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The Fishing Lesson
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Stories
Written by Michael Stevenson   
Tuesday, 07 October 2008 09:57

The minute George saw the river, his blood pressure and heart rate went up. The Thomas River was a freestone stream fed by the mountain snows and spring rains. There had been a fresh about a week ago and, while the river was still dropping, this morning it was clear and flowing just a bit above normal. The run was the sort to haunt the dreams of every fly fisher from Bangor to LA. The main current was hard against the far bank with a wide fan of water bubbling down into the eye. George just knew there was a big fish in there under that rippling surface. It was perfect. Everything was so right George 'knew' it was going to be one of those rare great days no one really believes you when you tell them about it.

As he rigged up, George chuckled thinking how he felt like a little kid and then thought how great it was after all these years of fishing he could still feel like a little kid. He couldn't remember tying on a fly but the next thing knew his first drift was gliding through the feeding lane. The drift lasted only three feet when there was a terrific hit and a massive fish took off down the river. Suddenly his rod was flying out of his hand. With a shout he lunged and fell.....

Onto the carpet.

A dream, a DAMN dream!!! A rush of feet from the kitchen and Mary was standing there "What's the matter? I heard you shou.... What the hell are you doing on the floor?" Trapped! As he explained what happened, Mary began to laugh, and laugh, then roar. She was lucky there was a chair close by she could sit in. Tears streaming down her face, all she could say was "Oh God, oh God".

"I hope you have to change your knickers" George retorted as he picked himself up but somehow his position took the force out of the jibe. Then he was laughing too.

When she was finally able to talk, Mary said "Come on and have dinner. If we are going catch the evening rise on the Walker you keep telling me about, we better get moving."

George had been wanting to get Mary out for an evening rise on the Walker ever since her casting had improved past the "paint the ceiling" stage. She learned fast and the lesson he had arranged for her made a big difference. George smiled to himself when he remembered his efforts to teach Mary how to fly cast. He knew the routine, having been to more than one casting clinic but with Mary.... She was so tense, not wanting to make a mistake in front of him and worried he would yell at her that she could not relax and let the rod do the work. The funny thing was he did raise his voice and he never did that to her otherwise. So, a paid for lesson was the only option.

"Stop thinking about fishing and eat your dinner." Mary's voice broke into his reverie. Dinner was as good as ever. Mary's talent in the kitchen was magic. The meals were not gourmet fancy or anything like that, but the food was always cooked to perfection and the flavour was marvellous.

Loading the car was easy as George kept everything in his vest ready to go and Mary's vest was hanging next to his. Then there were the rods. George chose a 5 wt and Mary had her 4 wt. They had tried a heavier rod for Mary but her hands were small and her touch of arthritis meant a 4 wt was about all she could handle. It was a forty minute drive to the section of the Walker George had in mind. On the way he could not keep himself from repeating the instructions he had gone over with Mary half a dozen times in the past week.

"I'd like you to fish the tail of the pool, hon'. You may not catch anything very big but I think you will have a good chance of catching a couple of fish around 12 inches. I'll fish a bit higher. The fish there seem to be choosier. I think we should try ...."

"CDC emergers," Mary finished for him. "Sweetheart, you have already said this so often it is seared into my memory....Alzheimer's hasn't set in yet", she chided.

"OK, OK," George laughed. "I just want you to have a good time."

"I will. Stop worrying!"

George couldn't help it, he was scared half silly Mary would struggle to catch a single fish. He remembered getting skunked on more than one evening rise himself. When the fish were selective, they could be incredibly tough.

The river looked good when they arrived and the afternoon breeze was dying out. The only fly in the ointment was another fisher working the top end of the pool. George walked over to ask if they would be encroaching on the other man's fishing.

"Not at all" was the reply. "I only fish the head of the pool. I find it more challenging, especially with a cane rod." ("Uh-oh" thought George, "a purist"). "Of course I only use dries, but these Orvis patterns are quite good" ("And a name dropper to boot"),

"Well, good luck to you."  George said as he headed back to the car.

"Isn't he nice not to object to us fishing here too," commented Mary.

"Mmmm. Let's get set up. I've seen one or two rises already."

Mary had spin fished for years and didn't need any help there. George couldn't avoid reminding her, "Use some leader sink on the tippet to eliminate the dimple it can make if it rides on the surface tension."

"Yes, oh guru of the fishing world." Mary was always teasing him about how finicky he was with details.

They moved into position and began watching for steady rises to cast to. George had a good fish about 30 feet out that refused three perfect drifts. Suddenly Mary let out a shout and was into a nice half pound brown. "Way to go babe!" George called. "Need any help?"

Mary didn't reply, concentrating on the fish. She netted it perfectly just as George arrived. "Isn't it beautiful!" Mary exclaimed. George agreed, as much for the thrill of seeing her catch it as for the lovely colours.

George returned to his spot and made about three casts when Mary squealed
again. This time it was a much better fish. George hurried down to her side and readied his net. "OH!" Mary gasped as the fish made a strong run. "Let him run but keep pressure on!" George was almost as excited as she was. Mary fought the fish well if not expertly and after five minutes a fat 3 pounder lay in the net.

"Well done!" George was grinning from ear to ear and Mary beamed like sunrise. It was her biggest trout ever and George couldn't have been prouder.

George headed back to work the middle of the pool and the risers there knowing Mary was well and truly hooked and he had gained a new fishing partner. He checked his fly and it looked fine. Five casts and five refusals made George wonder what he was doing wrong. Just then Mary yelped and George could see she had hooked another half-pounder. This time he did not rush over, knowing she could handle things on her own. A "Humph" made him turn to see the other fisherman stalking off. George chuckled to himself, "You show 'im sweetie!"

The rest of the evening went much the same. George finally caught one of about a pound, but Mary finished with six, including one almost as big as the second.

They quit just before dark. Mary was nervous about wading at night and George did not want to push her. Still, George couldn’t figure it out.

"I was using the same pattern as you were and fishing in almost the same spot but hardly got a take. It's one of the things I don't think I'll ever understand about fly fishing." George muttered as they stowed their gear. Something about Mary's silence made him look her way. She stood there with a sheepish 'little girl caught with her hand in cookie jar' look.

"Alright, what aren't telling me?"

"Well ..... I tried to do just what you told me to, really I did" Mary
confessed, "but I messed up and forgot."

"Forgot what?"

"Well ..... I was putting the leader sink on my tippet ....  and ... I ....well ...

'For crying out loud, spit it out. I'm not going to bite your head off."

"I got some on the fly. I was embarrassed and didn't want you to see how dumb I was, so I just fished with it that way. Besides, you're always telling me to pay attention to what the fish are doing and I did watch. Most of the time they didn't break the surface so I thought whatever they were eating was just below the surface, and I was right, so there! Maybe you should listen to yourself next time."

There was no arguing with that and George just stood there with his mouth half open realizing the roles had switched and he was the one who got the fishing lesson this time.

 

Michael Stevenson ©2008

Michael StevensonAbout the Author...Michael Stevenson was born and raised in southern Oregon's Rogue Valley. I grew
up in the out-of-doors, hunting and fishing all across the state. I moved
to New Zealand in October 1985 and have been doing marine fisheries
research for over 22 years.

 

Last Updated ( Friday, 17 October 2008 08:19 )
 
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