Man of a Hundred Flies

I know a man. Not in the Biblical sense; but in the sense that I could tell you what fly he had on the end of his line at any given time.  I'm talking Alaska here, but even if it were Idaho, it'd be the same fly. A purple Egg Sucking Leech.  Gotta love the name. I'm no stranger to that fly, but this man had an intimate knowledge of the thing.  Through several float trips in AK, even 3 full days on the Kvichak, the only fly he ever had on was an ESL.  The SAME ESL.  I've been known to tell a few fish stories in my lifetime, but not here.  This man would tie that on, and it'd never come off.  Fast action, slow action didn't matter. At times we'd discuss what was working or in the slow periods what may work. He never made a switch.  I know we are creatures of habit, but this was beyond  habit, this was.... well, I don't know what this was.  So you can imagine my surprise when he sends me an email saying he had a friend tie him up 100 different flies. Who is he going to Will those to?

The Next Generation

So yesterday morning Beth, hopefully, took a big step toward her own fishing blog, obsession with gear, Alaska air miles and yearning for a second career as a guide.  (Well, a man can dream can't he?).  So fresh from that success on a cold, raining afternoon, I hazarded taking Travis for his first trout fishing outing.  You would think that I would have learned my lesson from dragging my oldest son, Jordan, through all types of difficult weather and terrain, usually with limited fish, and only his good nature preserving the experience- that I should choose better weather for Travis- but it should be clearly established by now, that, I aint that smart.

All Ready Tasting Alaska

With snow flakes mixing with the rain, after the first hole and several casts Travis confides, "I'm cold, and to be honest this isn't really that fun." Here we go again, another son ruined.  I took him up to the truck (more on that later) and filled him full of hot chocolate and then we drove over to the pool where Beth had so much success.  I positioned him right in the sweet spot- you can see/ watch the rest.... Yes, that is a lure hanging from the trout's mouth- come on, the scriptures say milk before meat, line upon line precept upon precept, here a little and there a little.

Wait for the Hondo style release.....

What a Catch

Dave looked up from his tying desk, "You wont be able to teach her" he said matter of fact.  "I've taught lots of women to fly fish but I could not teach my own wife."  Like all advice from the guru and owner of Hickory's one and only fly shop, I listened and seriously considered.

With Beth and the kids' Easter break coinciding with the April spawn of Wilson and Jacob Fork Creeks, I determined to "tie on a dropper" by melding my family time with my river time.  Hazardous venture, fraught with peril.... I know.  But I am a risk taker- well, not really, but I will try anything to get more time on the water.

Wednesday dawned bright and sunny, though chilly, and we bundled accordingly, she excited, me worried but hopeful that my fantasy of melding the two things I love most in life could be more than a pipe dream.  My hope seemed to dwindle as every turn in the road revealed a vehicle and piscators where I suspected fresh trout.  Finally we came to a vacant turn out accessing a series of deep pools and previously productive runs.  Twenty five feet from the water the trout were so thick even she could spot them and gasp- surely this pool would achieve her object, "I just want to catch fish, lots of fish like you do".  I had chuckled at that comment.  "Honey, how many years have I been fishing, I mean, I'm sort of an expert, I always can catch fish, but that doesn't make it easy.... or mean you will"  as she frowned I quickly added, "But I bet you will.  You will."

At the risk of sore chastisement and criticism,  I confess that I started her off with a spinning rod and meps lure.  I position her at the head of the pool where she could retrieve the spinner against the current and directly through the strike zone.  Her first cast was an utter failure, sailing wide right and only 10 feet.  But the current picked up the light tackle and with the first turn of the spinning reel the tip of the rod jumped, "You got one!"  I yelled and she squealed with delight.  A little brookie came to hand and was released.  Second cast, a little better throw and same result!  This was money in the bank, the Govna had delivered.

My Second Entry on the Drakes' Page Six Chicks!

In thirty minutes she had mastered the spinning rod and wanted the fly rod.  I was hesitant, but, the fish were plentiful and eager, the weather warming, the sky a sharp blue, the water clear and her confidence high, if ever there was a day to make the leap, this was it.  I rigged up a nymph and strike indicator and standing behind her with my right hand on hers and the rod, line in both our left hands, I swung her through a little roll cast that put the fly in the feeding column.  I stayed wrapped around her directing the rod for a quick mend and the indicator shot under.  Her hand followed mine skyward as we raised the rod and set the hook before I turned loose and she played the fish with the line in her left hand.  She did it very naturally.  "Ok, that didn't really count because you were helping me."  So I gave her some more advice and about the time I was going to start over coach and aggravate both of us, I just walked to the bank and began to string up my rod in silence.  She made some nice roll casts and the requisite failures to launch.  She sought my judgement on whether she had a "dead drift" and shortly she took a trout (I did SHOUT, HE'S ON!) before she realized it was a fish tugging the indicator and not just the current.

Somewhere in that spell, she was landing and releasing her own fish and I moved down stream and found my own dry fly action.  Enjoying watching her take and land a couple of fish completely on her own.  When her feet got cold she laid out on the bank like a sun bather and napped.

Maybe next time I am in the shop I will offer Dave some advice.