Under the Tuscan Trout, part 1

“Oh, yes. There are lots of fish in this river.”

I was skeptical. “But are they wild fish?”

“Oh, yes. They will fight real nice for you.”

Wild might not have been translating the way I wanted it to. “Are these the kinds of fish that are from your country? Or have they been put there from somewhere else?”

“Oh, yes. The fish are from here. Mostly.”

–

I had been given the green light to take a day to go fishing on our European vacation. To protect the identity of the individual in question, let’s just say that the county this story takes place in is famous for pasta and looking like a boot.

Hopping on the internet, I found that there are a number of legitimate trout fishing opportunities in and around where I would have been. Big rivers and mountain creeks, filled with familiar as well as somewhat exotic species. And everything seemed to be accompanied by some pretty remarkable backdrops. I found a couple of guides to communicate with, and started planning a day fishing in the European countryside.

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The Scent of a River

Standing on the bank of a trout stream, you’re probably used to thinking about how three of your senses are focusing on the fishing. Whether it is wholly conscious or not, you’re relying on feeling, hearing, and seeing what is around you.

Sight is obvious. It is necessary to position yourself. Identify feeding lanes. Figure out what bugs are in the water.

Listening is also vital. The telltale sips and splashes of feeding fish are some of the subtlest yet most invigorating sounds to anglers.

Touch does a lot. Everything from feeling the wind that will affect the cast to perceiving the temperature is communicated through your nerves telling you what is happening.

Those three senses are what you can count on using when you’re trying to catch fish. Your body is constantly working, sending data to your brain allowing you to synthesize the unfathomable number of variables that go into fly fishing. Taste isn’t really a factor, unless your beverage or snack of choice is a must-have.

Smell, on the other hand, can be a powerful sense.

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Casting Across / Trout Life

Today I’ve kind of / sort of taken a day off here at Casting Across. However, I do have  an article up over at  Trout Life’s blog. You can find it here.

If you head over to check out the piece and the  blog, definitely take a minute to browse through the store on Trout Life’s main site. I’ve had some great conversations with the owners and others associated with the brand, and you’ll be reading more about Trout life in the  next few weeks. read more

Roads and Rivers

Mile 0  This afternoon I’ll be making the same drive I’ve been making for over six years. Down the east coast, from New England to Northern Virginia. It is the same drive in that the point of departure and the destination don’t change. However, there are virtually an infinite amount of ways to make the trip. The safest bet for daytime driving involves skipping the most congested parts of Connecticut, New York, and New Jersey.

And this also means I’ll be driving by some familiar watersheds. Like state lines, they are somewhat arbitrary benchmarks of progress. They’re more fun, though. Who has ever spent a long weekend on a state line? And state lines don’t carry the sort of memories that help a ten-hour drive pass by either.

Mile 90  On the Mass Pike, there are swamps. I didn’t know how swampy New England was until I moved up here. Looking at these ponds, I can’t help but think that there are some enormous pickerel and perch lurking right off the side of the turnpike. Only an hour and a half in, there was a time when I was ambitious in thinking I’d make the trip just to poke around fishy looking water like this.

Yet these bodies of water, like so many in and around where I’ve called home for the last six years, are destinations I haven’t made time for. Driving is a great time for alternately making grandiose plans and contemplating those you’ve previously defaulted on.

Mile 119  In downtown Hartford, the Connecticut River doesn’t look anything like it does up at the Canadian border. Channelized, broad, and urban; it is a far cry from the cold and quick tailwaters found in the north woods of New Hampshire. My first taste of New England trout fishing came below First Connecticut lake, catching feisty rainbows and searching for landlocked salmon. The ponds around the Connecticut system, with their native brook trout, are a treat. Tall pines, lonesome moose, and weaving creeks are upstream, but here only concrete overpasses weave over the slow and deep river.

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You’ve Caught Mail: Looking at Fly Subscriptions

It was Cousin Eddie that so succinctly summed up the value of the jelly of the month club: “Clark, that is the gift that keeps giving throughout the entire year.” And while he was the only character in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation that was optimistic about the prospect of twelve months of jams delivered straight to the door, any true fan of jelly would be equally excited.

These days, monthly services for everything from jellies to cigars to dress shirts offer subscriptions. These subscriptions cater to a few different kind of consumers. There is the customer who wants the convenience of merchandise showing up on their doorstep that they’d otherwise have to go out and purchase. Or, there are people that want to be exposed to new and different items within a product category.

Quite often fly fishers fit into both of these classifications. And within fly fishing, flies are definitely the product that is most conducive to this model. Small, light, and inexhaustibly diverse in so many ways, flies are perfect for subscriptions that provide monthly delivery.

In the past few years, a number of companies have started up within the industry that focus on the subscription model. While the concept isn’t new within angling, or even fly fishing, what is out there today provides the consumer with some legitimately worthwhile options.

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Native or Wild: Words Mean Things

Wild or native?

Native or wild?

It is the they’re/there/their of fly fishing.

“I caught some native browns from that pretty little spring creek in Montana the other week.”

No, you didn’t. Unless “Montana” happens to be the name of some fancy European estate.

“Look at the colors on this rainbow! The stripes on these Delaware River natives are amazing!”

False. Rainbows will move around a lot, but not from the west coast to the east.

***

I know that by this point you’re probably trembling with apprehension to even utter the words, lest I wag a digital finger at a peccadillo of vocabulary. So I’ll do my best to explain:

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Save the Flies

I started fly fishing at a young age. With a few silver spoon exceptions, teenage anglers generally share a particular trait while on the water:

Don’t lose a fly, at any cost.

This means that sleeves get rolled up to the shoulder to pry a streamer from a log at the bottom of the stream. Trees get scurried up, in order to retrieve a nymph rig – leader and all. Precious minutes that could be spent fishing with a replacement fly are occupied crawling around, nose inches from the grass. A fly, after all, costs at least two dollars. That is a lot of money.

But as I spend time fishing, I notice that it isn’t just young people that put themselves through the paces looking for lost or otherwise poorly placed flies. There really isn’t any sort of cure to avoid snagging a tree now and again. Furthermore, there are a lot of reasons why an angler should be catching the bottom every so often. But just losing flies doesn’t have to happen.

One of the most treacherous times in the life of any fly is the interval after it is fished and before it is returned to the fly box. Part of the problem are the standard options provided for managing flies during this precarious phase. The ripple foam patch, the faux-shearling tuft, and small magnets will all work under ideal conditions. But if you fish a lot, you’re probably out in less than ideal conditions. For the sake of your flies – whether you can afford two bucks or not – something has to be done.

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Mr. Nice Fly

I was about one hundred and fifty words in. The article was taking form. There were some decently composed sentences, attention-grabbing quips, and plenty of snark. I was writing a piece on the grumps and eye-roll inducing members of the fly fishing public. Well, another piece.

My change of heart and plans wasn’t for lack of material. I’ve got examples galore. A few fly fishing forums that I read and chime in on from time to time could produce entire blogs covering the community curmudgeons. But, as I said, I had a change of heart.

The truth is, there are a lot of genuinely nice people in fly fishing. Like, my face hurt at the end of the day from smiling at the Somerset Fly Fishing Show. And that day it was a lot of people I didn’t know. People that aren’t trying to sell me something. People happy to just be talking about fly fishing.

Nice anglers don’t just exist at trade shows, where everyone is hopped up on free stickers and cheap hackles. Here are a few examples of some great interactions from the past months:

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Dark Before Light

Fly fishers can appreciate the  necessity of the darkness that comes before the light.

It allows for rest. We can regroup, recalibrate, and  renew ourselves for another day on the water.  The night prevents fishing, but provides these important things.

It allows for reflection. A bad day can be, to a certain extent, mitigated by the natural resetting of our 24-hour cycle. There is hope in knowing dawn brings new opportunities. Light and dark, evening and morning are integral parts of that.

It allows for relation. Even contemplating what wasn’t so optimal about yesterday – or today in contrast to the coming tomorrow can change everything.  It wasn’t ideal, but it set the stage for something better.

In a small way, this dichotomy can frame and impact fly fishing. In a much greater way, understanding this universal ebb and flow can  establish each one of us in our lives.

That is why we can call it  Good Friday. Have a great weekend, and a blessed Easter.

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