Current Lessons - Flyfishing for Connection

 One of the few things my father handed down to me was a deep abiding love of trout.

My appreciation, nay, obsession for the iridescent sheen of the rose-colored flank of a rainbow flashing in the sunlight as it leaps into the air of a hidden pool began as a simple exploration of flyfishing at an elite trout club in Chagrin Falls, Ohio, the Pine Lake Trout Club. 

My father would hold meetings in the clubhouse with potential investors. He would send my brother, Miles, and me to figure out flyfishing techniques on the upper pools, which were stocked with behemoth brown and rainbow trout that had been fed pellets in a tightly controlled oxygen-rich environment.

I was 10 years old, and my brother was just six. We had no instruction other than an awkward cast that heaved large flies, called wooly buggers. We were given a bag lunch of sandwiches and gouda cheese from the bar in the clubhouse and soon figured out that those wooly buggers worked a lot better when we molded a small ball of the cheese onto the hook.

Before long, we had piled up a half cord of these monster rainbows when one of the gamekeepers alerted my father that his boys were draining the pond of their biggest fish and that they would be added to his tab at $3 a pound.

It was years before I learned about entomology and proper conservation concepts. I had been"sent away” to boarding school at Vermont Academy, where my educators taught us the finer points of flyfishing and how to read a stream. We picked up bugs from underneath rocks in a crystal-clear river and brought them back to the classroom in glass jars to study them.

We learned the major distinct species of mayflies, stoneflies and caddis. We studied water clarity, oxygen measurements and the difference between a freestone and a lime stream. We studied alkalinity, temperature, and phototropism. And to graduate from these classes we had to perform a proper roll cast and demonstrate how to properly load a rod based on its action — slow, medium or fast.

I did not know at the time that we were learning respect for the ecosystem and the species. Our goal was still to catch trout, but now we did it with intention and discipline. That, in turn, led us to deepen our understanding and love of the sport.

Decades later, I walk quietly down a sandy trail to a large pool in one of our major Vermont rivers after all the other fishermen have left.

I check the rocks and examine the surface from downstream to see what insects are hatching and which, if any, are spinning on the surface to be slurped into the vortex of a rising trout’s mouth. I check the water’s temperature and study the currents. There are three sets of riffles that I will need to cast across, mending my line for each tail out. This is where a hungry rainbow might lie in wait for a wriggling meal to float into his lane.

Trout are smart. They use as little energy as is required to feed when the water is warmer and are much more aggressive when the water is still cold. This time of year, it is still cool. I cautiously move upstream and stand behind a big boulder sitting in the current, just downstream from the pool. As I peek over the top, I notice a small whirlpool form just past the tail of the current. Within minutes, it happens again, but this time I catch the tip of a nose poking out of the whirlpool.

He’s feeding. Selectively. Being 65 years old, and having flyfished for over 50 years now, I have accumulated just enough wisdom to identify the hatch of flies and tie on a terrifyingly accurate deceiver, my favorite, the high floating elk hair caddis with a rust-colored thorax. I thrust the 6 weight rod forward and back gaining momentum with the line with each false cast. As the rod loads, I can feel the power of the spine bending to its maximum curvature. When I feel it is working its hardest, I lead the line behind me in a tight arc over my head and let out the weight forward floating line to fly across the three riffles. As the fly settles on the far side of the third riffle, I quickly mend the line with three quick whips upstream, allowing the deceiver to float at the same speed as the current. 

A vicious rise and the rod bends toward the water. The reel begins to sing it's high-pitched whine as the line is being ripped from the spool. With no warning, the fish jettisons out of the water, shaking his head with all the vigor of a trophy. I see his flank flash a stunning iridescent rainbow and he dives quickly back into the safety of his aquiline world. I begin to provide some resistance on the reel by palming it to slow down the drag. He fights with the abandon of a welterweight boxer whose goal is to defeat the champion. 

He makes three long runs to the other side of the pool and back. Finally, I can feel him tiring. I begin to gently work him toward the shoreline, using the current to wear him down and when I've coaxed him to within ten feet of me, I reach for my net. This is always the most dangerous point. It's when optimism is at its zenith and, most frequently, where battles are lost. I carefully bring him closer and continue to use the rod's power to keep him passive. I move my right hand holding the net behind him, downstream and gently scoop him up. He is a prize fighter and I am deeply honored to meet him.

I have accepted that I’ve had to make some adaptations to continue to pursue my passion. I now use 3.5x glasses to thread the hair-thin tippet through the eye of the fly. Even then it takes a few tries.I realize that this moment in time is worth all the effort it takes. My purpose on earth has been revealed to me. I am outdoorsman and will be until my last breath.

Until then I choose to continue pursuing this sport with all my heart. To see the flash of the rainbow's flank as it leaps out of the water, shaking his head fiercely, I will never tire of the excitement from this moment of connection to something wild. My spirit revels in every second I have left, to feel the current around me, as if life itself was a current that both supports me and would one day sweep me into a deeper pool where I might learn new techniques of fishing.

As the sun paints the verdant hills with the golden glow of a summer's eve, I feel that deeply personal need for belonging to something greater being fulfilled. My cup runneth over.