Before this past Thursday, I was not what you would call a successful fisherman. Not that I had fished much, to be sure, but the time I had spent so far had yielded only a single fish that wouldn’t have been overly cramped in a goldfish bowl. So it was with a slight sense of futility that I set out for a day of fishing with my good friend, Sang, who was visiting from California.
The first time I can recall making a serious attempt to catch a fish was as a boy scout camping by Echo Lake in Oregon. We had backpacked up there to stay about a week, and several of my friends had brought fishing poles. They were routinely pulling out the daily catch limit, which supplemented dinner each night. It seemed pretty effortless to my friends, so I borrowed a rod and baited up a hook. I don’t really remember how long I fished, but it seemed like forever. Eventually the afternoon turned to evening, and we started getting shouts across the lake that it was time for dinner. I decided it was time to give up, and gave the pole back to my friend so we could return to camp. He decided he’d throw out one last cast, and of course immediately pulled out a fish.
That experience didn’t exactly ignite in me a passion for fishing, though I know there are many people with such an affliction. My father-in-law, for example, has done a lot of fly fishing since retiring. It was under his tutelage that I caught that first previously mentioned pittance of a fish. Sang has picked up fly fishing over the past five years, and also really loves it. He was a little shocked to learn that the Provo River is a fairly famous fly fishing venue that went totally unutilized when he lived so close by going to BYU. So having a chance to return for a visit, he made arrangements for us to go out with Mark Forslund, a veteran guide and owner of the Four Seasons fly shop in Heber City.
When we got to the fly shop to start our day, Sang was talking shop to the folks there while I just tried not to embarrass myself with my astounding ignorance. That theme continued to some extent throughout the day. While Mark was really great at teaching me things using small words, there were still moments when I didn’t know what the heck he was talking about. I decided eventually that he was commenting about the kinds of real insects present around the water, of which I was completely oblivious.
Once at the river, Mark set Sang loose while he taught me some basics, like casting and mending loops. We were doing some nymphing, which is a kind of fly fishing that uses underwater critters as lures (as opposed to dry flies, which are the mature bugs generally found on or above the water’s surface). While I was getting set up, Sang caught his first fish — a nice rainbow trout — and then started fishing his way down stream.
Mark coached me along and I started pulling out fish pretty fast. I started to feel bad, though, because I really wanted him to spend time with Sang giving him coaching and tips. He’s the enthusiast, after all. But before Mark could get far trying to catch up with Sang I’d have another fish on the line and he’d have to come back to help me get it off the hook (this was all catch-and-release). After a while I commented, “Maybe I’d better keep my hook out of the water for a little while so you can make it to Sang.” Mark thought I was being cheeky.
One of the bigger ones I landed.
Sept 29, 2005
When I eventually caught up with Sang, I boasted that I had caught five fish so far. He said that was great, but I’m sure there was something about beginner’s luck going through his head. Mark commented that I was getting the hang of another aspect of fishing. I went kind of cold for much of the afternoon, though, while Sang did most of the catching.
Sang said, “This one made the whole day worth it.”
Sept 29, 2005
At the end of the day, Mark asked Sang in front of me, “So, do you think we’ve converted Eric?” I had to admit that it had been a fun day wading through the river and catching a bunch of fish. And it was great having a guide teaching me, getting my rod ready and releasing the fish. But I don’t think I’m hooked, as it were. I’d certainly do it again, but I’m not ready to change the way I spend my weekends.
They both told me that I had done really well, though. Sang said, “Yeah, Eric, after five years of fishing I haven’t had many six fish days.”
“It was seven, actually,” I corrected.