in our clan to ever test the venture. But a feisty bluegill didn’t give a hoot about my lack of casting prowess, my first-ever flyfish.
However, my fish sense was activated by the large swirl, which could never have come from a small panfish. Casting, or should I say, flopping again, a mighty smallmouth bass, my largest ever, smashed the fly angrily. After the battle and releasing the fish, I was shaking and just quit. Little did I realize at the moment, I had hooked the fish, but the fish had hooked me.
Recently, I was floating the San Juan with two new friends who had never flyfished before. You might guess their casting left a bit to be desired, but they caught fish! What an experience for all of us!
Even with tangled lines, flies in bushes and fish snubbing perfectly presented offerings, it was fantastic. Lucky me. I was there to row them down the river, to net their very first trout, and to hear their delighted shouting. I asked, “Would you like to go flyfishing again?”
“That was fun. When can we go,” was the reply. I laughed, “ Ha, the fish just hooked you.”
Our flyfishing beginnings can have a variety of shades and nuances. Maybe it was your first time to tie a fly (mine was an Adams). Or possibly you tasted the salt and stalked a bonefish off a remote isle.
Heaven forbid, you could have been lured by the two-handed siren to chase the phantom of five hundred casts, the mighty sea-run trout, my favorite, the steelhead.
So, if you are a stumbling fledgling or a seasoned veteran, are you ready to tackle flyfishing the world with all its rewards and frustrations? If the answer is yes, then step on board. I hope you enjoy the ride.
What beginnings do you have planned? -Bear
