6:00 AM. My watch alarm would have gone off had I not
woken up two minutes before it. It was
the last day of my final trip of the year in Pittsburg and my father and I were
planning on making the best of it. Well,
I certainly was at least. My father is
the type who would much rather have a rifle in his hand and be sitting in the
woods waiting for a monster buck to wander within range. I on the other hand only step foot in the
woods when there is no viable option to be fly fishing anywhere else. As I got up and started putting my gear
together, sorting through fly boxes and making sure I had all of the flies tied
the previous evening, my father took his time and sat to eat a donut and have a
cup of O.J. The sun was not yet up and there
was certainly ice on my truck windshield.
“Are you ready to go?” I asked.
“It’s 6:07”, my father responds with a glare. “Exactly, we are late. We should be walking
out to the river right now.” I respond hoping to increase his sense of
urgency. I am the type of person that
likes to take advantage of every sunlit minute if I am fly fishing. I do not like to arrive to fishing spots late
and I certainly do not like to be waiting on others. My father is rather new to the sport of fly
fishing and I try my best to make sure he is having fun. I want him to understand why this is my
passion. I want to teach him everything
I know so that he can find the same type of fulfillment in the sport that I
have. Some things are easier said than
done.
I am a fly fishing guide and have taught
countless numbers of beginners how to fly fish.
It seems so effortless and easy with strangers. As most know there is just something about
trying to teach a relative or significant other that can be a hair-pulling endeavor. I feel as though it may be the high standard
that I set for my father that makes it tricky.
He is my dad, the one who has taught me most everything I have learned
growing up. He should automatically be
good at fly fishing, shouldn’t he? Well
maybe not good but at least pick up on everything faster than all of the
strangers I have taught over the years.
That’s where I always have to stop and take a look at the big
picture. It has dawned on me now that I
have to actually pay more special attention and be even more patient with him
than with others. This is a fact that I
still struggle to remember while on the water.
Ok, so back to
the story. After I took a second to down
a donut and a glass of ice water, we threw on our waders ,boots and jackets and
packed the rest of our gear in my truck.
The sun was starting to rise and we had about a twenty minute or so
drive to the specific trail on the river where we would hike in. The fly
fishing season was dwindling in Pittsburg, but the action on the river would
surely be increasing daily. The salmon
were in, but had been really picky the previous two days of our trip. We fished all of the “hot” spots and did land
some nice landlocks and rainbows to boot.
But my “go to” spots that always produce at that time of year were doing
just the opposite. I love a
challenge. Especially when it comes to
fly fishing and figuring out where the fish are and what they are taking. It was time to take evasive maneuvers and try
some of the lesser known areas that I really only fish when I am alone. The primary reason that I usually do not take
clients or friends to these spots is just that they are really “out
there”. The majority of the people I
guide are beginners and lots of them are not in what I would call “hiking
shape”. My father however, is sixty
years old and still runs 5k road races.
For his age, I do not meet many people who could keep up with him on the
roads. Trails and rivers however are a
completely different ballgame. My dad
has learned the hard way, a few times, that rivers are tough to wade if you
don’t do it a lot. He has a knack of
winding up wet in some of the most comical situations. He also hates snakes, which does provide
humor occasionally as well. (Remind me
to tell you the snake story some time if you want a good laugh.)
After our short
drive we get out of the truck and rig up.
There is frost on all of the grass and I can tell that no one has walked
in before us. A sense of relief rushes
over me, knowing that the pool we will be fishing wouldn’t hold more than two
anglers. As we start our walk down the
trail, I can smell what I call the “remnants of summer”. Balsam and cedar, along with all of the other
aromas that a northern forest can produce.
The hike in is peaceful. Like our
hunting adventures, we walk quietly but with a little more pep in our step as
to not waist anymore sunlight. When I
got the first glimpse of the river I could see steam rising and calm
pools. “Perfect”, I thought to
myself. I stopped at the water’s edge to
observe. “Looks good doesn’t it?” my dad
asked. “Just about as nice as you could
get”, I added.
Now it was time
for business. Although my father likes
to think, and tell others, that he doesn’t catch as many fish as I do because I
always fish all the pools ahead of him, there is a method to my madness. The majority of the time when I am with him,
I will rush to a pool that I know is second best. It may be downstream and ahead of him, but in
reality it leaves him with the honey holes.
I am not sure if he knows that this is my intention and I do not plan on
telling him as it makes it more fun for me.
I moved down and around a bend letting the gentle force of the
Connecticut guide me along. Once I
arrive to the location I wanted to fish I immediately knew that my father would
have a good chance in a very productive run just below me. I waved him over and we took a look at what
he had on. As most of you know salmon
will hit lots of different rigs. I am
constantly changing flies if nothing is happening in order to make something
happen. My father is the polar
opposite. He will use the same fly that
he has had tied on and try to make it work wherever he is fishing. I will often ask him, “What are you using?”
“Same thing as last week”, he will respond.
“Have you actually changed that fly since last week?” I continue. “Hasn’t broken off yet, really don’t see any
need to”, he justifies. I just laugh and
keep fishing most of the time, but in this instance I know what will work and I
ask him to give me some line so I can make the change for him. My father’s two favorite flies are a San Juan
and an egg pattern. Making all traditionalists cringe each time he tells them
this with a novice smile. He later told
me that he likes those the best for two reasons. 1. He can see them in the water and set the
hook better and 2. They are damn easy to tie.
Both are credible reasons.
I switch him over and head up stream a little
to give him some space. As I am standing
in the water just looking at the scene in front of me, I always think of how
lucky I am to be able to witness the things I see in the wilderness. I try to explain this scene to co workers and
friends who only ever wander into the woods if they need a bathroom break on a long
drive. It never sticks. The solitude, the enjoyment of just being
there and soaking it all in so that I can think back on snowy winter nights
such as this one and have just that to look forward to again in the spring is
what it’s all about. It is tough for me
to think that so many people that I care about will never be able to experience
those special moments.
But back to
fishing. I hear a yell from downstream
and snap my head around. To my surprise
my father is not hooked into a fish, in fact his line is not even in the
water. He is pointing downstream and
backing out of the river. As I look down
the bend a cow moose is leading a bull across the river. A sight that is fairly common on the Connecticut,
but my father seemed a bit nervous about it.
“Cool!” I shout back over the sound of the current. We watch them walk out of sight into the low
cut brush to our backs hoping they don’t pop back out behind us while we are
fishing.
We settle back into the rhythm
of casting and it isn’t long before I hear my father shout again. “Got one!” is his line of choice when
announcing his connection to a fish.
Everyone has their own line when this happens. I find myself announcing less in less as the
years go on, but when I do it’s usually, “Here we go!” When I turn back to see how he is handling
the fish I can tell by the look on his face that he has a nice one on. Immediately the salmon shows himself. Flailing through the air, desperately trying
to shake the hook from his mouth. “Get
him on the reel!” I coach from upstream.
I walked down to see if he wanted help landing him, but at this point in
his learning process I would much rather have him do it all himself. He brings the salmon into his net and looks
over at me. It is the largest landlock
he has ever caught. Somewhere around 18”
I would guess. “Now that is why I take
you fly fishing for salmon”, I smile. “I
never knew it would be like that!” he starts.
“It was like the entire rod was shaking and I could feel every move that
fish made! Salmon are a little bit
different than trout I guess huh?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to get you to understand!” I grinned. We released the fish after a quick picture
and went back to fishing our respected pools.
The joyful yells
of my father hooking into large salmon would continue on for the rest of the
morning. Fish leaping and making drag
testing runs would push my father’s newly learned skills to their max. In the end he landed six salmon all of which
were over 15”, the largest measuring around 19”. Thinking back I really do not have any idea
how many I landed that morning and I do not care to know. That day was all about being there with my
father. Sharing with him my passion and
knowing that for at least that morning he understood.
I have a lot of people ask me what it is about Pittsburg that makes it so special for me. To be honest it is a lot of different things. I have a sentimental attachment to the whole area as it is where I learned to fly fish when I was six years old. We had a camp on the first Connecticut lake when I was young and it was there that I really felt the draw of this wild area. I learned the majority of my outdoor skills in the area and I still have the same sense of comfort in the woods and rivers of Pittsburg that I did when I was exploring as a teenager. I think what I enjoy the most is that even though I have been all over Pittsburg for many years, I still know that it has so much more to offer than I will ever have time for. My goal for this summer is to get to as many unexplored areas as possible when I am not guiding and add to my Pittsburg knowledge. I look forward to getting back out with return clients and very much look forward to all of my new clients who are already in the books! Feel free to shoot me an email if you are interested in my availability for the summer months! The best is yet to come!
