November 28, 2018 – So Easy Even a Retired Polack Can Do It? – SEPA Stockies With My Dad on the Long Rod

First fly rod trout for the old man!

Not for the first time in his illustrious fishing career, which parallels mine in time if not inclinations, my dad expressed interest this year in learning to fly fish.  Again, not for the first time, he purchased a quality used set up—besides buying trucks and SUVs and boats, his calling in life is finding admirable deals on Craigslist and other fishing forums and reselling them—but this season we actually got the rod set up, in his hands, on the water, and today bent by at least four fat, healthy stocked rainbows.  There are fall stockies and holdovers in many local creeks, so we didn’t have to go far.  Besides the strong wind, it was not a bad day weather-wise, and the creek had a good flow and stain, which put the fish on the feed for at least a short window, maybe 11 AM to 1 PM today.  Nothing fancy for flies was needed, as small prince nymphs, hares ears, and pheasant tails did the trick.

Joe's first bow on the fly rod.

After some instruction in setting up a nymphing rig, indicator fishing, line management, and so on, I left him to it so that I could set up my own rod and, in true self-reliant family tradition, Joe caught his first fly rod trout while I was still tying a knot on my anchor fly.  I rushed up to net the fish, but not before taking a couple action shots.  After the release, Joe was pretty excited to do some further damage.  By the time we got to the first prime hole that I had in mind, he was competent enough to land three more fish while I watched close by, coaching on landing and leading these larger fish, some up to 14 inches, to the net without losing them.  Because my dad knows how to trout fish and how to read water, he basically made me look good with my minimal pointers.  There are some subtleties to where winter fish, even stocked fish who have marinated long enough to acclimate, may choose set up in a hole and so forth.  I am not ready to embrace guiding, but it was fun to play at it since I have considered it as one of my retirement ventures one day.  I would have to leave the rod at home in order to be any good at it at all, however!  Naturally, I stepped into a few prime or challengingly fun spots to pull some fish out for myself, maybe landing 6 and losing a beast of about 16 inches..

The "guide" had to hook a few when he saw the size of them...

After toughing out a particularly windy bend in the creek where we had to time our drifts around gusts up to 40 MPH, we grew tired of leaves, tangles, and wind chill and decided to end on a high note instead of pushing upstream to the next good, possibly sheltered hole.  The window may have been closing anyway, as a quick stop on the way back at Joe’s first honey hole now proved dead after a few drifts.  I remember the bullwhip crack echoing through the valley as my Quill Gordons snapped in ill-timed backcasts along the Little Pine Creek, a twelve year old me, probably sporting a prematurely competent looking brimmed wool crusher hat, deciding to give his dad a quick lesson in April dry fly fishing over enthusiastically rising stockies.  Nymphing in the winter is a different game for sure, but Joe came a long way today!  Well done, man.

Eyeing prime winter spot, looking like he knows what he's doing!