Fly Rod Firsts

 

© Tim Tipton 2021

 

 

    I previously told the story about not recalling the first fish I caught as a child. I really wish that I could remember that moment, if for no other reason than to look back at my misspent youth. Fortunately, I can recollect many fish that I have taken on the fly rod.

    I bought my first fly rod on a whim. I was in the old Fischer’s Sporting Goods store in Shepherdsville, talking to one of the two brothers that owned the place, while idly surveying products. My thirty-first birthday had recently come and gone, and I was in town killing time before heading to the newspaper office where I worked.

    I had taken an interest in fly fishing, even took a try at casting my uncle’s fly rod in his yard. I still hadn’t bought my first fly rod, but I was ready to pull the trigger. While browsing the store inventory, searching for anything that might strike my fancy, I came upon a cheap fly rod and reel, complete with backing and a six-weight floating fly line. I paid thirty dollars for the entire setup. There was no doubt the quality was poor; the rod was made by a company that was well known for making bowling equipment. My guess is this was their first time venturing into the fly fishing market. Hopefully, it was their last foray.

    The rod was serviceable, or at least, that’s how I would have described it back then. What I now know, twenty-five years later, is that it was a real piece of crap. It was like casting a broom handle, except it was less flexible, I did learn to cast with it, thanks to a short lesson in the parking lot of an old fly shop. A gentleman named Norman Wathen taught me a basic cast in a matter of five minutes. I remember watching his smooth stroke as he laid out perfect casts one after another. He then handed me the rod back and said “son, when you have a little money, you really need a better rod.” I eventually bought a better rod, along with other gear, from the fly shop where Norman worked.

    I took that rod to a 25-acre lake in a public forest area not far from home. This lake fishes well in the spring. Once the summer heat arrives it is choked with weeds and grass and almost impossible to fish. It holds lots of bluegill and other panfish, and a generous population of bass in the one-to-two-pound range. My first fish on a fly rod was a largemouth bass around ten inches long. The bass hit a surface fly called a Sneaky Pete. I am not sure of the fly size, but looking back, I believe it was around a size eight. The fish was in shallow water near the bank, which is good, because at the time, I couldn’t cast far.

    I still remember the first trout I caught on the rod. It was at what is now known as Otter Creek Outdoor Recreation Area but was still Otter Creek Park back then. I was casting a black Wooly Bugger. I mistakenly called it a Wooly Booger. I believe it was a size eight. I had no clue how to fish it. I let it drift freely downstream and it was drifting close to the limbs of an uprooted sycamore, I began to strip the fly in, to keep it from tangling. As I did so, a sudden jolt awakened me from whatever daydream I was enjoying and I quickly landed a twelve-inch, stocked rainbow.

    My favorite memory is my first trout on a dry fly. I was at a small stream not far from Mammoth Cave National Park. I hadn’t yet caught a trout on a dry fly, but all the books I’d read about fly fishing made it clear, catching a trout on a dry fly was of utmost importance. Yes, I was going to release the fish, yes, the said trout was raised on rabbit pellets in a fish hatchery, but still, this was big medicine.

I had decided to fish the entire section of the trout-stocked stream, which I would guess to be around one mile long. I usually fished either the upper stretch near the small parking area or the lower stretch, accessible from a side road. I had not waded far on either end and since it was the morning of a weekday, I had the entire stream to myself. I caught a few trout early, on a Beadhead Pheasant Tail Nymph fished under a strike indicator. I rounded a bend and noticed on the upstream end across the creek, there was a gravel bar that was the perfect place to stand and cast to the generous head of water that was flowing downstream. At the edge of the fast water, here the creek made an abrupt turn. At the edge of this turn, the current slowed. I decided to try a dry fly. I rummaged through my meager selection of flies and decided on a size 14 Parachute Adams.

    A Parachute Adams is an attractor fly It is not tied to imitate a particular species of aquatic insect. It just looks buggy. Therein lies its secret. It can be used to imitate a variety of flies. The white wing post also makes it easier to see on the water. My first two casts didn’t land at the edge of the current as I’d have liked. They were ignored. The third cast drifted right across the sweet spot and a twelve-inch rainbow smashed the surface and devoured the Adams. It was exciting. I managed to subdue the trout rather quickly and while he was resting in my net, I admired the coloration of the fish. It had an olive back, with a faint pink stripe down the middle, and a silvery underside that faded to pearl white. The rainbow had small black spots on its back, fins, and tail.

    It was a fine fish and though I had a long way to go, I was beginning to feel like a fly fisherman. This was big medicine.