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The mystique . . .

By Steven J. Meyers

I've always wondered where fly fishing got its mystique. You know, the odd idea that fly fishing is something special, and those who do it superior to other fishermen. A lot of fly fishermen believe this and they look down on other forms of fishing and those who practice them. This idea and those who believe it sometimes make fly fishing appear to be a rather snooty pastime, and other fishermen sometimes consider those who fly fish snobs. I'm here to sit on the bank with you and talk about this. In the process, I imagine we'll both get our butts wet and muddy, but when we stand to leave I'm hoping the idea that fly fishing is an art somehow more noble or moral than all other forms of fishing will have been put to rest.

Bait fisherman, the fly-fishing snobs say, indelicately dunk bait. Lure fishermen are said to sling lures. Meanwhile, fly fishermen's image of themselves is someone who makes a fly line dance in the air taking delicately feathered works of art along for the ride. Fly fishermen softly settle their beautiful flies on the water where they perfectly imitate nature herself. Sometimes they cast this line and fly with an exquisite split-cane fly rod. And yes, I'm aware that the language I've chosen is hardly neutral. Bait fishermen dunk. Lure fishermen sling. Fly fishermen cast the fly, and in so doing participate in a dance with nature.

Excuse me for a second, I'm laughing too hard to keep writing.

Okay, that's over, and I think I'm ready to back off a little and talk about this a bit more sensibly. What I have to say is this: it is not the kind of rod, reel or terminal tackle you use that makes of fishing something that transcends the mundane. Not the tackle at all.

If the size and weight of the thing you're putting out into the water is any measure of elegance, you can hardly call a three-inch long wooly bugger topped off with a 1/16 oz. cone of lead elegant. But it's a fly, and we cast it with a fly rod. As for doing something more pure than dunking bait with a bobber, what may I ask would you call the very popular nymph rig? At the bottom of the terminal tackle is an artificial fly (or two). Above the fly or flies a chunk of lead. And a few feet above the flies and lead a Day-glo orange, plastic strike indicator. What, pray tell, is a plastic floating strike indicator but a bobber? True, it isn't red and white with a little spring-loaded button on top and a tiny hook on the bottom, but it is a bobber. And pretty ugly if you ask me. (One day, if only to call bullpucky on the so-called difference, I'm going to go nymphing with a red and white bobber just to see the expression on other fly fishermen's faces.)

Let's talk about skill. Have you ever watched a truly fine bait fisherman drift a worm? The best of them don't use bobbers. They fish their worm as if it were a wet fly (often using long fly rods to do it), flicking the bait into the current above a visibly feeding trout or upstream from the spot where they suspect a trout might be holding. They guide it through the water, deftly controlling the line with gentle urging from the rod. Skill? You want to talk skill? Have you watched a truly superb caster with bait-casting rod, reel and lure? The masters can place their lure into a tiny hole beneath a distant overhanging willow with astounding accuracy. Their lure travels straight and true, and it is gently slowed to a stop with a practiced touch of thumb against spool as difficult to master as anything a fly caster does.

A trout struck quickly with a worm so fished or an appropriately sized single-hooked barbless lure will be hooked in the mouth, not the gullet, and the hook will do no more harm than a fly properly drifted and struck. These trout may be released without harm.

Years ago, I came upon a fly fisherman who was fishing in the Animas River behind the high school. My wife and I were walking the path there as we often did after dinner. The fisherman didn't see us. He was deeply engaged in the art of fly fishing.

" $###&* %&*##@!! #@%&**!!! " (I'll let you fill in his words, this is a family publication.)

The stream of profanity continued, loud and unabated. We watched as he continued to swear and unwrap the tangled fly line that was draped around his neck. On his very next cast, he tangled in a bush. More profanity. This went on for quite some time without the fly ever touching the water. We left quietly, never announcing our presence.

Hardly beautiful.

But wait, you protest, he's not a good example! I agree. A good example might be the sort of fly fisherman you sometimes come across, the one you watch arcing out beautiful loops to distant feeding trout. The fisherman who seems to put drift after perfect drift in the lane where it needs to be. The angler whose knowledge of trout habits and streamcraft are evident in everything he does - from where he casts, to the way he controls the drift, to the way he wades. Or, maybe I should say she. Many of the most elegant and beautiful fly fishermen I have seen have been women.

As surely as the potty-mouthed angler was no true representative of what fly fishing can be, the folding chair bobber watcher is no representative of what bait fishing might be. It's not the terminal tackle. It's the fisherman.

I started fishing with a worm and a bobber. I gravitated quickly to the fly. Something about my temperament. I haven't fished with a worm or a lure in years, but it's not because I believe the artificial fly is superior. It's simply something I enjoy. Immensely.

When I see an artist working a worm, I am in awe of him. Of her. And I'm happy to share the bank for a few minutes, talk, and finally move along.

An angler, after all, is an angler and almost always good company.