“How wild it was, to let it be.”
-Cheryl Strayed
Read moreNo More Black Blanks
No more black blacks. Period.
I realize I sound like a bit of a dictator when I say this, overly controlling, maybe even a little "witchy." But, you have not lived my life these past few months.
The Reason
A few weeks ago I was digging around in my desk in search of a memory card or pen or something relatively unimportant. I came across a newspaper clipping of an obituary from a few years back. It was for my father's best friend, Jack.
Jack was a carpenter and fisherman. He was a worm dunker, but I try not to hold that against him, and primarily had no interest in mountain fishing, but was much more fond of salt water. Every year Jack would migrate down to Florida for the winter and spend his time in a boat or kayak with a rod in his hand. I remember when we found out that Jack was sick. He decided that it wasn't time to waste his life in a hospital, but to spend it with the people he loved, fishing. And, that's exactly what he did.
Lucky Charm
As the wind whipped through the valley a slight shiver crept up my spine. The sun was out, but the high wind created a chill in the air and an adversary that an east coast fisherman is not used to. The smart, strategic decision in this particular situation was to fish below water with a sturdy rod and heavier fly. However, I have never been accused of being smart. My attention was not focused on the wind, but on the tiny little bugs floating on top of the water and the little dimples that soon followed. I'm easily distracted by bugs. And so with my fiberglass rod in hand, I tied on a small, yellow back fly.
Read moreDouble-Haul
In Western North Carolina, there's really no need for a 60-foot cast, you'll just end up catching a laurel. My preferred weapon of choice is a size 16 dry fly and a 4 weight fiberglass rod. Ninety percent of the time a double-haul is only used to show off.
Read moreSnap!
Snap! There it is, that moment every angler knows, and maybe the most frustrating part of the whole sport.
After spending some time, perhaps quite a bit of time if the flies are small and the air is cold, tying on your weapon of choice, your tippet snaps. It's a moment of grievance followed by profanity followed by frantically checking to see if you've fumbled the knot or if the tippet's gone bad.