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. 

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.)