Can You Cast A Vote as well as you Can Cast a Fly?

I believe that when a person picks up a Fly Rod and performs any sort of cast into the water they are creating a moment that goes well beyond the possibility of catching a fish.

Days on the water are experiences and memories. An individual act that bears no singular definition, yet, we all feel a general sense of common revelation that’s not entirely simple to define. In easy terms I’d say: Time spent fly fishing is good for the body, the mind and the soul.

Which is why I will always stand behind a cause that shows others who may be struggling physically or emotionally the wonderful healing benefits fly fishing offers. The Adaptive Fly Fishing Institute  is in the running for the Pepsi sponsored Refresh Project. If they were to get enough votes by March 31st, they could take 10 wounded soldiers to Hawaii for an Adaptive Fly Fishing trip. I have a deep respect and admiration for those serving in the military and this is a cause everyone can easily support.

It takes a minute of your time, a few clicks of the computer cursor, an email address and you’re done. Simple. Easy. Worthwhile. Want to make a bigger difference? Feature this cause on your own website, blog, twitter, facebook. Spread the word!

Voting Link : (Click Anywhere in this swanky grey box)
Take 10 Wounded Soldiers to Hawaii for an Adaptive Fly Fishing Trip
~All the details described on the Voting Page~
Thank You!!

Rebecca

The River High and The River Low

When I was out fly fishing last Sunday, one of the comments I got was a general observation, but it’s the one I’ve been thinking about as a general river theme. One man remarked after asking me how the fishing was (not good),”Well the river is pretty low right now.”
Yes. And that means? I wanted to ask him, but held my thought to myself.

This is where my personal experience, a sheltered bubble of fly fishing innocence (or ignorance) falls into play. My lack of interaction with all things common fly fishing opinion and technical knowledge over the past 10 plus years puts me into an undisturbed, uninfluenced state of fishing spirit. 80% of what I do or know has been established through personal trial and error rather then credible advice or instruction. I’ve yet to decide if that is a good thing, or a bad thing.

The thing is, when I turned the chapter in my fishing life from metal chucker to fly floater, I had assistance in several of the basics: fly choices, casting, presentation among other beginner instruction. However, I was pretty much left to my own devices when it came to river choices, time on the water, areas to visit and reading the water. Although I had heard rumors about things like river flow and water temperature, I humbly admit, I shrugged it off. Such technical assessments I deemed best left to those who actually knew what they were doing. I just wanted to go out and fish, regardless of prevailing ‘conditions’…

Because I didn’t know any better, or didn’t care, I’ve fished rivers when they were roaring over their banks flooding into the trees and I’ve fished when everything was just a trickle with tiny little holding pools. Some of my best memories or fishing days —the type where you force yourself to stop casting because the sun has been behind the mountain for almost an hour and tying on a new fly by the light of a match starts to burn up a lot of tippet— were on rivers that may have been considered ‘unfishable’ ….sometimes, ignorance really is bliss.

The one exception or perhaps it’s a concession, is blown out rivers that have turned the color of brown hotel carpet. Although I have caught fish under such conditions, it wasn’t easy and times like those earn a humble place in the tenacious (desperate) category of a fly fishing life. Not exactly memorable, but earns points for effort.

Over the years I’ve read fishing reports that made it seem like if you simply drove to a river, tossed in some dental floss with a safety pin tied to the end you would catch fish–”"The river is on FIRE it’s so smoking good”"– yet when I got there it didn’t seem that great, or even good. Just the opposite, I’ve read reports that moaned depression like conditions in a sluggish river economy and I’ve hit the jackpot in fishing riches. (To be fair, I have ! read fishing reports that were spot on, which is always a nice surprise) So either some fishing reports are just screwing with me, for fun and all, or everyone forgot to inform the fish what was expected of them or…..fishing simply defies logical expectation.

So all of that begs the question. How much do you all put into fishing reports, river flow, optimum fishing conditions? Will a flooded river put an end to your day? Will a dire fishing report inspire you to stay home and finish your ‘honey do’ list instead?

An inquiring mind wants to know ~ Me

Rebecca

The Fly Fishing Film Tour and Swag Girl

On Saturday night I swallowed any public shyness I harbor, summoned my bravado and faced the ultimate herd of Fly Fisherman collected into one spot (without water) and went to the Drake Fly Fishing Film Tour as it passed through Boise Idaho.

When I first learned it was coming to town I had devised a plan. Buy a ticket, drive to event, wear my trusty fly fishing hat low over my brow and simply slink in and slink out. A bit like my normal Fly Shop routine.

However, the week prior to the film, I met via the Internet medium and phone, a local fly fisherman and custom rod builder, Steve Vance. We talked fishing a few times and the day before the showing, he called and asked me if I would help him and the tour out by passing out hats at the event.

By saying ya, sure, I can help out (handle it), I blew my incognito plan out like a river in early June run off. Next thing I knew I was party crashing the Idaho Angler pre-film gathering which was a great get together at a local fly fishing shop. Then we headed down to the theater and I became part of the Film Tour swag team! Talk about a good deal…and this is for everyone…for the price of one ticket you got entrance to the movie, a Fishpond hat, a Belize DVD, a Costa Del Mar sunglasses retainer and a swanky program….passed out in a frenzied blur by yours truly. (My only gig was Boise, sorry)

At one point the event guy running the actual theater told Steve and I to pick up the pace because the line of frothing fly fisherman stretched around the block. If I had a second to spare I would have explained to him that this was bonus swag of the fly fishing nature and such treasures shouldn’t be hurried. Instead of stating the obvious, I flung goodies as fast as I could. Hundreds of people had to pass by me and accept my swanky offerings, but I’ll be damned if I remember a single one in that blur. But…it was all good, I was like the fairy godmother of fishing.   

When the line finally stalled and the movie started, Steve and I raced into the theater to find a seat in the dark. Since this is the first time I’ve ever seen it, I have nothing to compare to past years films, but I really enjoyed myself. I can’t imagine a better time to tease the fly fishing soul and wet the parched lips of winter locked hysteria than a February film of fish temptations. Have a touch of Cabin Fever? Go see the Fly Fishing Film Tour for 3 hours of jealousy and visual pleasure.

I did have the pleasure of meeting Thad Robinson, Marc Crapo (stunning Indiana Jones satchel) and Jay (thank you for the t-shirt!) along with one special lady who seems to have as bad a luck as I do in the raffle department. Julie…lets go fishing soon!  

All in all, I’m very glad I went.

Rebecca

P.S. as a former swag swinger for the Fly Fishing Film Tour, a piece of advice. Get your tickets early and furthermore, get in line early! Some swag ran out and the stragglers only got a hat and program! Early hatch gets the biggest rewards ~

P.P.S. Hey John Dollar (who writes Seven Bridges Road) I waited and waited to be haunted, spooked, or at least feel the cold air of ghosts at the Egyptian Theater all night, but the only scary thing in the whole theater was the screaming fly fisherman =)

Fly Fishing on a stage while playing the Midge

On Sunday I took Bandon the Bashful out for a Valentines Day event I knew she would appreciate more than say, a rawhide dipped in chocolate. We went to the local river establishment. A cheap venue, close to home, no-frills sort of date. She’s a dog, she’s easy to please.

I went to a new section of the river I’d never practised my casting on: a zone of water that I’m now torn over. In one regard, it’s a great stretch of water that provided a few nooks and crannies, seams and pools that I normally gravitate to. On the other hand, this stretch of river ended up (snuggling too close for comfort) right next to the walking path that partners with my local river for miles and miles.

Try as I might, I couldn’t ignore the fact that my choice of river locations for the day landed me square in the middle of lovers lane for Valentine walkers. Who would have thought every couple in my town would think a nice cold stroll along the river would emulate romanticism.

To me, fly fishing is a solitary act. An individual state of being wherein the practitioner goes to their happy place of mind and body. It’s like a Zen Fly Fishing Master whispers in my ear…..shhh…connect, be one with the river….

But on Lovers Lane Sunday, the Zen Master voice turned into a Cage Fight Announcer and chanted in my ear…..you have an audience! Catch a damn fish, these people are staring, waiting, cheering, watching, give ‘em a show!…..I realized I had waded myself into a spectator event and I was center stage. I admit it, I suffered from various degrees of stage fright. ( At one point I slowly turned around and counted 8 people stopped and watching me, I lost my happy place)

Not only did I have a constant stream of witnesses at my back, I had to submit my poor little flies for inspection several times. I guess if you have enough guys walking their ladies along the river, you’re bound to have a few fly fisherman sprinkled in the mix. Showing my flies in this manner always feels like a slim line between a Miss Fly America contest and the criminal line up at a police department. It’s either beauty approved or the guilty fly that belongs back in lock up…err,,,fly box. Thankfully my choice of flies got several nods of approval and no one said, “Umm, that fly only catches fish in Alabama.”

About the actual fish. I don’t wanna talk about them..(the dirty rotten)….  

The best thing to interrupt my happy place all day was confessionals from two–not one–but two other fly fisherman. They both confessed they had been skunked. It’s not JUST ME!! Praise the fish gawds ~

Isn’t it time for some fluffy caddis? Perhaps a big juicy salmon fly? Soon maybe? Like tomorrow? I’ve had about all the midge fun I can take…..

Rebecca

Public Service Announcement: A Fly Giveaway! In honor of the big red heart day we just had, Austin from 365 Fly Fish is giving away a dozen #18 Red Hot Nymphs by Feb. 19th. OR by the 30th comment on his blog. All you have to do is leave a comment….so get on over there, cast your comment and you just might score some new flies~ LINK ~~> Red Hot Nymphs Ohh lala spreadin’ the love

Fish Faces Only a Fish Mama Could Love

Once, when I was in Alaska, I was casting into the surf, just to see if I could entice a passing salmon or two. I was delighted when I felt the undeniable pull of a fish and I quickly reeled up my prize onto the sandy beach. The thrill turned to shock when I got a good look at my bounty. If my over-active imagination serves me correctly (and it’s had several years to over-exaggerate the situation), when that fish looked up at me it’s gills flared out with razor fish spikes and countless whiskers protruded from the sides of it’s huge mouth. As that fish glared at me, the razors and whiskers waved around just daring me to retrieve my spendy lure. I’m also pretty sure it hissed at me. That single ocean surprise fish became a star character in some reoccurring nightmares.

This is the entry where I risk displaying my true feminine side by talking about the looks of certain fish. This of course could be a me thing and surely no one else out there is phased by the appearances of fish, but there are a few species that give me the heebie jeebies.  

I’m pretty sure my aversion to certain fish started at a young age. I believe I observed as a young thang,  that say, a sucker, was properly greeted by revulsion and dismissed with a mandatory rock or two…Please remember, that was back then, before being politically fish correct was the right thing to do. As for what to do with a sucker fish in this day and age. No comment.

It’s a lip thing. The slurping bottom sucking pucker that makes me recoil and cut my line before I’d attempt to go in for a fly retrieval– even IF it was a favorite fly.. (Girlie Alert!) Yep, that’s right, I have my limitations on the guyish bravado front and I draw the line at sucker fish. The few times I’ve accidentally caught one I was appalled and quite frankly embarrassed through my trout heart that such a slimball crashed my fishing party.

I’m pretty sure I can blame suckers for my aversion to the whitefish. It’s the lip thing again. Their small rounded little fish lips are a visual reminder of all things sucker fish and distinctively non-trout-like. My prejudice is irrational, but drawn around a solid circle factor.

Trout have good lips, nice smile, straight teeth. Just saying….

When I judge a fish by it’s looks, it’s not limited to just the lips. There’s the whisker issue to mention.  I’m not sure why or when I took a disliking to the fish with whiskers, but on the whole, I’d rather not. The way I see it, moving whiskers that give out a grabby tentacle vibe should be avoided if possible. Basically, you’ll never hear a catfish report out of me.

Now, just to be clear, a website is one place to confess all sorts of shortcomings.  However, when I’m out on the water and find myself in the unfortunate situation of having an undesirable at the end of my line, I do remain stoically composed. Solid pride dictates a calm demeanor, play it cool and zero involuntary dry heaving motions are allowed, especially in the presence of (male) witnesses. I would never, ever…..

Although, if for some reason this following fish were to end up at the end of my leader I’m fairly certain I would either
1) Faint…no…make that swoon
2) scream like a little boy or
3) retire from fishing and take up shuffle boarding

Happy Valentines Day Everyone~
Rebecca

Next Page »