Going Back…

They say that you can never go back again. For the most part, I guess that I agree with that. The one constant in life is that nothing is constant; there is always change. But in a way, I am going back… and I’m really enjoying it. As I described in an earlier post, I am finding my way back to fly fishing, practiced (poorly) for many years, and abandoned when time became a precious commodity to be used for other things.

I procured my fishing license ($19 at the local WalMart) which cedes me the official blessing to try to capture any of those various elusive fishies which reside in Ohio’s lakes and waterways. I gathered up all my new equipment – rod, reel, tackle box, belt pack, etc., etc… all the assorted junk we fishermen seem to think we need. (Notice that I count myself as a fisherman now, but this is yet to be proven.) Oh, and my wife’s dog too. I wanted an audience to approve of my successes, but I didn’t want anyone who could laugh at my failures. The dog worked fine. And I headed to the nearest lake. I picked a weekday afternoon – less people to see me (see above about laughter) and no crowd near the water’s edge leaving me plenty of room for my back casts.

Well I had a ball. Most of the old skills are coming back. I was able to get the line out there for 50 to 60 feet and even handled the wind fairly well. I did have a few line pile-ups when my timing was off, and I got a few “wind knots” in my leader from getting my loop too tight; but all-in-all, the dog didn’t laugh too much. It was fun! I didn’t catch any fish, but I did get a few strikes on my fly which is encouraging and fun. The dog had a good time too.

I’ve gone out once again since then too. The second time I took my wife and both dogs. It was OK, the laughter was minimal. I guess the sum result is: Who cares if you make a fool of yourself, as long as everybody has fun.

This is really taking me back. Back to those days when I rode my bicycle for miles just to spend the afternoon fishing. Back to my first tentative casts with a hunk of flyline on a pole.

Who says that you can’t go back. Phooey on them!