Chapter 1: The Journey Begins

Our yard was mostly concrete. A creek ran through our neighborhood.

At one time it was listed by the EPA as the most polluted stream in the country. I remember wading in it once with skinned knee. A couple of days later it was a puss-filled abscess. I don’t remember ever seeing a fish, not even a belly-up one.

Mom and Dad both grew up in the inner city. Only my maternal grandfather had any country in him. He moved in from the farm in Indiana when he went to find work. He kept some of that country in him, though. He did the gardening along a cinderblock-raised garden he built in front of the house. Occasionally he’d go fishing.

A couple of times, when I was pretty young, Grandpa tried to convince me to go fishing with him. I think I did it twice. The worms were yucky. Waiting for a fish to bite doesn’t work for a kid with ADD. And when you caught them, you were supposed to touch them! Sorry Grandpa, I’d rather play at a construction site.

I didn’t fish again until I was in my thirties. Some friends invited me to fish Lake Erie. The deal was to go out on a boat, the captain would find large schools, you’d fish and the crew would take your fish off and clean them for you when you made shore. I did have to learn to deal with putting my own worms on the hook, but the rest was kind of like catching fish on autopilot.

Why my son decided he wanted to fish I’ll never know. The little imp got me to go twice. For some reason, he thought that I could teach him. So we went bait fishing a couple of times where I would, luckily, hook a fish, then proceed to make a fool of myself trying to land and unhook the fish. I felt sorry for those two fish.

Quite a few years later, after we moved to Colorado, my son got the idea that I should take him fly-fishing. I think it was after he had watched A River Runs Though It about 16 times. What he didn’t seem to understand was that “Dry Land Runs Though Dad.”

I was looking for something to share with my son, though. Something we could do together then, and for the rest of our lives. Or, at least until he gets fed up with me.

So, I spent some time figuring out what fly-fishing was. There were no worms! In fact, no live bait! I became intrigued. You needed a special pole and other gear that costs HOW MUCH? Son, wouldn’t you rather do something else?

Eventually, I found a fly shop that had instruction (mucho dollars x 2) and discounted gear for students (still even more mucho dollars x 2). I took the leap of faith and the drain from the bank account and committed my passion to being, sometimes, miserable and frustrated. On the other hand, standing in the middle of a cold Colorado mountain stream has its benefits.

I fish a lot, as often as I can get out. Sometimes I catch a fish.