Better Casting? Get a Grip

When I was getting close to finishing graduate school, I decided that a custom bamboo rod was an appropriate way to celebrate. There is something inherently “product of the American education system” about spending a lot of money right as all of those student loans kick in. Regardless, I met with a local builder and picked out a taper, hardware, and finish. A few weeks later, I went to his shop to check on the progress of the rod, find the perfect agate stripping guide, and shape my handle.

I was pretty excited about that last part. With the cork glued and the assembly lined up on the mill for lathing, he began to rough out a half-wells shape. We then identified some of the contours that fit my hand, and he wore it down accordingly. It was pretty amazing; like a biometric scan linking my fly rod only to me.

I regret it.

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I’ve Never Fished Beaver Creek

I’ve driven on Maryland’s I-70 countless times over the years. Most of the miles have been on the stretch between Frederick and Hagerstown. I’ve taken a handful of drives further west, either to continue to the extreme end of the state to fish the Savage River and the Youghiogheny, or to take the spur up to the Pennsylvania turnpike. It is a beautiful drive, with some pretty spectacular vistas as you descend South Mountain.

Something you notice as you come down this gap with a view of the entire valley is the patchwork spread of farmland. Aside from the highway, the only exceptions to this pattern are small settlements spiked with silos or church steeples and tree lines curving and snaking irrespective to the fields’ organization. All too often, the creeks concealed in these trees are creeks in the most basic sense of the word: small, flowing waterways. Channelization, irrigation, agricultural chemicals, and general human impact have led to siltation, increased temperatures, and the virtual elimination of native flora and fauna.

Perhaps the fact that they’ve persevered in spite of these remarkable challenges is why the spring creeks of the Mid-Atlantic are cherished by fly fishers. Even the spring creeks that are less productive seem to garner a greater reputation than perfectly serviceable freestone streams. Certainly the unique ecology, robust insect life, and fat trout are a part of it. But spring creeks are beloved.

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Resolutions are Fishy

I’ve always maintained that New Year’s resolutions are a little silly. Take a goal that tops the priority list for so many people on a yearly basis: lost weight. Okay, if you know you are in need of shedding a few pounds on December 1st, why consume the Big Mac, chocolate cake, and gallon of egg nog before January 1st? Cracking open a new calendar doesn’t endow you with extra will power. If yours does, then I need to start using something different than the one Trout Unlimited sends me.

Consequently, I’ve never put much stock in fly fishing resolutions. I have friends that have made them. I’ve read articles about them. I’m writing an article about them. At the end of the day (or, alternatively, at the beginning of the year) don’t all anglers really “resolve” to do the same thing: catch more fish?

That being said, if you want to chart a course to achieve that goal with some fun waypoint in the form of a resolution, I get it. I’ve spent all the boring second half of the Orange Bowl thinking about it, and I’d like to help you out. As a service to anyone who is looking for something to declare to Facebook, Twitter, or your message board buddies re: fishing in 2016, I have some options for you:

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The Letort: A Limestone Legacy

Yesterday afternoon, I scampered through four inches of New Hampshire snow to my mailbox. Upon seeing the media mail envelope, I knew that the book had come.

Back in August, Mike Klimkos, friend and editor of the Mid Atlantic Fly Fishing Guide, asked if I could share a few thoughts on the Letort Spring Run. Initially the plan was to include some angler testimonials for a fundraiser that the Central Pennsylvania Conservancy was holding in October. The goal was to secure donations in order to purchase a 30-acre tract at the Letort’s headwaters. Upon receiving voluminous testimonials and acquiring other significant content, the plan changed to publishing a book celebrating the Letort. The Letort: A Limestone Legacy is the result of that work, and it is a joy.

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Another Tier of Tying

Wooly buggers. Egg patterns. Griffith’s gnat. I suppose I could switch it up a little bit and tie something crazy like a wooly worm or a green weenie, but why spread myself thin?

I’ve had the materials and a little bit of the knowledge to tie flies for about fifteen years now, but I’ve only been seriously tying for three days. That’s because I received a legitimate vise for Christmas. Now, I’m a serious tyer. Or is it “tier?” Maybe I should figure that out, since I’m serious now.

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You’re a Mean One, Mr. Nymph

You’re a mean one, Mr. Nymph.

You really are a heel.

Even though you catch all the fish,

You make me fish by feel,

Mr. Nymph.

You’re a bad little hare’s ear with some tungsten steel.

 

You’re a monster, Mr. Nymph.

You disappear in holes.

Why can’t you be a spider?

Or some other terrestrial, Mr. Nymph?

I wouldn’t fish you with a

10-and-a-half-foot pole.

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Fishing in the Jeans

Being seasonably relevant, Hatch Magazine recently sent links out via social media to the 2014 article Winter Fly Fishing: Leave the Cotton at Home. It is a brief, but sufficient public service announcement that makes a great case for eschewing jeans and sweatshirts in favor of much more efficient materials. As the piece mentions, efficiency is second in importance to safety: certain fabrics, like cotton, can be downright dangerous in winter conditions.

Anyone who has been wet in denim can attest to this. This excludes those who see jorts (the delightful portmanteau of “jeans” and “shorts,” for the cultured or otherwise uninitiated) as appropriate water park wear. I’ve heard that telltale clicking of blue jean rivets against water slide seams from Wisconsin Dells to Myrtle Beach. I have to assume that Gold Bond sees an uptick in sales from those who make the choice to don denim as a swimsuit alternative. Unfortunate fashion and inevitable rashes in the summer aside, jeans are not the article of clothing for winter fishing.

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When It is All – Right?

I don’t think it has ever really happened to me. One time, I came close. I’ll get to that in a minute. Perhaps coming close doesn’t get you in Field & Stream, or it won’t even justify somebody telling others to “come over and hear this!” I’m talking about catching a fish on the last cast. Not just a fish on the last cast, but a fish caught on the last cast after a day of being skunked.

As I mentioned earlier in the week, this fish-tale is taken with the same sort of seriousness as a sasquatch sighting or a chupacabra encounter. Like the “big one that got away” or the “sorry I overslept, man – my alarm must be broken,” all fly fishers that spend time with other fly fishers have heard this preposterous story.

Was it really the last cast? Or, after catching said fish did they keep at it with a new sense of confidence?

Had they really been fishless up until that point? Or was their 8-inch stocker a perfectly legitimate catch before the “real fish” was conquered?

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When It is All Downhill

Maybe I’m alone in living through this phenomenon. Or perhaps like anything else in human experience, it is one of those constants that every angler comes to know numerous times in their life. I’m talking about catching a fish right off the bat, and then getting skunked for the rest of the day.

This all might seem like minutiae that only over-analytical fly fishers bent on discerning deeper meaning would consider. I’ll give you that. But I do think that there is something  to say for the whole emotional roller coaster that such a dilemma puts you on.

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