Out of the mouths of babes
Fly fishermen can be stuffy from time to time, we are always a little that way. Our way is the only way. Sometimes someone will bring us back to the real world from the purest fly fishing world.
It happened to me one early summer day form the mouth of a four-year-old granddaughter.
My daughter, son-in-law, a grandson and two granddaughters had traveled from Utah to spend a few days with us. Fishing Henrys Lake was to be a large part of this visit, but it was one of those days that the fish just would not respond to any type of fishing with flies.
We cast flies, we trolled flies, we still-fished with flies, but the fish would not pay us any heed. After four hours of nothing, Ashlee looked up at me and in an almost demanding voice said, “Grandad, I want to catch a fish!”
What is a grandfather to do with such a request like that? Dynamite seemed an option, suicide was another one or swallowing one’s fishing-with-flies-only pride was the best choice available.
Keeping my flies-only integrity intact on Henrys Lake, we left the trophy water and headed for the trailer. There in the closet we resurrected two old spinning rods, stole some fly-tying hooks from the fly tying bench, bought some sinkers, and the greatest sin a fly fisherman can do; bought some worms.
A nephew had reported that the brook trout in Warm River near Pole Bridge Campground were jumping out of the water for the bait fishermen. We called the women of the tribe to meet us at the campground with a picnic – and not to forget the marshmallows, not for fishing – for roasting.
It was amazing – the four- to eight-inch brook trout were very willing to supply Ashlee with her wish. Each child had an adult with them enjoying the action. A new son-in-law who had not had the opportunity to catch many fish in his life, also had the time of his life catching and releasing many brookies that day.
A rainstorm washed out the picnic; but a tradition had begun. We now do it every year as an extended family. Some participants are now fly-fishing nuts, but all gained a love for fishing and being together.
It is amazing how we sometimes forget how we learned to fish. Most of us who are purest fly fishermen started out with bait – too bad some of us forget our beginnings.
