I have always loved fishing. I can happily spend an entire day tossing a lure into weeds in the unlikely event that I will ever catch a fish. I have only ever used a spinning rod (And yes, I had to look up the proper name for the kind of rod and reel I have always used.) Evans loves to fly fish, which looks both difficult and exhausting. I thought it required a lot of standing in running water while flailing about, not to mention all the effort of determining what kind of bug was hatching so you know what kind of fly to use.
But, we are in Colorado and fly fishing is the thing, so I decided to try it. For years, I have accused Evans of selecting hobbies so he could acquire all the cool gear. Last year was about acquiring the gear. I have waders, wading boots, this Orvis sling bag that is designed to hold all the smaller fly fishing gear, and all the assorted gear that goes in the bag. I also have a fabulous Scott fly rod which was made in Montrose, Colorado, and an Orvis reel. None of that means anything to me, but people seem to be impressed when they see it, so I thought I would share.
Last year, I took a lesson with a lovely young man who talked about things like running water versus eddies and pools. He helped me set up my fancy rod, showed me (repeatedly) how to tie on my flies, and took me out to the middle of the river kitted out in waders, boots, and pack. I flailed with the best of them, catching limbs, branches, and rocks. After several hours I genuinely thought I was going to topple over mid-stream with exhaustion.
Throughout last summer, Evans and I fly fished together. We hiked up to beautiful beaver ponds where Evans caught fish, and I desperately tried to not kill him. We agreed he would not offer instruction or advice. Or rather he would offer instruction and advice and I would threaten to throw my fancy rod into the water if he did not walk away and stop talking to me.
We did enough regular fishing to keep me happy. Not that I caught all that many fish with a spinning rod, but at least I understood the basic moves, and I was happy just sitting in a boat on Lake Irwin.
So, this year I recommitted to fly fishing. I booked another lesson/guide trip with a different young man through Dragonfly Anglers. I met Tom at 7:45 last Thursday morning. I tossed all my gear into his truck and we drove to Lost Lake. I had never been to Lost Lake, so it was already an adventure. We assembled my rod, tied on a “Chubby Chernobyl” and then added a sinking fly to make a two-piece “dry-dropper”, and headed down a dirt path. Tom offered to carry my rod, but I insisted I had it. We left the waders and boots in the truck.
Starting at a pool, we worked on basic casts and I remembered more than I expected from the year before. Shortly, Tom suggested we try a different location. This time he didn’t ask, just took my rod and headed out. I followed as the road became a path, or a track, or a small area that had been walked on at some point through wildflowers and trees. He seemed to know the way, so I followed.
At the river, he introduced me to the roll cast, which is like cracking a whip and will keep your line out of the trees behind you. Occasionally it worked and I could put the line in the general direction I intended. The fish were everywhere, not that I caught them, but there were a lot of them. Since they did not seem to be responding, we moved again.
This time we scrambled over boulders. Tom is probably my daughter’s age. He said ma’am at all the appropriate times so I knew he was aware of my age. If he thought I was able to follow him across giant boulders to find a better fishing spot, I was not going to tell him otherwise. He moved fast enough that I occasionally lost sight of him. That was great when I slipped off a huge boulder and tumbled down scraping my knee and banging both hands. I jumped up and brushed off before he came back to find me. I was very glad he was carrying my fancy gear and I hurried to catch up.
Here we waded into the middle of the stream and worked both upstream into the running water and downstream into a pool. When I finally had a strike it was an awkward flailing, grabbing for line, trying to manage the rod and land the fish. It’s a shame there wasn’t a video because I knew it was ridiculous, but I was so excited I didn’t care. Within a few minutes, I had another fish and landed it much better than I had the first. I even managed to hold this one for the split second it took for Tom to take a photo.
We moved to another spot, and while demonstrating a cast Tom caught a fish before the line hit the water. The fish jumped out of the water to take the fly. It was spectacular. All in all, we fished in four different areas, each more beautiful and remote than the one before. I slipped off a rock and dropped one leg completely into the river while keeping the other one on the boulder. Tom said it was strangely graceful. Fishing shorts dry fast. I saw wildflowers I still can’t identify. I caught three fish and had strong strikes on at least five more. I don’t know when I have had more fun. For the first time in my life, I “got” fly fishing. I wanted to do it all day. Actually, that is not true. I wanted to do it again another day for several hours.
So, this is my year. The right guide/teacher, the right stream/river/pond, the right fly, the right gear, all open up a world of possibilities. It’s going to be a great summer.
Atta girl!!🐟