Sometimes fly fishing offers us those golden moments of second (and even third) opportunity where everything works out perfectly...in the end at least. This is different from the last cast phenomenon. There are more opportunities for second or third chances in an average fishing day, whereas a last cast by strict definition should only occur once, although I will admit to taking several successive 'last casts' from time to time. There is nothing cosmic about second chances. We make these opportunities for ourselves in two ways - either through deliberately leaving ourselves a way out, or, more commonly, through deep character flaws like impatience, poor drift technique, inaccurate casting, casting a shadow or stepping too heavily. The former, I call higher probability second chances, the latter are low probability second chances. Either way it puts a positive spin on things.
On the RTMBN, the best way to access the beat I fish is through a reasonably dry meadow on the upstream side. You can access the river further downstream, but you'll have to walk aways upstream to where the fish are and you risk being stung to death by nettles or sinking in marsh muck depending on the season. I normally start upstream because I am impatient to begin fishing. Starting upstream puts you right in amongst the beautiful wild trout, but most of them will be downstream from you. This is a tremendous disadvantage on a chalkstream and so creates endless opportunities for second chances. These fish are exceedingly spooky. I've noticed that they aren't so concerned about seeing an angler on the river bank, but they are incredibly sensitive to hearing/ feeling one (I fish better when I wear sandals and have to pick my way very very carefully). They are also exceedingly line and leader shy. On a faster flowing freestone river, drifting a fly downstream can be a good way to catch line/ leader shy trout. But on a glass-smooth chalk stream, this is a really risky strategy. If the fish doesn't take the first time, you have two options: you can either try to lift the line and leader off the water quickly and gently (a tough combination when your line is being pulled away from you and only possible if there are no overhanging trees around), or you can gently strip the fly upstream in the hopes that the fish won't mind that a strange looking bug is defying the laws of physics. The second option rarely yields a second chance. It is decidedly low probability. The first is somewhat more reliable. I'd say it counts as a successful second chance about 25% of the time depending on what the fish sees. If the fish sees the fly line, that probability goes down to about 5-10%.
So, I guess the lesson thus far is to concentrate on more than getting it right the first time. This really just boils down to thinking ahead. There is a tendency in fly fishing to think so immediately about things - you see a rising fish, and you think (probably very briefly) about how to get the fly over him before you fire off a cast and a prayer. The angler that thinks in terms of what will happen after will create more opportunities for successful, higher probability, second chances. There is also something to be said for persistence. You should always take the opportunity for a second chance no matter what the odds. It is still possible, if not probable, that you will raise that difficult fish no matter how badly you flubbed the first presentation. In a way, a poor first attempt takes the pressure off the second (or third etc) try.
Sometimes things go perfectly the first time and still you find that you must hang your hopes on a second chance. Last night the RTMBN, was particularly glassy and still, save for the occasional tsk! noise of trout sipping spent caddis from the surface film. There is a trout in one particular stretch that I have been trying to hook for several weeks now. This fish happens to be conveniently located upstream from the access point, which theoretically increases my odds a little bit. He's not in a particularly difficult spot in terms of current and vegetation, but he lives out in the open, away from the shadow of the trees. He's big and he's very very spooky. You can't get anywhere near him or he just evaporates into the river. The required cast is about 40 feet upstream and to the other side of the river to a spot about 3 feet above him. Tippet only please.
Last night my first cast to that trout was absolutely perfect. I couldn't replicate it in 100 tries. I held my breath as my CDC and deer settled down ever so gently and began its journey. Every angler knows this feeling. Time slows. You experience a moment of absolute mental clarity as you tune into that primal, electrifying tension common to all carnivores about to spring on their prey.
The fly drifted past....nothing. Maybe he's gone hunting for himself? Maybe the otter got him. Maybe someone else caught him and (God forbid) took him. Once the fly was well clear, picked my line off the water and false casted over the field a few times (shaking droplets of water from the leader on the river is another great way to create opportunities for low-probability second chances). I changed direction and fired off a second cast upstream. This one was pretty poor. About 3 feet to the left of where I wanted to be, splashy, and way too much of the thicker butt end of the leader involved. The fly drifted for a second and then transformed itself into a crater in the surface of the river. I set the hook hard and the trout leapt from the water. Two minutes later, as I slipped the barbless hook from his mouth without touching him, I thanked him for giving me a second chance. Did I deserve it? Hard to say. I'm not going to worry too much about it.
Friday 15 August 2008
Friday 1 August 2008
52
3 years ago at Christmas I was given a fishing journal by a relative who knows little about the pastime. I was so touched that I was literally speechless. (A very different reaction from the "oh hey...what do you know...that's great" reaction when I open another 'world's greatest angler' towel or socks with coarse fishermen on them).
The book is a pretty little thing, complete with gold gilt edges and spaces to record dates, species, weights and 'remarks' about the fishing. There's not a whole lot of space there, and my handwriting is sometimes difficult for even me to read, but it is enough to record the big events (if there were any) and otherwise to report things like what flies worked and where you fished.
Ideally, one could use this book as a memory marker for every single day of fishing recorded, turning it into a sort of card catalogue of the fishing experience. However, I've found it doesn't exactly work that way, although I am convinced that it does help me remember more. I can easily recall the days for which I have recorded something out of the ordinary: falling in, first time with a new rod, unexpected sea trout etc. The details for more ordinary days are a bit more fuzzy in terms of actual memories. But then, without the journal I probably wouldn't have any recollection of days like that, which goes to my point about remembering more.
I guess the lesson here is to try to record something unique in every entry. That does add to the workload of maintaining the fishing journal though. I try to update the journal after each day of fishing. When I do that, I have little trouble writing a detailed entry that will probably jog my memory about the experience for years to come. However, as with fishing blogs for instance, sometimes you just don't feel like writing all of this stuff down after a long session on the river. Retrospectively reconstructing a day or a week's worth of fishing can be difficult.
Recording details also helps you to better understand your favourite rivers in terms of things like hatches, water temperatures, fish activity and the ways the river changes with the seasons. If put to good use (and recorded in a fairly systematic manner) this sort of data could make you a more effective fisherman. Then again, doing it this way could detract from the fun of keeping a fishing journal, making it seem more like work. I prefer to keep mine as a memory tool rather than a database, and so my entries are more sporadic in nature. I do try to record things like hatches (when I know what they are) water clarity and outside temperature.
I hate to admit it, but when it comes to recording fish sizes and weights, I'll sometimes catch myself exaggerating a little bit. Or maybe a better way to put it is that I sometimes have to stop myself from doing so. When I think about it rationally (out of the fishing mindset), this amounts to the pointless activity of lying to myself. No one else would ever be interested in reading this thing, so who the hell am I trying to impress? Maybe I'm subconsciously trying to construct more grandiose memories. Or maybe my tendency to exaggerate fish sizes and numbers when recounting tales to other fishermen has begun to affect my perceptions of what really happened. Whichever it is, keeping a fishing journal is a great way to self-test your moral character. I'm quite certain I'm not the only angler who has found himself bemusedly correcting an entry of a 15" fish to a 12" fish. I guess its nothing to worry about unless (until) I stop correcting myself.
So why is this post entitled 52? Well, for some time now it has been my goal to fish on at least 52 days in a year (so once per week on average). Whilst many fishermen would probably claim offhand to fish that many days in a year, I can tell you that it is no easy feat - my journal proves it. 52 leaves no room for mistakes or lapses in priorities. If you miss two weeks at Christmas, or whilst on summer holiday in Majorca, then you've got to make them up. Taking extended fishing holidays helps, but that can create serious problems for us married guys. My wife happens to be very understanding of my fishing obsession. She allowed me to take a 9 day fishing trip to Utah/Colorado this year, which boosted my numbers considerably, as did getting a rod on the RTMBN. I try to fish the little chalkstream at least once a week, but of course the trout season only lasts half a year, which means making up the numbers there is more difficult.
Anyway, last night I added up my fishing days for this year so far. I was pleased and surprised to find that I had already fished on 50 days. Barring an act of God (I don't discount the possibility for that) I will have no trouble reaching my goal and more. I am also happy to say that it has all been worth it - at least judging from what I have written and what I can remember.
The book is a pretty little thing, complete with gold gilt edges and spaces to record dates, species, weights and 'remarks' about the fishing. There's not a whole lot of space there, and my handwriting is sometimes difficult for even me to read, but it is enough to record the big events (if there were any) and otherwise to report things like what flies worked and where you fished.
Ideally, one could use this book as a memory marker for every single day of fishing recorded, turning it into a sort of card catalogue of the fishing experience. However, I've found it doesn't exactly work that way, although I am convinced that it does help me remember more. I can easily recall the days for which I have recorded something out of the ordinary: falling in, first time with a new rod, unexpected sea trout etc. The details for more ordinary days are a bit more fuzzy in terms of actual memories. But then, without the journal I probably wouldn't have any recollection of days like that, which goes to my point about remembering more.
I guess the lesson here is to try to record something unique in every entry. That does add to the workload of maintaining the fishing journal though. I try to update the journal after each day of fishing. When I do that, I have little trouble writing a detailed entry that will probably jog my memory about the experience for years to come. However, as with fishing blogs for instance, sometimes you just don't feel like writing all of this stuff down after a long session on the river. Retrospectively reconstructing a day or a week's worth of fishing can be difficult.
Recording details also helps you to better understand your favourite rivers in terms of things like hatches, water temperatures, fish activity and the ways the river changes with the seasons. If put to good use (and recorded in a fairly systematic manner) this sort of data could make you a more effective fisherman. Then again, doing it this way could detract from the fun of keeping a fishing journal, making it seem more like work. I prefer to keep mine as a memory tool rather than a database, and so my entries are more sporadic in nature. I do try to record things like hatches (when I know what they are) water clarity and outside temperature.
I hate to admit it, but when it comes to recording fish sizes and weights, I'll sometimes catch myself exaggerating a little bit. Or maybe a better way to put it is that I sometimes have to stop myself from doing so. When I think about it rationally (out of the fishing mindset), this amounts to the pointless activity of lying to myself. No one else would ever be interested in reading this thing, so who the hell am I trying to impress? Maybe I'm subconsciously trying to construct more grandiose memories. Or maybe my tendency to exaggerate fish sizes and numbers when recounting tales to other fishermen has begun to affect my perceptions of what really happened. Whichever it is, keeping a fishing journal is a great way to self-test your moral character. I'm quite certain I'm not the only angler who has found himself bemusedly correcting an entry of a 15" fish to a 12" fish. I guess its nothing to worry about unless (until) I stop correcting myself.
So why is this post entitled 52? Well, for some time now it has been my goal to fish on at least 52 days in a year (so once per week on average). Whilst many fishermen would probably claim offhand to fish that many days in a year, I can tell you that it is no easy feat - my journal proves it. 52 leaves no room for mistakes or lapses in priorities. If you miss two weeks at Christmas, or whilst on summer holiday in Majorca, then you've got to make them up. Taking extended fishing holidays helps, but that can create serious problems for us married guys. My wife happens to be very understanding of my fishing obsession. She allowed me to take a 9 day fishing trip to Utah/Colorado this year, which boosted my numbers considerably, as did getting a rod on the RTMBN. I try to fish the little chalkstream at least once a week, but of course the trout season only lasts half a year, which means making up the numbers there is more difficult.
Anyway, last night I added up my fishing days for this year so far. I was pleased and surprised to find that I had already fished on 50 days. Barring an act of God (I don't discount the possibility for that) I will have no trouble reaching my goal and more. I am also happy to say that it has all been worth it - at least judging from what I have written and what I can remember.
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