As a fishing guide the word beginner can have a number of
different meanings, the most likely to come to mind is that it’s going to be a
long day untying mistakes and retying flies. Western guides are used to it as
beginners show up in the fly shop dressed to kill in Orvis gear and ready to
experience The River Runs Through It.
However in my neck of the woods, where a common bumper sticker reads “The Upper
Peninsula. Where the Middle of Nowhere is Somewhere,” beginners aren’t usually
part of the guiding game.
I have known Jeff for a couple of years, as he is a local
contractor who has built a couple of buildings for me. During our last project
together, he expressed an interest in learning to fly fish and we spent one
lunch break with an impromptu fly-casting lesson. Jeff is one of those few
genuinely nice people you meet in life and I really looked forward to fishing
with him. Before we parted ways, he told me to call him when I had a day off.
With the hopper bite in full bloom, I called Jeff late last
week to see if he had time in his schedule to do a bit of fishing. One of the first things you should learn is
that if a contractor can show up right away, he’s not the person to hire. Jeff,
who is always busy, said he had to work Saturday morning but would be
interested in a trip after he got done with work. He showed up with job trailer
in tow and an old fiberglass rod his dad had used, a 7/8 weight that would have
been fine if we had been looking to fish steelhead but was a wee bit overkill
for the brook trout we were targeting.
Following a relatively short hike to the stream (relatively
in these parts means a half mile), a quick refresher course in casting, and ten
casts, Jeff had hooked his first trout on a fly rod. He nearly fell backwards
into the stream in the excitement of it all, but the enthusiasm he openly
showed said it all … another fly angler had been born.
We fished three more hours, during
which Jeff caught any number of brook trout approaching 12 inches. He did
eventually make the literal plunge and I’m not sure if the look on his face was
a look of panic or surprise at the 11-inch fish on the end of his line (which
he did land once I pulled him up from the sitting position as water ran into
his waders). He marveled, as we all do, even those who have caught hundreds of
fish, at the slow, methodical rise of trout to his hopper and the ear-to-ear
grin he wore as we stepped out of the river said it all. My only thought was to
offer two apologies … one to his wife and the other to his bank account.
As for the fishing, it continues to be great. Big fish are
chasing streamers even in the mid-day heat. That heat and the lack of rain has
some streams approaching the critical 70-degree mark so carry a thermometer
and find another stream if the one you are on gets too warm. I did that Sunday
night and chased muskies for the first time with a fly rod. I didn’t catch any
fish, but did have a heart-stopping follow by a nice fish. I just wish I would
have had Jeff’s beginner’s luck but alas, that luck only struck once.
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