Eric, If you're going to tell it to your kids, might as well get the story straight. 'Cause as we all know, dang kids nowadays won't take your word for it, you got to give them the details, eh?
This memory is one of my standouts not because it is cherished, but more because of the sheer dumb luck in getting things right first try and newbieness of it all. The fishing equivalent to pulling a Homer, if I may borrow a Simpson's analogy. That and also the rarity of having a pool, heck the whole river, to myself on this outing when it is typically shoulder to shoulder combat. Lots of guys catch huge salmon on this run, so it's no big deal really. I haven't done this trip since. I have other trips to cross off my bucket list, and for me it was one of those things you try once. but I'm glad I did.
Several years ago the only exposure to fly fishing I had was when a buddy of mine brought a newly purchased fly rod up to a small bass lake we fish.
He doesn't really end up catching anything with it, but they're bitting well for me with my standard gear jigging assorted plastics. He tenderly hands over his rod to give me a try after I ask how he likes it and show some polite interest in what he is doing. (I think he wanted to trade rods so he could catch a fish if you ask me...)
So I flap it back and forth over my head like I've seen on TV. And the fly never really touches the water. He looks on like an overanxious parent whose toddler flails about a flaming stick pulled from a campfire. In retrostpect, I did hear the snap... I stopped to see I broke the fly and tippet off due to my bullwhip casting. I though the whip cracking sound was a good thing. turns out it wasn't. I hand him back his rod with the remaining tippet wafting in the wind off the main line like a flag at half mast.
No further words are spoken until I ask him to net my next fish.
Fast forward a few years later, a group from work decide to hit a Salmon run in one of Lake O's tributaries. I'd never caught a salmon least of all seen a Salmon run, so I wanted in. They were going to be fly fishing, but I didn't have any fly gear. I'm frugal by nature so I decide to bring my spinning rod and Shimano Senora 4000 instead. I did spring for 17 lbs mono however.
It's not that hard to see really big salmon on a run. The water is shallow, and they're right there... Like gargantuan minnows, but they have no interest in what you are passing by them.
I didn't do that great compared to the guys with fly rods. The difference was a combination of rod length, floating line, and how many passes you could get in a given time so that fly could run basically into the mouth of of these beasts. We did manage to talk to some locals who gave us really good info on getting away from the urban combat and into some more serene settings.
The following year I hook up with my current fishing partner who is a British expat, a fly fishing trout purist. We decide to go, his biggest being trout pulled from UK streams and some bass and pike fished from the Adirondacks. This time I borrow his wife's trout fly rod he'd bought her at Walmart. Yes indeed. I was moving up.
I brought my spinning gear as a backup.
We arrive late in the afternoon, check out the run, all of the people, and play around with my spinning gear. The one salmon we played with as he was seeing his life flash before him left us a bit unsure of the whole thing. The next morning we decide to hit the place I went the previous year. We decided to go really early, because the earlyfish gets the fly.
The plan unfolds as follows...In the pitch black, we sneak out of our campsite. (I pushed the car so starting it wouldn't wake the other fishermen from their brandy drenched slumber), and bomb down the highway, nervously checking the rearview mirror for headlights of other people who have now most assuredly wised up to our devious plan.
We head to the spot with flashlights, staying way away from the river banks to not spook anything, but fully expecting there to be a dozen other such lights along the banks..... turns out we were the only ones there. Turned out mid-week early morning was a good time to be there.
I get a brief intro to fly fishing while my fishing partner ties a homemade wooly bugger (or so I was later told in between cursing and repremands) to the end of my line. I was now indeed a man, even if someone else had to tie my knot. To be honest, i never really did get a good look at what the fly really looked like. It was dark, we had one flashlight between us, and I had no idea what i was doing.
Now, anyone who's done a run will tell you timing is everything. Too late, and all you have is moldy carcasses floating by. Too early, and no fish in the rivers, they're all schooled up at the mouth in the lake. In this case, we'd had a mini run. Not the full run, but the days before there was a small one, and the fish were holding tight, deep in the pools and not everywhere you looked. They were also pretty frisky, which was a refreshing change to some of the last gasp stuff we saw earlier. Turns out the fish get spooked quite a bit in the daylight with all of the activity and pressure of flies, roe bags and splitshot constantly whizzing by, so the best chances were at first light. In reality all we wanted was to get to our spot first. We had yet to catch a fish I would call "alive".
My fishing partner turns his attention to tying his fly, and I cast out like he showed me, into the lead edge of a bending pool I could see in the beginings of daybreak. A half second goes by, and, bang! The line tightens, this giant paddle of a tail smacks the surface like a beaver that gets too close to the boat, and the salmon skitters out of the pool and along the shallows towards the next pool. Biggest fish I've ever seen in front of me by far up to this point. With no other instructions on what to do, my bass fish-stincts kick in and I grab that tiny little reel handle that is now quickly spinning in reverse. (why is this thing so tiny?!?!?) I slam my had down on the reel, the rod loads up and I start reeling that stubby little no-gear ratio, no drag walmart reel like my life depended on it. My fishing partner spins around at the sound of the splash, jaw agape, and then realizes what I am doing. Before he can say (insert british accent)"arrrrghhhhh you wanker, let go of the reel" I hear a paaaaa-tingggg! And that familiar flap of tippet goes sailing past my ear. May have been some cursing... probably was some cursing.
It was at that time that I got a brief but very clear rundown in no uncertain terms what I was to do if that happened again. I nodded, I listened. I regrouped. I re-tied. My fishing buddy hit the same spot I did seemingly saying, this is how to do it, and after a short bit of him showing me a few casts, he hooks up with a nice salmon. He's palming the reel, taking up slack.. showing me what to do.
Well, 45 minutes goes by and he's still leaning on this fish, but not too hard since he's got this tiny little fly on with a tiny little hook. That fish stays in one spot, the circles the pool, then stays still.... over and over and over, eventually it takes a run down stream, and we're off after it, running along the banks. I grab the net, catch up to to it and run ahead of the fish. It finally beaches itself on the bank and I put the net on it. I couldn't get it in the net because it was laying against the rocks and it was longer than the net was wide. So I just dive on it. It was later described to me as a slide-tackle.. some soccer referece that was lost on me.
So next it's my turn.
Same pool, same rythm, roll-cast, drift, roll-cast, drift, aiming for the dark figures I can now see at the bottom of the pool in the daylight.
A while goes by and the line tightens. Is it bottom? feels like it. But wait..... the bottom is moving...... and his head is shaking...
So I have a fish on, and it's the same thing. But this time I man-up and I know what to do. I palm the reel when it runs, and back myself up the bank and strip line when it runs at me. I had to move quick. Sometimes it just sat there for like 5 - 10 minutes with me just keeping the rod loaded and I'm thinking, should I be doing something here? The whole time I didn't figure I'd get this thing in... it was just too big and I was way too new.
Nearly an hour goes by and I'm wondering what to do and it takes a run for the shallows and I see I'm running out of line, so I back up the bank and run as fast as those hipwaders would let me run on a muddy river bank. we catch up to it, this time getting it in the net, or most of it anyway. The net and fish are then dragged to the bank of the river.
Soon after, some words were exchanged, something about someone showing someone else how things are done, then someone saying oh yeah, who's fish was bigger, then comparing them, then someone else keeping their yap shut after that. (mine was bigger).
So that's the story. The first real cast I ever made with a fly rod. And shortly after, the first fish I ever caught on a fly rod. Also, the biggest fish I've ever caught. And, in the end, I did buy a proper fly rod and reel.