The Disappearing Art of Flyfishing

Those who know me, acknowledge that I have a preference to fishing with dry flies. That was not always the case. Similar to most that have progressed through the sport I’ve managed a cycle of fishing with a fly. Initially I tried to just catch a fish. Then I worked on catching my fair share. During those early days I didn’t put much thought into the methods I employed, yet options by today’s comparison were few. Like everyone who initially enters this sport, there’s a natural yet personal progression; one of the beautiful aspects of fly fishing.

I was blessed having been mentored by some of our sports more ethical predators; Emmett Heath, Reid Bonson, Reme Harrop, Mike Lawson at a time far removed from the sport taking center stage. To this day these talented fly fishers and others continue to mold how I approach my days on the water.

Today my fly boxes contain a cornucopia of dries, emergers and soft hackles. Now and then lost among those patterns you’ll find a nymph or two, but not always. These random stragglers for the most part are left over from the numerous classes I teach.

I did hook a rather large rainbow on a nymph this year, which in some regards is a milestone; one that there was one in my box and two that I tied it on. It was the largest trout I was tethered to all year. I recall reading at one time on the disparity of nymphs compared to dries. The former being the most preferred. Those authors may have been from the early writings of Skues or possibly the more recent publishing of Charlie Brooks. For some reason pragmatic premise never stuck with me. To a fault I’ve never done things the easy way.

On those occasions when I fish the sunk fly my approach resembles that of dries and emergers; visually without the aid of strike indicator or dropper fly. When you’re close enough to see the fly being taken there’s no need for such visual distractions; the stalk being another challenging game in and of itself. Conditions on that fateful day when I took the rainbow permitted me to fish this way. After several searing runs and a spectacular jump the hook pulled free. Ascending the basalt ledges from where I first spotted this fish I again found it resting. As much as I would have liked putting this beautiful rainbow to hand, in the end I was accepting of the outcome feeling in some regards that I’d been disrespectful of this beautiful trout.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have a problem with those who fish the sunk fly. In fact “Snake”, my fishing companion, has a penchant for fishing nymphs. He’s a tight liner and I marvel in his skill at fishing the sunk fly. Although our techniques may vary on a given river we both have issues with the apparatuses used today to fish subsurface flies and the gluttonous results that incur from the use of such gadgets. Just because one uses a fly on the end of their line doesn’t mean their methods equate to fly fishing.

Like much in life I’m slow to the take. I use to believe that everyone should fish dries, just like I once believed that every trout stream should be catch and release. Both of these ill conceived wisdoms have since fallen from my grace. If the masses fished dries than much of the water and those trout that occupy such nooks and crannies would be frequently occupied. With anglers preferences towards techniques and methods that employ the sunken fly there’s a rather significant amount of open water available to explore.

It may seem like I’m being intolerant of those who fish nymphs, which is not the case. One of the great aspects of fly fishing compared to other sports is the option to pursue it in a myriad of directions. Such freedom permits one to enjoy the sport for ones own personal gratification. My disgruntlements are not with the participants or the way they have chosen to fish, but with many of those who make their livelihood from the sport and what we’ve allowed the sport to become. What once was promoted and taught as a beautifully challenging game now has become lost in an obscure practice that at times rarely resemble fishing with a fly.

I look back at my early mentors with great appreciation. They were teachers, philosophizers, hunters, conservationist and students of the sport. Today, these exemplary qualities are a rarity in many of the sports professionals and would be experts. In many regards I feel we’ve cheated the masses in an effort to get new entrants into the sport and in doing so have blurred the edges of what our sport is.