Nymphing

The morning was beautiful and clear. A faint morning mist rising from the river was rapidly fading, burned off by the bright sun which turned the water into a brilliant shinning highway twisting through the woods. We parked at a wide spot in the road and climbed into our specialized equipment – no simple stick, line and hook for this intrepid trio. Then we trudged a quarter mile or so to find just the right spot; guided by our very own (for the day) fishing guru dedicated to revealing the ancient secrets of the brown trout and the Clear Fork. About this time I was wondering whose bright idea is was to wend through heavy brush and trees carrying a nine foot pole and wearing rubber pants and thick soled boots. Anyway, we finally made it to the water’s edge and descended into the rapid flow; and somehow we all accomplished this without anyone actually falling into the river. Teacher instructed us how to set up our equipment and we spread out to individually seek our fishy destiny.

Fly fishing is definitely not sitting around watching a float and just waiting for it to bob or slide or even disappear, initiating a frantic reaction by the fisherman and, I’m sure, an equally panicked reaction by friend fish. Nor is it the constant throwing – winding, throwing – winding of the bait or spin caster as he tries to entice friend fish out for a tasty tidbit. Understand that I do not mock or belittle these methods; I have done both a-plenty and I’m sure I will do both again in the future. However, the fly fisherman gets right into the fishy domain and tests wills directly with his piscatorial prey.

I am standing in about four feet of rapidly flowing water not quite halfway across the river. I have set up my line with two flies representing the nymph of the Mayfly and a small strike indicator to help signal any changes to the drift of the line. I cast about 20 or 25 feet upstream and toward the other side of the river, then frantically strip line to take in the slack as it returns toward me in the current. The goal is to have the flies appear to the fish as freely floating insect nymphs (trout food) drifting downstream toward the hungry fish. As the strike indicator slips past me, I must carefully lift the floating line up and above the lures to maintain the drag free drift of the nymphs. This is called mending the line. At the slightest hesitation or change in the direction of the strike indicator, I quickly tug the line to try to set the hook. Many times it is the hooks catching on rocks or debris on the bottom. But, finally, I am rewarded by the surge of a trout wondering what that delicious little treat really was. I carefully strip line, keeping the rod high and working the quarry close enough to slip the net under his fat little form. I have caught a nice ten inch brown trout, light brown on his back, nearly white on his underside, and his sides covered in yellow and red spots. A truly beautiful fish – and my first trout caught with a fly rod.

I want to do it again!