Streamside on Line

In this issue:

     The Angler's Dream (Beth Wilson)
     Notes From The Tying Bench (Bob Molzahn)
     Bighorn '98 (Gil Detweiler)
     Fly Fishing Poetry (Bruce Baker)
     New Menbers

Articles, news and fly tying tips are gratefully accepted. Please e-mail them to us using the Feedback section shown on the left.

Dusk falls over the stream, and glimpses of the golden-red sunset glow through the green leaves. The shade deepens across the surface of the water, and the evening is foreshadowed in the darkening night-color of the deep pools, the moonlight-silver glint on the riffles. It is almost time to go home, and I haven't caught much of anything. I know that there are trout in here-I can sense them. However, they haven't been enticed by anything that I've had to offer.

Just one more, and I'll go home.

I cast over to the far side, under a tree, into a shady cut-bank where the water is cool and running swiftly. The current carries the fly downstream, bouncing it over the rocks that line the little creek bed, whirling it invitingly. Still, there is no movement, no interest.

I begin to retrieve my line, convinced that I will be going home without a fish in my net, when, out of the shadow of the cut-bank, I see a flash. I am stripping my line in far more quickly than I would be if I was doing anything but reeling in for the night. The retrieve is clumsy, with about as much finesse as a tow truck, but it seems that it doesn't matter, because the brilliant flash of fish is still following the fly with undeterred intent. I can see him clearly, sleek and lovely, darting across the current as he chases it. I am so surprised that I almost can't believe it until I feel the trout hit my streamer with unmistakable purpose.

The fish runs upstream before it realizes its folly, but when it feels the resistance of the line, the bite of the hook, its struggle becomes even more fierce, and he begins a tugging, twisting motion an effort to throw me off. I match the fish's struggle by attempting to keep it from slacking the line, and by steadily and slowly drawing it closer to my net. He shows me his pale yellow belly, his gleaming, spotted side, and he pulls, trying to make me believe that he is far too strong for me to land. He tosses his head to break my line, and still my strength and my tackle hold. By now I am grinning with excitement, still hardly trusting my incredible luck. I have done nothing to earn this catch, exhibited no skill or expertise to result

in this extraordinary fish. The whole thing was pure good fortune, and that makes the experience thrilling and joyful.

As the beautiful brown trout skims gently into my net, and as I unhook him, I think about luck.

Good fortune is not earned, a reward for doing good girl or good boy things. If it were, it would not be luck, but a payment from the universe for good works performed. Pure luck is the serendipitous gift of the cosmos, a literal "something for nothing". That's extraordinary-to know that there are times when good things happen to you just for so, just because you are a participant in life. It seems that life gives you gifts for no apparent reason. Sometimes the gifts are big ones, like winning the lottery or surviving a horrible accident without a scratch; but sometimes they are smaller, some hardly noticeable. Miracles, they can be called, and miracles are miracles no matter the size. This fish is a miracle-I have done nothing to earn it but sit patiently and wait.

I had given up hope of catching any fish that day, and was getting ready to leave when that fish hit the hook. It is a characteristic of luck that it very often arrives when all is lost, when hope is gone, when joy is least expected. It reaches down and touches you just when you feel that there is nothing more that can be done. There is, in true luck, an element of surrender, and very often one has to surrender to what one fears, or what gives one pain, before luck will step in and make it right . It is as if luck is an entity that wants to teach us that the world is essentially benevolent, and proves it to us by never letting us fall too far without giving us some reason to believe in that essential good. When luck intervenes at the point of surrender, it arrives when we are most vulnerable, and that vulnerability helps us feel our joy doubly.

When bad things happen to us, we very often sit back and wail, "Why me? Why did this happen to ME?" But when something wonderful happens, for no more reason than the bad things happen, we hardly ever ask why. It is as if we believe that, inherently, we deserve the good things, while the bad things are clearly a sign of catastrophic injustice. But the very same idiosyncratic hand dishes out both the unjustified evil and the undeserved blessing, and we must either question both or accept both.

This fish was luck, in all its pristine beauty. It was not payment for skill or a response to my basic pureness of heart; it was a gift, magnificent to experience. When I look at this creature, its speckled and sleek-sided perfection, I realize that I am looking at the manifestation of good fortune, and the fish is as lovely and satisfying as a lump of gold in my hand. I can't question why it is here, and it reminds me that I cannot question when things do not go so easily my way.

I've begun to realize that, to live a lucky life, and to live the dream that you dream, it is important that you learn to accept the fortune that life gives you, not passively, but peacefully. Just as it was luck that brought this fish to my fly, so it was using my luck that brought it to my hand.

When life opens an undeserved opportunity, one must make the effort to reel it in, and take the time to experience the joy of unalloyed good fortune.

When life hands you an unexpected and unasked for sadness, one must also reel it in to make of it what can be made. To rail against the gods in an unanswerable demand for "WHY" invites us to partake of some very bitter bread indeed-to accept that hard luck is part of one's basic birthright to all that is good in life leads us to a new way of viewing our tragedy.

When we bring that unearned trout to our unworthy hand, it is a reminder to us that the world is full of bounty, and the bounty can be given to any of us, whether we deserve it or not.

Spring is here and I am finally getting around to putting this edition of our newsletter out, albeit a month late. No apologies given as we are all volunteers here. Beth Wilson has provided another fine story and a reflection on our journey as fisherman. Bruce Baker sent in what could be described as fishermen’s poetry. Another member who wishes to remain anonymous also sent in some poetry but I am saving that for the next edition. Thanks also to Gil Detweiler who sent in a great article on the Bighorn.

Good news from the Green Valleys Association. They have almost reached their goal of $98,000 for the Arena Slaughterhouse demolition and streambank restoration project. Thanks to all our members who contributed to the campaign. The Federation of Fly Fishers chipped in $2500 towards this effort. What was even better was that the FFF grant was matched dollar-for-dollar through a challenge grant from an anonymous donor. Thus, the FFF grant resulted in a total of $5000 being contributed to this worthwhile project.

Our eighth annual Learn To Fly Fish course is scheduled for April 29. This may be the first year we haven’t filled up. As of this writing, we still have nine openings remaining. This is one of our major fundraisers of the year.

Lastly, thanks to all the volunteers who assisted us in float stocking French Creek this year. You guys and gals hung in there to the bitter end and we appreciate it. Waterways Conservation Officer Bob Bonney worked hard to make sure the entire stretch was float stocked successfully. Bob is a great ally and asset to all of us in protecting the streams we fish and enjoy in northern Chester County.

It was that moment of doubt. My line was taut but I was not really sure how it got that way. I was drifting my rig along a sharp drop off; standing on a shallow shelf fishing a ledge where the water was four or five feet deep, when my flies stopped and I pulled up. I love this kind of water on the Bighorn because there is always a spot along it somewhere that is full of fish. The thick vegetation in the shallow water is full of scuds and sow bugs and I visualize fish feeding on the drop-off. Our old favorite ledge is just below the rapids but the run below it is fast for at least 200 yards so if you hook a good fish that runs down stream on you you're in trouble. This ledge is followed by an eddy that swirls into a nice calm pool.

Now we have defined five levels of catching fish: #1 is a nibble: a definite strike, not a snag and no sense of the size of the fish. #2 is a play: the fish is hooked and played for some time and is felt but not seen. These are some of the biggest fish known to mankind. #3 is a sighting: the fish jumps or is played in close enough so that it is clearly seen. These are a fisherman's fondest memories. #4 is a release: the fish is controlled and the hook is extracted or the line is purposefully left slack so that the fish can escape. #5 is a keeper: the fish is creeled. In some cases, if there is a way of keeping the fish alive, it can be measured, witnessed, and released. The key to a level 5 fish is that it can be shown to other people.

So here I am with a tight line and I don't even know whether I have some grass or a fish. I don't know whether this is a zero or a #1. I sense motion in the line but the current is heavy and I would rather make a fool of myself playing grass for few moments than start the de-snagging procedure on a nice fish. Well we both hold our own for a few moments; this fish and I, until finally the line moves slowly downstream. Now if anyone ever asks me what is my favorite part of fishing I will always say that it is the moment of the strike; that nanosecond when waiting and hoping and anticipating change to pulling and reeling and all the other crazy things we go through to land a fish. And here somehow I've gotten through level #1 without even knowing it.

The Bighorn nymph rig is unique in my realm of tackle: it ends with a nymph tied to an 18" 5X tippet which is tied to the bend of another nymph which is tied to an 18" 4X tippet which is tied to a 9 foot 4X leader that has one or two split shots above the tippet knot and a strike indicator just below the line. I use a Trilene knot on the bend of the upper fly because it is stronger and that 5X-tied lower fly with four knots between it and the leader needs every help it can get. With this rig I use four casts: the flop, the pile up, the splash, and the wind mill. Every year it takes two days before I stop getting wind knots. The key to hooking fish on this rig is to learn to read the strike indicator; it will tell you when your weight is bouncing the bottom or drifting free (good) and when it is dragging behind (time to mend or lift). When I hook a good fish I hope he is on the 4X fly.

Now I think I'm at level #2; playing a heavy fish. I slowly lower my rod parallel to the water pulling down and across stream in a hard-learned technique called the "down-and-dirty". I am going to get below this fish to pull down stream on him so he has to battle both me and the current. I am going to wear him out and work him into the calm water below and land him there. I check my drag. My rod is right. I am about to land this fish and brag about him at dinner tonight.

The Bighorn is a showplace of fly fishing in the US. It has more 18 inch trout per mile than Dan Bailey's wall. The average rainbow is 18" and is a trained fighter that can run a reel till the drag is hot enough to sizzle spit. With its dam water supply that keeps the temperature constant it is more of a spring creek (low bio-diversity and large bio-mass) than a freestone creek (large bio-diversity small bio-mass). The hatches are generally huge and the black caddis flies can be so thick that they cover you and your float boat. This is every fly fisherman's heaven. The Trico hatch, when the lunkers come into shallow water to feed on size 20 duns and spinners, is the quintessence of dry fly fishing. If the duns are coming off they won't hit the spinner fly and if the spinners are falling they won't hit the dun. The beauty of the Bighorn is the unbelievable quantity of life in the water. And the fun is learning to catch some of the wonderful fish in this lovely water.

Well, fly fishing has many lessons and I was about to get one. As slowly as this battle had begun that's how quickly it ended. This fish turned and headed down stream faster than my head could swivel (and it was swiveling). He drove right past the eddy and into the run below. And just before the line broke, just to show off because it wasn't necessary, he jumped way up out of the water and landed on his side with a big splash that I saw but didn't hear because it was so far away. I had just received an unforgettable level #3 lesson in humility from a large Bighorn rainbow trout. Both flies were gone and about all I could do was adjust my drag. You can bet I'll be back on the Bighorn next year in that same hole ready for another lesson.

Pursuit

I’ve chased the sleek and wily trout
For ‘lo these many years.

From dawn to dusk and after dark,
Between whiskey shots and beer.

I’ve told the lies all fishers tell
And tied some flies, and tried...oh well,

He is still down there my speckled friend
And I’ll pursue him to ‘til the end

Of his existence or mine
As long as skies shall clear and sun will shine

As long as water’s wet and I breathe air
I’m coming after ya’, no matter where…
Hey!
I’m talkin’ to you down there!

We extend a warm welcome to our new members:

Bill Carey,Brian Gowman, Chuck Hodgson, John Neuhauser, Jerry, Robin, Rachel and Lila Timlin, John and Elaine Funk, Art Munson, Todd and Tucker Palmer, Ron Rhoads, Ron Settle.