In the summer a lot of us males of the species love to fish. How many of you fly fish? Come on, raise your hands. I inherited my father-in-law’s fly rod when he passed away in 2013. But let me tell you about trying to learn to fly fish a few years prior to that.
Shortly before 9-11, a friend of mine from church tried to teach me to fly fish. I had heard stories of how he would wade the Prestile Stream and catch brookies that were, to say the least, trophy size. Now we all know fishermen don’t stretch the length of their catch. Uh-huh. And if you believe that, I have some beachfront property for sale in Phoenix, Ariz. When I asked him how to fly fish, he said the easiest way to learn is to practice. So after church that morning and after everyone had left, we went outside to his truck. He got his fly rod and removed the fly and put on a split shot sinker, at the end of the leader, that weighed the same as the fly.
We went into the back parking lot and he showed me how to cast and whip the line. His mantra was 10 and 2. This meant that you began with the rod in the 2 o’clock position and brought it forward to 10 o’clock and back to two o’clock repeatedly as you played out the line. His movements with that line were sheer poetry in motion. That is, until he said, “Here, you try.”
Now, usually I can master just about anything I put my hand to. I taught myself to do needlepoint, both counted cross stitch and plastic canvas. I taught myself to crochet. I even have a shop full of power tools for woodworking. But, when I took command of that fly rod — whoa boy.
I did as he did. I reeled off some line so I had 20 or so feet in a loop on the ground and the slack in my left hand. I brought the rod to 2 o’clock and snapped it forward to 10 o’clock, and the split shot went out in front of me. So far so good. I brought the rod back to 2 o’clock and the split shot went by my right ear, and I swear I heard the sonic boom as it passed. I followed through with a 10 o’clock and felt a huge sting behind my right ear. Yup, the shot had nailed me on the follow-through.
Not being one to quit real easy, I tried again. The outset was the same as before. I even got all 20 or so feet of line out. Then on the snap forward, SMACK — right on the tail bone. I don’t know how or why, but I got the distinct impression that the split shot on the end of the line wanted to do me in because we had woken it up and it wanted to rest on a Sunday afternoon.
I told my friend, Stephan, that I had had enough for one day. The only thing going through my mind was thankfulness that we didn’t leave the fly on the line. I can see it now, my dress trousers full of holes on the seat end and me only being able to sit sideways and tell of the “Big One” that got away.
Oh, well, after we move into our new home and I have the extra time, I will try it again and see if my luck has changed. Until then, I will sit and watch fishing shows and Remember When …
Guy Woodworth of Presque Isle is a 1973 graduate of Presque Isle High School and a four-year Navy veteran. He and his wife Theresa have two grown sons and five grandchildren. He may be contacted at lightning117_1999@yahoo.com.
