|Arizona Winter Storm.|
Ten minutes later I was out by my little neighborhood lake with a fly rod, a spinning rod, and my tackle box staring at what looked like a miniature North Sea in a hurricane. The wind was whipping the water into a roiling froth of water, leaves, and garbage. The waves whipped up by the wind were almost a half a foot high and made reading the water impossible. A little intimidated by the wind, I stood there for a while watching the water and wondering how I was going to cast a fly line. I know that the best way to learn is to jump in head first and do it. Whether I fly or fall, I always learn something with that method, so I got out my fly box and set up my fly rod.
|The Fly I Was Using Saturday|
I was able to get back out to the lake late Sunday afternoon. The weather was cool and calm, and the water was glass smooth and gin clear. After a quick examination of the flies in my box I decided to tie on a small brown dry fly that looked like it would make the fish drool. I spent the next hour following some casting advise and trying to perfect my form and movement. This resulted in finally getting some more distance in my cast and starting to be able to "shoot" a fair amount of line on my final cast. Concentrating on fly casting and with experimenting with different presentations on the retrieve I failed at a very important part of fishing. I wasn't paying attention to the surface of the water, until a heard the splash from a jumping fish off in the distance.
That prompted me to stop and look around at the surface of the lake, and I noticed an area down around the corner from me that had a lot of surface action going on. Nothing spectacular, just some small ripples here and there. Just enough to tell me I was in the wrong spot. I made the move over to a section of the lake that is basically a large concrete pad with a couple of benches and a boat ramp. I started casting out to where the ripples were and did my best insect impression with the fly and got nothing. I tried using different retrieval speeds and vibrations in a vain attempt to make that poor little ball of fluff and feather look like a tasty trout treat to no avail. Then I paused for a few seconds and looked down to answer a question for a 12 or 13 year old kid who was fishing nearby when magic happened.
I heard the splash almost at the same time I felt the line go tight against the fingers I was using to hold the fly line against the pole, and the hook set was more reaction than design. I stood there kind of stunned for a second, and then I had to laugh. I had fly line in my left hand leading down to about ten feet of line on the ground next to my foot, my fly rod in my right hand with a big arc in it, an ear to ear grin on my face, and not one clue about what to do next. That kid I was talking to probably thought I had more than my fair share of screws lose from the look on my face.
|My Very First Fish On The Fly!|
|Second Trout On The Fly!|