04-24-2009, 10:41 PM
[size 2]A Father’s Story
By
Bob Salerno
This article originally appeared in an April 2000 Issue of The New Britain Herald
It was not a particularly warm day for late April, but the sun was shining and the wind was light. A boy and his father timed their late morning arrival at the stream to coincide with the emergence of the Hendrickson Mayfly. The father knew that the conditions looked promising for an hour or two of dry fly fishing for trout feeding on the emerging mayfly.
Although the boy had been fly fishing for four years and had taken quite a few trout during this time, he had yet to catch one on a dry fly. Wooly Buggers, streamers and wet flies were easy to fish and did not require the casting and presentation techniques of the dry fly. The father handed the son a small box of Hendrickson dry fly imitations and told the boy to check to be sure his leader and tippet were free of kinks and wind knots.
Before making their first casts, the boy and his father stood together at the head of the pool carefully scanning the surface for emerging insects and dimples made by feeding trout. At this time no trout were showing any interest in the few insects that were hatching. The father explained to his son that after shedding their nymphal case, the mahogany colored insects would float along in the surface film like tiny sailboats drying their wings. During this time they were vulnerable to trout and to be successful the son would need to present the fly with a natural drag free float. This was critical if he was to trick the trout into taking the imitation while hundreds of naturals floated on the water.
The boy stayed at the head of the pool while his father walked downstream to fish the wider middle section of the pool. After a while the emerging insects blanketed the pool from head to tail. The trout started feeding slowly, creating concentric dimples in the smooth surface as they sipped in the mayflies. Before long the pool was a feeding frenzy of trout splashing as they chased nymphs from the bottom and exploded on the helpless insects.
The father’s first cast mirrored his experience. The line landed in snake-like fashion allowing the fly to float naturally along the riffle’s edge. The fly went untouched on the first drift, but before the fly floated three feet on his second cast an average sized brown inhaled the Hendrickson counterfeit. After a short tussle the fish was quickly released and the father resumed casting while taking a quick glance at his son.
Three more trout fell to the father’s almost flawless presentations before he stopped to check on how his son was doing. The boy was busy untangling his fly and leader from a clump of grass at the stream’s edge. The father did not have to say anything, the look on the boy’s face told the story. It was the look of frustration. Trout were boiling all over and all he had to show for his efforts was a tangled leader.
The father helped his son tie on a new tippet and fly and offered some words of encouragement to lift the boy’s spirits. While he was straightening the leader, the father told his son to concentrate on a few fish that were rhythmically rising in a seam just above where they were standing. He helped the boy wade to a better casting position and pointed to where he should target his casts. The father waded ashore and sat down with his back against the base of a hemlock tree, not caring to fish, only wishing to watch his son.
The boy had developed a smooth casting stroke by practicing in the backyard, much the same as his father had done many years ago. His back cast produced a tight loop, but his forward cast lacked the accuracy needed to place the fly above the feeding trout. After almost a dozen casts the boy turned to his father for help. From his seat under the tree, the father told the boy to take a couple of steps to his right and try another cast. On his second attempt the fly landed in the precise spot for a drift into the trout’s feeding lane. The fly sailed along naturally and just before the boy was about to lift the leader off the water for another cast a trout smacked the fly. The light fly rod bent in a C from the weight of the trout as it swam to the depths of the pool. The boy instinctively held the line tight against the grip and raised the rod. “Hey, you’ve got one” his father said excitedly. “Get it on the reel, don’t let it run out of the pool, use side pressure,” coached his father. The boy did as his father said and angled the trout to one side and then the other. The trout came up and cart wheeled on the surface flashing a brilliant pink flank telling the father and son it was a fat rainbow trout. When the trout was in netting range the boy swung the rod toward the bank leading the wearied trout into the shallows. The father dipped his net scooping up the trout in one motion and handed the net to his son. The boy admired the trout through the mesh and then reached in and removed the fly from the trout’s jaw. “Will he live if I put him back?” he asked. “Yes, he is in good condition. Are you sure you want to?” “Yes he deserves to live,” said the boy. He knelt down and lowered the net into the water. With his hand he gently guided the trout out of the net. They both watched as the trout swam off slowly and then darted out of sight.
The boy stood up and accepted his fathers hand shake and well done
. Then he said something that the father will never forget. “Thank you dad,” said the boy. “Thank you very much.”
Save some time this season to go fishing with your children![/size]
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By
Bob Salerno
This article originally appeared in an April 2000 Issue of The New Britain Herald
It was not a particularly warm day for late April, but the sun was shining and the wind was light. A boy and his father timed their late morning arrival at the stream to coincide with the emergence of the Hendrickson Mayfly. The father knew that the conditions looked promising for an hour or two of dry fly fishing for trout feeding on the emerging mayfly.
Although the boy had been fly fishing for four years and had taken quite a few trout during this time, he had yet to catch one on a dry fly. Wooly Buggers, streamers and wet flies were easy to fish and did not require the casting and presentation techniques of the dry fly. The father handed the son a small box of Hendrickson dry fly imitations and told the boy to check to be sure his leader and tippet were free of kinks and wind knots.
Before making their first casts, the boy and his father stood together at the head of the pool carefully scanning the surface for emerging insects and dimples made by feeding trout. At this time no trout were showing any interest in the few insects that were hatching. The father explained to his son that after shedding their nymphal case, the mahogany colored insects would float along in the surface film like tiny sailboats drying their wings. During this time they were vulnerable to trout and to be successful the son would need to present the fly with a natural drag free float. This was critical if he was to trick the trout into taking the imitation while hundreds of naturals floated on the water.
The boy stayed at the head of the pool while his father walked downstream to fish the wider middle section of the pool. After a while the emerging insects blanketed the pool from head to tail. The trout started feeding slowly, creating concentric dimples in the smooth surface as they sipped in the mayflies. Before long the pool was a feeding frenzy of trout splashing as they chased nymphs from the bottom and exploded on the helpless insects.
The father’s first cast mirrored his experience. The line landed in snake-like fashion allowing the fly to float naturally along the riffle’s edge. The fly went untouched on the first drift, but before the fly floated three feet on his second cast an average sized brown inhaled the Hendrickson counterfeit. After a short tussle the fish was quickly released and the father resumed casting while taking a quick glance at his son.
Three more trout fell to the father’s almost flawless presentations before he stopped to check on how his son was doing. The boy was busy untangling his fly and leader from a clump of grass at the stream’s edge. The father did not have to say anything, the look on the boy’s face told the story. It was the look of frustration. Trout were boiling all over and all he had to show for his efforts was a tangled leader.
The father helped his son tie on a new tippet and fly and offered some words of encouragement to lift the boy’s spirits. While he was straightening the leader, the father told his son to concentrate on a few fish that were rhythmically rising in a seam just above where they were standing. He helped the boy wade to a better casting position and pointed to where he should target his casts. The father waded ashore and sat down with his back against the base of a hemlock tree, not caring to fish, only wishing to watch his son.
The boy had developed a smooth casting stroke by practicing in the backyard, much the same as his father had done many years ago. His back cast produced a tight loop, but his forward cast lacked the accuracy needed to place the fly above the feeding trout. After almost a dozen casts the boy turned to his father for help. From his seat under the tree, the father told the boy to take a couple of steps to his right and try another cast. On his second attempt the fly landed in the precise spot for a drift into the trout’s feeding lane. The fly sailed along naturally and just before the boy was about to lift the leader off the water for another cast a trout smacked the fly. The light fly rod bent in a C from the weight of the trout as it swam to the depths of the pool. The boy instinctively held the line tight against the grip and raised the rod. “Hey, you’ve got one” his father said excitedly. “Get it on the reel, don’t let it run out of the pool, use side pressure,” coached his father. The boy did as his father said and angled the trout to one side and then the other. The trout came up and cart wheeled on the surface flashing a brilliant pink flank telling the father and son it was a fat rainbow trout. When the trout was in netting range the boy swung the rod toward the bank leading the wearied trout into the shallows. The father dipped his net scooping up the trout in one motion and handed the net to his son. The boy admired the trout through the mesh and then reached in and removed the fly from the trout’s jaw. “Will he live if I put him back?” he asked. “Yes, he is in good condition. Are you sure you want to?” “Yes he deserves to live,” said the boy. He knelt down and lowered the net into the water. With his hand he gently guided the trout out of the net. They both watched as the trout swam off slowly and then darted out of sight.
The boy stood up and accepted his fathers hand shake and well done
. Then he said something that the father will never forget. “Thank you dad,” said the boy. “Thank you very much.” Save some time this season to go fishing with your children![/size]
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