A Codger's Viewpoint

I realized lately that I've been fly-fishing for over a quarter of a century.

I expected to be better at it by now.

I think one of my mistakes was choosing, as one of my outdoor mentors, Patrick McManus, humor columnist for Field & Stream magazine. In one article, he described his casting style as looking like someone with a broom trying to defend himself from an angry bee. Since I've never met the man, I'm amazed that just reading his works taught me his way of casting so exactly. Despite advice from experts, my casting technique still provokes laughter from both my fellow anglers and the fish. I'll tell you, the sound of fish laughing is a very odd one, and one with which I'm far too familiar.

It's also possible, however, that I can't blame my inept casting on anyone but myself. Certainly I'm the clumsiest person who ever hit the stream... Often literally! My landing net on its elastic tether snags in brush, unsuspected by me until the tension propels it at frightening speed into the back of my head. My feet unerringly find the most slippery, teetery rocks in the heaviest current, treating me to a swim. Other creative ways I've found to enter the water include slipping down muddy or grassy banks, and even stepping confidently off a bulkhead into a reservoir at night, only to find they'd raised the water level since earlier that afternoon.

My klutziness becomes most evident when I tie knots. Bloodknots are a 20-minute ordeal, and always have been. And, since the process of aging has necessitated trifocals, even threading the hook eye and tying a clinch knot has gotten to be painfully slow. This is especially true with fine tippets, which are too limp for the poke-and-pray technique. They're too fine to feel, I can't see them anymore... 7X tippets are a thing of the past for me now, and 6X is rapidly on its way out, too. This means I can no longer use midges, and if I break off a fly at twilight, I'm done for the day.

Needless to say, my out-of-control casting results in numerous hooked trees, shrubs, grass, rocks, and deadfalls. People walking behind me give me a wide berth. I've hooked myself on numerous occasions. On the other hand, hooking fish seems to be an intermittent thing with me. I vary from not striking at all and watching, comatose, as the fish sips in and spits out my offering; To hauling back like I was socking it to a 600-pound marlin and yanking the hapless fish clear of the water and, sometimes, into the boat or onto the bank. My fish-hooking reflex varies from too slow for quick-hitting sunnies, to too fast for tiny flies and big trout.

The more complex the equipment, the more I don't get along with it. A fly rod is basically a big stick: I've only broken two over the years. But what I've done to reels could be an article in itself. I've had them go flying off the rod, trailing line, to plunk into the water. I've had the spools pop out and leap into the stream or mud. I have one at home I actually bent the frame in half, and can't even remember how I did it. Two I took apart to clean and could never get back together properly. One freespools merrily, the other is still in pieces in a box somewhere. I've even had flyboxes self-destruct. I won't even mention what I've done to waders.

One reason I've always been a fly-fishing purist is, spinning reels are exceedingly complex and require coordination and timing to use. My attempts to use spinning reels invariably result in a monofilament sculpture known as a "birds-nest". My bee-and-broomstick flycasting technique is also ideal for creating windknots, many approaching birds-nest complexity. I've had monumental tangles involving the leader, line, rod, reel, dangling equipment on my vest, surrounding flora, and myself. One fishing skill I'm an admitted expert at, is picking out these Gordian knots. I get frequent practice when changing leaders. There must be some trick to unwinding those neat little coils new leaders come in, but I can't figure it out. Mine always end up in labyrinthine snarls that take me as much as half an hour to pick out. I've read in magazines that "the modern leader connections allow one to quickly change leaders astream to match conditions". Well, you can't always believe what you read...

One has to wonder why I've spent so many years with a frustrating activity which I am too damn clumsy to ever do well. It came about because of a brown trout that was born severely retarded, enough so that it enthusiastically took my Adams dry fly twenty-seven Springs ago. I was so shocked I nearly fell over, my movement set the hook, and that was it. The fish was released; I never was. Just often enough, a combination of plain dumb luck and "mentally challenged" fish will result in a fine day of fishing. I don't know if astrology, cycle theory, or numerology cause this. All I know is, these days when things go right more than balance out my normal klutzy fishing trips.

Here's to twenty-seven more years of fishing... Maybe I'll improve after that much more practice!

--Rabbit Jensen--