Eight Trout and an Almost Successful First Fishing Trip

I went fly fishing for the first time this summer. Evans and I do most things well together. “Most things” does not include fly fishing, so I went with a wonderful young man named Ben from Dragonfly Anglers. Dragonfly is, obviously, a fly fishing store but they also sell clothes and other outdoor accessories. As an outfitter, they arrange lessons or guides for people like me who want to both fish and stay married.

Most people would assume that my priority when I go fishing is to catch fish. No. It is great when I do catch fish, but that is a bonus. For a fishing trip to be successful I have to do one thing and not do two things. 1. Keep up with my guide. 2. Not fall down. 3. Not attach my fly to any part of anyone’s body. I managed two out of three today.

The reason that they call fishing guides, “guides,” is because they know where the fish are. That always involves about a mile of hiking through completely untamed terrain. If I lose sight of him, I am lost until he realizes I am missing and comes back to find me. Today we walked down a dirt road, over a barbed-wire fence, through a bog, and into several shrubs. When I say “shrubs” I mean thickets of wild-something-taller-than-my-head into which no path was cut. Ben seemed to know that there were fish on the other side of that hedge, so through we went. I would like to point out that Ben is younger than my daughter and a native of Crested Butte. He has, literally, been doing this all of his life.

I also want to mention the I was wearing wading boots, chest waders, fishing pants, and two shirts. It was cold – until we started walking. Wading boots are designed to hold you steady in running water. Picture Frankenstein’s monster’s shoes. Now add the rest of that gear, a small pack, and a fly rod. I am perfectly able to fall down wearing lace-up tennis shoes on a city street. So, when I am outfitted like a fictional goliath, trekking through mud, rocks, weeds, and branches, not falling down is a huge priority. Then, if I manage that, I have to not fall down while I am standing in a rocky river. I really don’t want to fall down in the water. Evans slipped while fishing two years ago and was carried about two-hundred yards downstream before he finally was able to reach the shore by pushing off large rocks. The river I was in today was very gentle and a fall would have just been cold and embarrassing, not dangerous. But it is always at the back of my mind. Do. Not. Fall. Down.

Sadly, I cannot claim success with number three. While trying to reach a particular pool directly across the river from me, I instead hooked Ben right in the face. We are both extremely glad that the guides out here take sun protection very seriously, so I caught his face gator instead of his cheek. He was a good sport. I was mortified and walked much further out into the river and paid a lot more attention to my backcast from then on.

Most of my fishing trips with guides last year were very instructional. I am new to fly fishing and I have a lot to learn. I was surprised this year when I remembered how to do both a basic forward cast and a roll cast. The regular forward cast is what you see in those golden light photos where a fisherman seems to be floating his line above his head in a magical lasso. It does not do that when I try it, but it did, more often than not, deliver the fly in the general direction of where I wanted it to go. I was thrilled. When Ben told me to try my roll cast to reach a certain pool, I was stunned when that worked as well. It is shorter and has less back-cast to it.

As a newish fly fisher, I am always surprised when I hook, much less land, a fish. My first fish was tiny. I took a picture, because of course I did, and we let it go. I caught another small one and then a proper fish hit my line. It was so exciting. It was a brown trout and it ran like crazy. I remembered to keep my rod up and strip my line and before I knew it, Ben had him netted. He was not huge, but he was big for me. Throughout the day we moved upstream and fished the ripples and eddies. I used dry flies and sinking nymphs. Another of the benefits of having a guide is he tells you what fly to use. He also reattaches a new fly when your backcast is too fast like a bullwhip and you keep flinging the fly off.

By one-thirty, I had landed four big brown trouts and four small ones. I had missed several strikes which were also exciting. It is especially fun to cast your line, have a fish rise to it. Miss the fish. Then recast in the exact right spot and catch that very fish on the second try.

I learned last year that am I good for a half-day of fishing. With the hiking, the standing in the water, and the flailing my arms about, I am beat. By the time we had fished our way upstream over three hours, we had quite a walk back to the truck. Walking twice as far in my waders was not any easier with them wet. About halfway back, I must have had my mouth open either to talk or to try to breathe when a bug flew directly into my mouth and bounced off the back of my throat. When a bug flies down your throat, you swallow it. After hacking and gasping and trying to wash what was left down with water, I decided it was an appropriate end to my first-day fishing. I had been trying to get the fish to swallow flies all day. Maybe that was nature’s revenge.

I hope to spend a lot more time with Ben. I plan to practice as often as I am able so when he takes me to the special guide-only fishing streams I can make the most of it. Maybe, if Evans is very, very good, I will invite him along next time.