The Yammering
of the Pros
Submitted
by Mark L. King |
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Has this happened to you? You enjoy fishing and
discussing it with others of like mind, but you sometimes encounter the
"mighty" mind. You're minding your own business and when
approached, you say something polite just to open a door to conversation
you enjoy. But instead of entering into something mutually satisfying, you
find yourself wide-eyed in disbelief. The mind freezes like a rabbit
caught in the headlights of an oncoming monster truck and, too late, you
realize that the truck will chase you into the bushes where you seek to
hide. They are young, and they are mighty.
They are the young, mighty fly-fishermen. (I have no
evidence of this, now, but it wouldn't surprise me if they all really did
drive monster trucks.) And they know things: Oh yes, they know more than
you and me, and if you give them a chance, they'll bludgeon you with the
blunt end of their knowledge until you begin thinking of ways to just get
away. It's happened to me several times this summer, and on one occasion I
politely told a man that I could probably use some professional
instruction in casting -- although I had no intention of signing up for a
lesson -- just to shut him up and find a graceful exit from the
conversation. In that encounter I correctly intuited that a confession to
lack of skill would stroke his ego enough to make him relent. I ran as
soon as I could, making a pledge that I would never again enter that
particular fly shop.
Be warned fishermen and fisherwomen, especially
you beginning fly-casters: there are superior beings out there, and they
sit patiently behind a quiet fa�ade, waiting to spot a rabbit in the
trail. It often begins innocuously. Perhaps you are browsing or even
looking for something in particular. The smiling face says something like,
"Can I help you?" But � then the monster truck's high beams
suddenly illuminate you, and the roar of a massive internal combustion
engine announces SUPERIOR KNOWLEDGE as the truck leaps into the trail,
knobby tires slinging mud and stones, and prepares to mow you down - for
your own good, of course.
For nearly 30 years I have been a dedicated fisherman. I
began reading about sport fish and the art of fishing at an early age, and
I am somewhat accomplished in the art in both fresh and salt water. I know
a lot about fish in general, but I am new to Colorado, and this has been
the season of my learning in regard to fishing for trout in streams. And
even though I grew up in the South, I did learn some things about
fly-fishing (yes, and even knot tying) with an inexpensive, fiberglass rod
that I used for bass and pan fish. So reading about and fly-fishing for
trout in this great state has been a true learning experience and a lot of
fun for me this spring and summer.
What is it about fly-fishing for trout, though, that
makes some people act like fanatical cultists? You are a KILLER if you
want to keep a few trout for a family dinner; never mind that you obey the
laws of the state, and you are not a poacher. If you don't have a $600 rod
and a $200 reel, you're hopelessly na�ve about the kinds of gear you need
to practice the art. And if you refuse the ultimate act of kindness from a
yammering pro - a handwritten FLY LIST, for God's sake - you are a moron
doomed to fruitlessly flog the water in vain with all the wrong flies on
your next trip. I've become accustomed to saying, Yes, when offered the
ultimate in kindness, even though the fly lists are out there for anyone
interested in reading.
Really, I don't mind someone making the assumption that
I know nothing about fish or fishing. Just a few minutes of quiet
conversation with a reasonable person will take care of that, and then you
can have a meaningful discussion about theory or specifics. I don't even
mind following up on suggestions or advice that in the end I determine
will not work for me, like the time I fished a couple of leaders I tied
with surgeons' knots instead of blood knots. But it's the threat of
getting mown down by SUPERIOR KNOWLEDGE, though, that makes me want to
run.
Once I was looking for .025-.032 leader material in a
shop. What I really wanted was to experiment with stiffer butts to see if
I could make a largish fly turn over gracefully at the end of a 12-15 foot
leader. I asked. They didn't have it. But that wasn't the end of it, Oh
no. I had to submit to a lecture on why I should need nothing larger than
.019 for the butt section of any leader I fished here in Colorado, and
also why knotless, tapered leaders were all that I needed to know about.
This was coming from the same guy who weeks before, after identifying what
a Hornburg was, had proceeded to tell me how they used to be tied with a
strip of red flash from South American gamecocks. But now the feathers
from this bird are illegal because the birds are endangered, or something.
Yada, yada, yada. What good does that information do me? I wondered. Then
he triumphantly produced one of the originals from his private stash.
Wow! After the lecture on what kind of leader he fished, I proceeded to
get another on how proper casting would make me appreciate what my leader
needs really were. I don't think I ever got to say just what I wanted the
thicker leader material for. His motor revved and bellowed and blew
SUPERIOR KNOWLEDGE! I ran, looking behind me for the next five minutes.
You never know, sometimes they come after you.
Then there was the time I happily discovered a tradesman
who apparently guides part-time on the South Platte River. The builder had
sent him to my house to touch up some exterior paint. However, the happy
discovery came to a discordant, crashing halt. I got a few lectures from
this guy, too. AND I WAS ALSO AMAZED. I had told him how in three previous
trips to the South Platte above Deckers I got skunked, that I did indeed
see evidence of fish there, that I had used the teeny flies as per almost
everyone's recommendations, and that the closest I had come was when on
the last trip a fish had struck at my fly. But the fish must have missed,
and that was the most memorable experience I had on the South Platte. Now
here is the amazing part. I didn't see this guy around when I was out
fishing, but standing there in my own front yard, he said confidently and
forcefully that what had happened was a REFUSAL. He elaborated. Now, no
doubt, I have been fishing for a long time, and I have seen fish inspect
and reject both artificials and the real thing. I've also seen fish that
really wanted offerings hit at the things more than a couple of times in
excitement before finally zeroing in on what they wanted. But my fly on
that day was moving fast (drag fee, I might also add) in the current, and
it was drifting about 40 feet away. I never saw the fish, just the strike
very near to my fly. I suppose someone could have been standing on the
bank directly over the spot where the incident occurred, and that someone
could have interpreted the fish's action, or someone could have caught the
fish soon afterward and done a Vulcan "mind meld" on the little
feller to find out what really happened. But the pro knew. Beyond a shadow
of doubt, he knew. Wow!
Then there was conversation, definitely one-sided, about
my poor choice of gear. He must have asked me what kind of gear I was
using because after the REFUSAL lecture I had frozen up, wondering which
way to run. Perhaps I stupidly decided at that point that this was
probably a safe topic. Wrong again. I told the pro that I was using a
Cortland CL Series five-weight rod. I got lectured on what a $600 rod
would do for me. They come with lifetime guarantees, you know (so does the
Cortland), and they are rods that you will use for the rest of your
life. Then he told me about the several rods he had, his choice of a
disk drag $300 reel (some impressive name I forgot as soon as it came out
of his mouth), and how something like my rod and a Medalist (his initial
choice of a reel, he said) had cost him quality fish that he was later
able to land with confidence after the acquisition of a $1,000 rig. I was
thinking, Hey, my reel is a Pflueger Medalist. There's nothing wrong
with my reel. And I was also thinking, I have a very good rod and reel,
and if you can't land a fish with a good rod and reel, then it's you, not
the gear.
When I first started to shop around, I remember my
amazement that someone would pay $600 for a fishing rod and $200-$400 for
a fly reel, which is a very simple device (mechanically speaking) by the
way, and how I knew it would be a long time before I could consider
plunking down that kind of hard-earned dough for a fly-fishing rig. To be
clear, though, I'm not knocking the $1,000 rig, and if you've got the
money to spend on something like that, I believe that you are indeed
buying an elegant piece of art that is worth the money. But don't knock my
rig, either. I am very satisfied with the way my rod and reel fishes, and
it is comfortably at home in its Wal-Mart rod case when I am not using it.
A nice woman in a fly shop once urged me to pick a $600 rod out of the
rack, just to "get the feel of it." But I had to decline. I told
her, "Thanks, but if I pick up that rod, something might happen to my
brain." I didn't want to start wanting it, you see. I want to
continue being happy with my rod, and I can say that I am. I've lost some
fish, sure, but that was me, not the gear. The same thing has happened
many times before with good but less expensive equipment.
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Polarized glasses for spotting "hawgs" |
I don't remember everything the tradesman pro on that
occasion lectured me about, but at the end of it all there was the
ultimate act of kindness. He offered to personally write me out a fly
list. What a swell guy! He wasn't the last person I will consider inviting
to leave my property, I'm sure, but since I'm a first-time homeowner, I
must say that he takes the prize for being the first.
I am thankful at least that I've never had a
conversation with one of these guys about where to buy flies. Can you
imagine the reaction I'd get if I revealed my observation that the
$1.75-for-two flies in the blister packs at Wal-Mart fish just as well and
stand up to as much casting and as many fish strikes as the hand-tied
flies in the professional shops? And I'm a capitalist. I don't have an
ethical problem choosing basic fly patterns tied by sweatshop labor in
tiny countries with funny names over the bushier looking specials in the
little shop cubbies. Man, some of those things should be tied on gold
hooks for what they cost, depending on where you're shopping. (Pretty soon
I might try tying some of my own with rejected carpet samples.)
This year has been a series of experiences, for sure.
I've managed to catch a fair number of fish, and I have indeed met some
very pleasant people. Thank God for the mature professionals who are
content to let you be yourself. They are the ones you can talk to in a
quiet way, and they make you want to think about the dialogue, which is
how knowledge is made, incidentally. They are the true pros, and they make
good company. Some day when I have the money and travel somewhere distant
to fish, I would like to hire a professional guide, but I want one of the
quiet types. Please, God, let it not be a young and mighty yammering pro.
(Ed. note: These remarks are the
opinions and experiences of Mr. King.)