I don't claim to be an expert on the topic and activity of fly fishing. I am simply an addict currently experiencing my 5th year throw of total mind consumption with fly fishing for trout. I also happen to live in one of the heartlands of the activities' destinations in the U.S. The teet is generous my friends.
The truth is that I need somewhere to vent all the thoughts I have about fly fishing. It falls on def ears in my brother and roommate, and I have to use restraint on my online message board so they don't know just how sick I am. I think blogging may be what I need.
No more introduction necessary. It's all stream of consciousness from here on out. I won't delete a single thought.
I enjoy writing and I love to fly fish. This is not a new or novel combination. The fly fishing world has plenty of insightful and romantic authors among us who have published books. My family tells me I should keep a journal of my fishing and write a book one day. I don't think so.
I'm more of an editorial type of guy. More of a - don't check your facts and write with a distinct intent to offend someone - type of guy. That's how it is, and I can't change that; trying to is a lie. Blogging feels right, and it feels like less of a commitment with more instant gratification. That's how I like it.
I had one of the best days of fly fishing in my life yesterday. Went to the Gold Metal waters of the Arkansas River with J, a dude I met from the Colorado message board I post on. He had some specific stretches of water in mind that he was familiar with. We both took a brownie each within our first 10 min. of stepping to the water. I knew it was going to be a good day.
I had fished the Ark only once before which was 8 months ago in August right when I moved to Boulder. I was with my bro and two friends who live in Denver. I hadn't researched what was happening with Colorado streams that time of year, or what hatches were in effect. I also fished a stretch that I'm pretty sure gets hammered with fishing pressure.
This time was different. J knows his shit. Coincidentally enough he's from Virginia - my home state. However, he grew up fly fishing the trout waters of South West Virginia, where as I was only a 4 year guest and beginner to the territory during my college years where I picked it up. Lets just break it down, the man is an ex-guide with 26 years experience over my 5. Yeah.
I told him in the car on the way there that I was a bit embarrassed, but that the largest trout I had ever caught was a 16 inch bow. He chuckled an ancient and weathered angler's chuckle. "I'll put you on a big fish today, but you'll have to catch it." - or something to that effect. I told him I can cast on point, and that I'll hold up my end of the bargain. Sure enough he put me in a productive area and I seized the opportunity. I landed an estimated 20 in. bow (didn't get to snap a picture of it). J had landed a brown and a bow in the 18in. range earlier - business as usual. I, on the other hand, was psyched out of my mind.
Then a BWO hatch started popping off and we were taking aggressive browns on the dry.
What a freggin good day. We both agreed that we were so satisfied we just left at 3:30. That's never happened to me before.
The thing is that that big bow was like heroine. I need more of that. I can't look at the small streams I've been fishing the same knowing what I'd be missing what is in the bigger water.