I’m beginning to mark fly fishing firsts by holidays or the Church calendar. My first fly fishing trip occurred on Palm Sunday of 2023. I nearly lost my mind when I pulled in this rainbow - my first trout ever.
I named her Hye-Jin after the main character of a K-Drama I was into at the time. My guide didn’t know what I was on about, he was just happy to see me happy and we had a great time. Hye-Jin is pretty fat. She’s a stock trout, which I learned right away is an easier type to catch because they were raised to be fished. They’re not as smart as wild trout, which are tinier and maybe not as impressive to people who are into big trophies. Stock trout are still fun to catch. But every guide or expert I’ve encountered so far respects the wild trout more.
On Mother’s Day this year, since my own mom was away, I decided to correct a particular deficiency. I’d never caught a brook trout. I drove 3 hours to a North Carolina guide shop and found upon arrival that someone had written my phone number down incorrectly. I didn’t get the memo in advance that my guide wanted to take me higher up into the mountains instead of catching fatter fish down below. Thankfully she still mentioned it at the start, and I was all over the chance to go higher up for brook trout even if it took longer to start. Landing my first brookie was my raison d'être. According to her, catching wild brook trout on a dry fly up in the mountains is the pinnacle of fly-fishing experiences for the area and requires great skill. I accomplished that with much gratitude when I caught Meg Murry, my first brookie, and a wild one at that. (As you may have guessed, I’d just read Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time.)
She’s delicate yet wily with her pink spots and a Parachute Adams hanging out of her mouth. I didn’t lose my mind when I pulled her in, it felt more like a contented satisfaction. She ultimately escaped through the net before I was done admiring her colors. Thankfully she bailed after the hook was out. I didn’t mind. That whole day was an escape for me, so I understood her inclination and I wouldn’t change it.
The tumble I took toward the end of that trip, I would change. I was thereafter told for the hundredth time about felt sole wading boots, but what everyone needs to understand is that I got my Orvis rubber sole wading boots new on sale for $40. I’ll be adjusting my skills to fit these boots and not the other way around. Plus, I’d be allowed to wear them in bucket list places like Alaska and Nebraska which ban felt sole boots. I’ve wanted to visit Nebraska ever since I read My Ántonia ages ago. Last year I picked up the book again which led to a deep dive on the best fly-fishing spots near Willa Cather’s childhood home in Red Cloud. The trip hasn’t happened, but it would be fun, and I could bring my Orvis boots and hook them to my Orvis waders and be all set. So, I’ll either improve my balance or just keep falling in my rubber sole boots.
That brings me to my present challenge in this sport. I’m confident enough to go without a guide, which saves the expense, but I’m not comfortable going alone, and I’m not good enough yet to help other beginners much without a guide. As I told a friend recently, I need someone along, ideally fly-fishing too but even if not. If I fall and hit my head and get knocked unconscious, perhaps they might pull my face out of the water so I don’t drown. If a copperhead bites me through my waders, a notion rooted quite loosely in reality and laid out most precisely in a stress dream, I’d like someone to help me back to the car and drive me to the hospital. If a bear decides I look like lunch, my buddy could run away and at least tell my family what happened so they don’t send search parties or put my picture on the news.
But while these are pragmatic reasons to have a buddy, it’s not as dramatic as all that. I just want someone to witness these moments and tell the stories with me. It’s an escape, my own hole in the net that’s big enough for my wildness to swim through. My first published flash fiction piece was inspired by my fly-casting lessons. I’ve convinced friends to take guided trips with me. And, even after rough trips that make me think I wouldn’t care if I never did it again, I know that I will. And these days I’m thankful that I’m never alone.
For this God is our God for ever and ever;
he will be our guide even to the end.Psalm 48:14 NIV
I like the names of your fish!
Tons of great fishing in that area. Hopefully you can find a fishing buddy and keep getting out. I like the way you are linking your fishing experiences to other art. That’s interesting.