Curing a Fly-Fishing Skeptic

Image by Jim Mize

I’ll admit to being a skeptic as a twelve-year-old kid. This was back when we listened to Walter Cronkite on the news and believed everything he said. But having read about the great fly fishing out west in outdoor magazines, I questioned whether the trout in my home river would be dumb enough to fall for a hook with some fuzz on it. Sure, bluegills would eat rubber spiders and small popping bugs, but that was different. Or so I told myself.

That was also about the time Dad started making lures and wanted to tie bucktails, so he bought a fly-tying kit. He soon tired of wrapping thread over deer hair and gave the kit to me.

I had also just joined an outdoor book club and one of the selections was a giant book titled, McClane’s Standard Fishing Encyclopedia. I spent hours reading through that text on fishing thinking that all the wisdom an angler needed was probably somewhere inside.

About a third of the way in, I found color plates of flies with their patterns of ingredients. Thumbing through, I was struck by the section on streamers, which in my mind, were just fancy minnows. And I knew trout ate minnows so maybe one would eat a streamer.

The pattern I liked most was the White Marabou Streamer. It was gaudy, consisting of a silver tinsel body, white marabou wings topped with peacock herl, and a throat and tail of red feather. The red made me think of blood so I thought it might pass for a wounded minnow.

The fly wasn’t hard to tie, so I soon had a handful that I put in my pocket fly box. Trout season was open and the spring weather could not have been better. I made a beeline for the river and thought I knew just the spot. Plus, still a skeptic, I had a few spinners in my pocket in case the fly didn’t work.

My waders back then must have weighed half what I did, so I lumbered to the river and waded in. I had to cross a slick section to get to a riffle where I knew a few trout would be holding. Despite the heavy pressure trout get in the spring, this hole usually held a few.

Once in position at the head of the riffle, I tied on my White Marabou Streamer, let a little line out and swam the fly through the current. The marabou flattened out in the fast water, but when paused, it fluffed back out like it was breathing. I began to have a little confidence in the fly.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a small circle in some still water and realized a trout had just stuck its nose out. The fish was back under some alder branches, which almost dragged the water. But the trout was feeding, and now I knew where.

I looked at the current and decided I could use it to position my fly in front of the trout. So, I waded back upstream a little and over so my line could be fed down to the fish.

As I gave out line, my streamer kept breathing and zigzagging in the current so that even I thought it might have been a minnow if I hadn’t known better. I kept feeding line until the streamer was under the alder branches and inches in front of the trout.

It struck.

That moment was when my fishing life changed. The jolt that came back through my fly line felt like electricity. The rod pulsed and throbbed as the rainbow cut into the current and used the force to its advantage.

I waded back to my original position hoping to guide the trout into slower water to wear it out. I played the fish like it was a trophy, for to me it was. I had never had an experience like this and it wouldn’t be the same if it ended with the fish escaping. I didn’t think anyone would believe me.

I played the trout until the fight was out of it and I was sure it could be led into the net. I unhooked the fish, slid it into my creel, and stood there thinking about what had just happened.

What if trout really did eat all those bugs like the outdoor magazines had stories about? What if these fish could be fooled by creations I made at a fly-tying vise? What if a fly rod could be more effective at catching trout than my other gear and heavier tackle?

My mind buzzed that evening as I cleaned the trout and passed it to Mom for batter and a trip through the grease. Hushpuppies never tasted better. And that night I dug back into McClane’s Standard Fishing Encyclopedia looking for more patterns that I thought a trout might eat.

The way I still remember that fish perhaps says all I need to about the experience. That one rainbow set me on a different path, one graced with fly rods, fly-tying materials, and travel to remote places in search of another first fish on a fly. And then another and another.

The same old fishing encyclopedia sits on my book shelf even today and I keep a White Marabou Streamer in my fly box. And when I tie it on, I still think back on that first fish on a fly sixty years ago.

You can purchase Jim’s award-winning book, The Jon Boat Years, or buy autographed copies at www.acreektricklesthroughit.com.