Value Your Taste
When I started working at Blue Ribbon Flies, I noticed that all of us fly fisherman are influenced by other anglers. Since then, observing people’s angling styles and beliefs has become a hobby of mine.
Some anglers exclusively fish soft hackles, even in the middle of an epic hatch. Others won’t tie on a fly until they see a rise. A growing group of fisherman are convinced that a tug on a streamer is the supreme thrill in fly fishing. Many anglers have found the way they love to fish without learning much from anyone. But most of us can trace pieces of our fishing character back to specific people or groups that we’ve learned from.
If you spend a lot of time in Last Chance, ID, you might think that technical, dry fly fishing is the best way to fish. And that smart fish are the most fun to catch. If you learned to fly fish in Europe or Central Pennsylvania, you might feel that tight-line nymphing is the best technique, because it’s an efficient way of catching fish. Or maybe you grew up in New Zealand, and you’re happy to fish nymphs, or dry flies, as long as you spot the fish before you cast to it. The “best” way to fish is the way that brings you the most enjoyment.
Learning from other anglers is a crucial part of becoming a competent fly fisherman. I would argue that it is essential for anyone who’s life isn’t devoted solely to fly fishing. Many facts of the sport can take decades to discover while fishing. Those same facts might be learned in a single conversation with a wise angler.
The fly fishing sources that we find credible have an enormous amount of influence on the way we see the sport. These fly fisherman, no matter how distinguished, can only tell us what they enjoy about the sport and what beliefs they find to be valid. The information that they share is most valuable when we take it to the stream and test it. This way we can determine what methods we personally find fun, or what assumptions to be correct.
If we perform our own thorough evaluations of ideals, methods, insect information, and etc., I think we will always form our own fishing “vision”. A unique way to engage in fly fishing that is best suited for each individual.
What we don’t want to do is attempt to make the vision of our heroes, influences or friends our own vision. Fly fishing makes us happiest when we experience it in a way that we love, rather than experiencing it in a way that others have told us we should love.
Fly fishing knowledge, whether offered by a novice or a legend, is best grasped with a healthy amount of skepticism, so we can discern its strengths, and make them our strengths. Rather than be consumed by it, so that we share its weaknesses as well.
Two magazine covers; one from 1982, the other from 2014.
Both are pretty typical of their respective eras, and illustrate how differently fly fishing is portrayed today.
Some of the tag lines used in the advertisements from each year shed further light on the generational differences in zeitgeist.
1982 Tag Lines:
Whatever the conditions, we've got the right line for you. (Scientific Anglers)
Your fishing rod. It's only as good as the blank. (Fenwick Rod Co.)
Longer casts, less effort. (Cortland Line Co.)
By which others are judged. (H.L. Leonard Rod Co.)
Scott—There's a difference. (Scott Rod Co.)
2014 Tag Lines:
Helios 2. Feed Your Addiction. (Orvis)
Crafted for Chaos (Abel)
Feel the Pull (Cortland)
Blow that weak-casting, no-feeling, strike-missing, energy-sucking, bungie-stretching fly line out of the water (Rio Products)
Success is Never Overrated in Fly Fishing (R.L. Winston)
Nature's a Mother (Yeti)
One of the beauties of fly fishing, at least to me, is that everyone participating in it is free to choose for themselves how to engage with the sport. From how to think about it, how to approach it, how to participate in it—each of us decides what feels right. Are you a "Longer casts, less effort" or a "Feel the Pull" angler? Either way, I think there's room in the sport for both.
Here's a little known fact about tight loops, often considered the Holy Grail of flycasting. A tight loop is the de facto fly line response to a mechanically sound casting stroke. That's right. If you've got a sound casting stroke (and use it in the correct length), you'll automatically produce a tight loop. On every cast. The physics of flycasting simply don't allow it to be otherwise. In fact, to not throw a tight loop requires a conscious adjustment to the casting stroke.
So if you're struggling to throw tight loops, or to throw them consistently, it's likely that your casting stroke contains flaws. Since nothing will improve your fishing more than improving your casting, fixing a faulty stroke is an excellent idea. A good instructor can easily get you started on the right path. Practice will be essential too, of course, but acquiring a good casting stroke isn't as hard as most people think.
While fishing a fine Baetis hatch on the Henry’s Fork recently, I watched as the I friend I was with struggled to fool the rising fish that surrounded him. This surprised me. My friend is a competent angler who knows fishing, the river and its flies—no stranger to success, he. I watched him try a number of different flies, without luck. He tried different fish too, directing his casts towards any riser that dared show within his considerable casting range. What he did not try, conspicuously, was changing his casting position. Feet firmly planted, he fished as the proverbial immovable object. On a river like the Henry’s Fork, beset as it is with tortuous surface currents that love to drag a fly around, this can be the kiss of death. In the end, relying on nothing but brute determination and casting skill, my friend netted a few trout. But his success was nothing like normal.
It reminded me of something Vince Marinaro wrote about presentation. This, from his 1976 book, In the Ring of the Rise: “…the modern, narrow, oversimplistic approach of relying on [fly] pattern alone…instead of observing the trout and exploring all the available options in the all-important matter of presentation.” This was precisely my friend’s downfall. He had engaged in too much fly changing and had paid too little attention to presentation. When we’d finished for the day, he admitted as much. He said that he’d failed to “fish with my feet.” It was simply easier to stand in one spot and try different flies rather than wade carefully and fish from the spots which offered the best possible drift. I certainly understood; I’ve been guilty of this myself. But fishing with your feet is such an important part of good presentation that we would all do well not to overlook it.