the secret spot, upstream. A deeper pool, with a canopy of over hanging branches making casting/presentation difficult. The water races down from above stream into the pool and slows. I stand upon a narrow ledge, almost ready to vanish to rising waters. I work the water, dredging as best I can. The rod is darn near unmanageable to maneuver with all the over hanging branches snagging the tip, the line. I yield to the obstacles. Nature combines to thwart this man, in this remote spot. I turn to depart and there on the alder tree’s bark, someone has carved in ‘Fish’. Yes, probably quite true. Homage to a sanctuary I could not penetrate this day.
Posts Tagged ‘Fishing
During the downpours on an Oregon coastal stream, I had occasions to set my rod down and re-rig. When I would look down at the Hatch reel, I would note the contrast of a beautifully machined implement, the brilliance of the fly line and backing against the wet greens, browns, and grays. To my mind, it was rich looking in textures and colors.
The rod, a 10 wt. Winston Boron rod, once belonged to John Hagan…a dear friend and avid fly fisher, shop owner, who passed on not long ago. I was honored to receive the rod from his son, Jack Hagan and this past weekend the rod (and reel) performed flawlessly against big fish, even if I didn’t always match up to the moments. Power vs. power, a beautiful thing to feel and behold.
beckons. I went to bed with all my gear prepared lest I fumble around in the dark or with some headlamp in the dark of morning. I get up with anticipation. Odd how the mind works. I am up quickly this morn; any other morning I would moan and move slowly. Now the aches, tightness are vague reminders of age and injuries. The chill is in the air, so I bundle up against the cold and likely rain. I slowly shuffle to the water’s edge. Too dark to fish, I can hear the roar of the water…no bubbling brook now. You can feel it. The river is alive right below the surface as fish as long as your leg hold in the currents, pulsing back and forth. Slowly the light emerges. First light is a glorious time when anticipation quickens the pulse and the mind………..
A pleasing component of fly fishing is tying your own fly patterns. It is a past time that allows for varying degrees of artistic flare. It requires one to study insects and their behavior, to study the traditions of fly patterns around the world, to study the behavior of fish that consume insects, invertebrates, critters and other fish, to study the habitat, in which, fish and their food reside.
Yes you can just order flies on line or buy some at the local fly shop or big box sporting goods store. However, you might want to enhance your fly fishing experience by taking fly tying lessons and then improving your new skills with online research. There is something, after decades of tying, that gives me great pleasure to seduce a fish to a fly I tied and then to release that fish to safety (anti Catch & Release? Get over it!).
Fall is the time many fly shops and community colleges offer fly tying lessons. The lessons are usually offered in reasonably priced allotments for beginners. This is a nice gift for someone to give the fly fisher. Classes are often provided through Winter into Spring. Consider it. Create your own flies that either match traditional patterns or create your own magical experiment.
A back bay, shallow and weedy, that each year I traditionally visit. Because once, long ago, I caught some large trout on a dry damsel fly pattern in this shallow back bay. Stealth and patience resulted in explosive takes to the dry fly. Then, large V wakes as I released the trout and watched them swim away was equally impressive. Up in this same area, over the years, have been geese…usually the mature adults and always four or five goslings…is that a gaggle? This year, there was the couple but no goslings. Perhaps the young ones already flew off? I know so little about the group migratory habits of geese. Goose, gander, geese, gaggle, gosh….