Taking Care of the Things You Love

Fly fishing is not just about catching fish. There is a lot more to the dance than that. But, there is always the underlying intent to combine the beauty of a place, a feeling and an action. And it turns out feeling a trout on the end of your leader is an excellent way to accomplish that end.

My aunt Lorna lives in Orem, Utah not too far from the Provo River. Provo Canyon is as pretty a place as you could ask for and the river is the home of some mighty fine trout. So even though it is a long way from home I really like to go there from time to time.

On one such occasion a few years ago I had an experience few people ever have. It was one of those serendipitous moments rarely handed out by the fishing fates that came to me.

I had been in Orem for a couple of days and enjoyed the company of my aunt and cousins. The weather had been perfect and in the back of my mind I had been thinking, “I should be fishing.” By the third day I could wait no longer so I excused myself and headed for the river.

The wind was a bit high for fly fishing but that would not stop me from my appointment with the river. The drive up the canyon would take me to a spot that was a favorite of the locals but I had no time to search for private fishing. I just wanted to get in the water. I pulled into an area where a couple of cars were parked. Two cars, that’s not bad I thought and commenced preparing my gear. It was about that time that I remembered I had not bought any flys at the local outfitters nor had I discussed what insects were on the water.

At that point my fishing ego took over and I figured I had plenty of flys and would be fine without the help of anyone else. I prepared my gear and dressed in waders and vest. The wind had kicked up a bit but it was more nuisance than problem. I entered the stream and began short casts upstream.  Upstream was against the wind. I fish with a twelve foot leader in that water because of its clarity. The long leader means short fly line which is what adds sufficient weight to cast the line. The result of all this was tangled line.

I changed strategy and cast across the river. After an hour of less than stellar results I happened upon another fisherman and ask what fly was best for this time of year. He told me and I must have looked perplexed because he stopped and we talked a bit. He offered me a fly and I took it with thanks. I immediately tied it on and immediately had a strike. I caught a fifteen inch brown and felt like the world was right.

The wind began to blow with more fervor. I landed a couple more fish and then the wind caught one of my more ambitious casts and blew it into an overhanging tree limb. It was much too high to retrieve. I had no choice but to break it off. Now I had a high wind and no flies appropriate to the task. Not to be denied I decided to go big. I tied on a large coachman streamer. I looked around and saw a gnarled tree root against the bank on the other side of the river. It was a perfect place for a monster trout to rest.

The root jutted out toward midstream and created a little eddy between it and the bank.

There the water was quieter and that was where I wanted to make my cast. Between the wind and the weight of the fly I was having more than a little difficulty in achieving my goal. Finally, after great effort I made a cast that was headed exactly where I wanted it to go when a giant gust of wind caught the line and threw it right at the root. I pulled back on the cast to redirect the line but it was too late. The line went directly into the root.

 I quickly pulled back to get the line out of the water but it stuck. It was attached to the root I figured so I began horsing the line to either pull it loose or break it off. I was about to give it another huge, straight line pull when …it pulled back.

It took an hour to land that big brown. By my scale it was just under eight pounds. I was exhausted; she was exhausted and full of eggs.

I looked at her and she looked at me. I kissed her on the forehead and gently put her back in her home to raise some little trout which could grow big. After all, a good fisherman is a good steward. You have to take care of the things you love or they go away.

©Herb Ratliff, November 13, 2012, All Rights Reserved