Chapter 2: Slow Learner

I heard that, back in the day, people would go up to that part of the South Platte River that’s now Gold Medal water and toss dynamite in to catch fish. Perhaps I was born at the wrong time.

Actually, I would never fish that way. But learning all the stuff that goes into fly-fishing these days is, frankly, more complicated than getting a Masters degree.

Take the fly line. In order to fly-fish properly, you set up your reel with backing line, fly line, leader and tippet. There are good reasons for this, but nobody tells you about this arrangement prior to diving into the sport. Technically, you don’t need the tippet. But all the better fisherman I know use it, so I guess you should. Why the backing? I still don’t know that one. It seems just a longer fly line would work as well. Then there’s the thirty some different line weights and types, depending on where and what you’ll be fishing.

Some people come to the sport through family or friends. My guess is that those folks ramp up slowly, but probably get a lot of personal attention.

For those of us without those resources, there are the fly fishing classes hosted by the local fly shop. They get the opportunity to teach you and take your money for both the classes and the endless supply of gear you’ll require. That said, I still recommend them.

There’s useful information for a beginner. You’ll not only learn about the aforementioned reel set up, but also how to read streams for where the fish will always be waiting for you, and how to differentiate between 1,782,635 bugs so that you can serve those eager-to-be-caught trout the exact menu they are dining on at that moment. You’ll also learn how to tie knots in monofilament that you can’t see or feel.

The most important part of this night is wandering around the shop during breaks looking at all the stuff you have no clue of its purpose. There were some implements that I’m quite certain are use to inflict pain and are illegal in certain countries. Of course, there were some really cool impractical items as well. One that I was very attracted to was a hand-carved, oak fly box. It was about $150. I’m not sure why someone would want one of those, though. Between the chance of dropping it in the stream or just messing it up, it’s probably not the best investment.

Usually these classes are at night at the shop. Sometimes the class includes an “on the water” experience. This means that before you leave the shop, you’ll likely lay down your first couple hundred dollars on gear so that you will at least look like you are ready for an on the water experience.

About 0:dark:30, you drag yourself out of bed and start driving, maybe more than a few miles to an appointed hole. In Colorado, that’s usually a pretty spot. But driving on steeply graded, dirt canyon roads in the dark is an adventure in itself.

Now, once you’ve arrived, the scene is something like this: sixteen cold beginners, unloading gear, putting on waders, and rigging up, with only two instructors. This requires an hour.

Our instructors spent some time on stream etiquette, demonstrating a few casts, and checking for what kinds of aquatic life might be available for the fish to eat. The later was demonstrated by having one person kicking up the streambed gravel and a second person using a seine to filter what floated up from the disturbed bottom. (“You, too, can purchase one of these nifty little nets back at the shop for only $39.99.”) The seine produced a dozen or so bugs. There was a good variety. The instructed pointed out the differences so that we could use the right fly. Though I clearly saw the differences, many of them were still too similar. The ability to clearly know which bug it was would haunt me for a long time. However, once we were told what two or three flies to use that day, we only had to open our newly purchased fly boxes and tie one on.

“I don’t have any of those!” So, the good instructor lays one on me (FREE).

Then the ordeal of tying on the first fly commences. I have short stubby fingers, no manual dexterity, and the eyesight of a mole. Now, for those of you in the know, this fly was probably a size 14 or 16. Not particularly hard to work with, but it still took me fifteen minutes or so to get the job done. I’m sure you can image how I react to suggestions to fish with a 24 or 26.

Next comes casting instruction. At this point sixteen beginners are standing on the bank, a couple of arms width apart, whipping the water to shreds. As this commences, the fish abandon the stream for a mile in each direction.  If anyone had actually planned on catching a fish on this fine first day of fly fishing… forget about it! Being the non-fisherman type, I assumed that, since this is where the instructors knew there were fish, the chances were still good. Of course, I’ve learned a lot since then. I don’t need fifteen other fishermen with me to scare off the fish. I do it quite well on my own.

I do think that one of the instructors did catch one fish in that hole that day. Trout in Colorado streams are considered to be very smart and selective. But there are some dumb fish. God knows if it weren’t for them, I probably would have given up fishing by now.

For me, the instruction helped me get started. But it was only the beginning of a learning curve that I’m still trying to climb. I hear great fisherman, some of them famous, say that they are still learning, too. That’s very encouraging for a hack like me. The one truth I can attest to, though, is that all the classes and practice in the world aren’t what keeps me fishing.  And though the scenery is spectacular, most days, on the water, that’s not what draws me out to fish either. It’s all the money I’ve invested that I intend to recoup in the number of fish I will catch. At my rate of success, I should manage that by the time I turn 873 years old.