BY JOHNNIE CARRIER

I just wanted to try fly-fishing that’s all. It looked beautiful. Like a wisp floating over the fisherman’s head. Flying out to a projected target.

The bait floats out and on the water and then the strike, like an explosion under water; the result is the means of all the other functions. Which is what makes fly fishing almost impossible in the very beginning and to say the least very frustrating. The wrong motion in the cast, too much line being released, even the wrong line on the reel can stop you from getting the desired effect. Like my life I can tell you what’s wrong with me easier then I can tell you the things I do correctly. BUT…

I got started at my local Wal-Mart with an investment of fifty dollars. I went over to my neighbor Steve and he gave me the very basics. Plus the most valuable tip I ever got.

“It’s boring just to practice in the yard and have guys like me ask if you caught any flies yet. Drive down to Cheshire Lake (In Cheshire MA.) and practice casting into the lake. While you’re learning you’ll catch all the bluegill and sunfish you can handle.”

And that’s what I did. I learned some of the knots you’ll need to know for fly-fishing. I got a better cast then what I started with but it was still pitiful I can say looking back. Steve was right the bluegill or shell crackers as some call them would dive on the fly. It didn’t matter what type of fly the bluegill would hit anything. I still don’t know the types of flies to tie on for trout. The trout I have got were luck but more on that later. And on the light tackle a good size bluegill will give you a feeling of satisfaction more then you could ever imagine a sunfish could give.

The other thing Steve told me was the Wal-Mart rod I bought was to stiff for the fishing I was going to do. So I went hunting and at a second hand sport shop in Pittsfield MA. I found a Shakespeare rod with a 5-6 weight rather the 7-8 I was using. It had a snap to it and the five-dollar price was the best.

Re-tooled I went to the lake within 2 city blocks from my home Windsor lake in North Adams MA. It’s called “Fish Pond” by us townies and it’s a good name for it. You can take a kid just starting out and it will keep him busy enough to feel what it’s like to catch a fish. State stocked trout, sunfish, a rising large mouth population and I even have caught a few black crappies, which is new for the lake. Most importantly it’s close to home. It’s not the best place to fly fish because it can get busy up there with band concerts on Wednesday nights. Walkers with dogs are also in abundance so you need to watch out while whipping a fly rod around. But it can be done with a careful eye.

“You don’t know what the hell your doing you know that don’t you?” I was at first startled, then mad as a drunk at closing time looking for one more. Who the hell was this guy? He looked 70 but was only 55 I found out later. He had a look of a lot of hard living about him. His voice was hard and collected gravel. His eyes were worn thin and not as clear as they were in his youth I suspect. He put down a can of Balantine triple X ale, adjusted the other five hanging from his belt loop and preceded to yell at me for the next hour and a half while showing me what to do and what not to do. He put on a clinic. It was the Orvis fishing school run by Jack Palance. By the end of the session I was casting out 35 to 40 feet with a good consistent motion. I had a habit of looking at my back cast and was told if I did that again I was going to get hit in the head. I thought I’m six foot and 275 lbs and this old man is going to hit me in the head? I figured he was crazy or one tough son of **^%$**&%# so I quickly stopped looking at my back cast. I felt it like he had instructed me to do. I have never seen this man since then but I’ll never forget him because he gave me the cast.

By the end of the week I had me a trout, small brown from the jungle in Cheshire. I caught him on a black fly only because they were eating me. A week later another big rainbow from North pond on again a black fly, I remember screaming like a kid during the fight. I was so nervous for fear of losing him. My son was yelling as he netted him for me.

He yelled just as I did when he landed his first big trout on his spinning outfit. They both were a shade less than nineteen inches. Which is fishing talk for seventeen inches. That pound and a quarter of fish had put up a fight that is the main reason to invest in fly-fishing. And the main reason I joined the Berkshire County Fly Fishers. I want to learn more. I want to learn more about catching bass. I just hope I can learn with out the threat of bodily harm.



BY: JOHNNIE CARRIER. Freelance writer –fly fisherman-easily intimidated by crazy old men.

Johnniec5859@yahoo.com