What it takes to put a Fly on the water
Is that a question? Who wouldn’t want to Flyfish? The desire can be so strong that it can get in the way of everything! Work, what a hassle! Still, it pays the bills. I am lucky to be able to work from my home, for myself, so I freely admit being too weak when it comes to this subject.
Some of my friends say I have it too bad, what do they know? “They know nothing”, John Snow!!! (Game of Thrones). Still, to put it mildly, I think I am becoming a Fly Fishing addict. Are there rehab classes for this? I would struggle in the first meeting.
The point to this rambling is only to express to the world the joys of Fly Fishing. The beauty of your surroundings, the peacefulness and the thrill of the hunt. Regardless if you catch a fish. That is not the point, or so some say. Me I want to catch fish, and then release them safely back to fight another day. That’s not to say, I still really enjoy just being out there. I do, I have come home many days with not a rise, gulp, bite, look, sniff of a fish on my fly.
The frustration of casting a dry, being out of sync. Wondering what the hell am I doing today? Where is my tight loop? My perfect cast unwinding perfectly gently on to my target. The seemingly mindless, but very attuned all -seeing, disdainful to my attempts of a cast, the trout my trophy.
Then after many frustrating casts, the perfect loop, where the hell did that come from? Not me surely, I am standing up to my chest in running waters, with the wind whipping by, circling ready to pounce on my feeble attempts. My feet trying not to slip on the slippery rocks, my balance precarious, in a word I am attuned to nature!!! I think not! That moment is sublime, the heavens open, not with a downpour, or perhaps they should! Rapture, the fly, lands perfectly just ahead of my cunning opponent, who decides to totally ignore this splendid perfectly present feast on wings!
Slowly I watch the disdain in his body, not impressed, still working forward slowly in the current, but I have a secret weapon. My tiny nymph is trailing like a rear gunner, no hesitation strike, fish on. To the hunter go the spoils!!! He’s not done, no fool, across the fast-moving water heading for the roots of that one big, gnarly tree root. Turn his head, pressure him but gently, light lines. To the net he eventually comes, only to get a new lease on life, not so easy he seems to say, as off he charges one more time.
Eventually, he throws in the towel, the reality being skill, perhaps! But what a moment to be savored until the next time. The fitting finish to a perfectly cast fly.