Dad was never much of a fisherman. Not because he was inept or uncoordinated. An avid hunter and experienced outdoorsman, he was completely skilled from the dove blind to the elk woods. He simply didn’t like fishing. He tolerated it because from a very young age I was obsessed with it. I can still hear him while picking apart a birds nest on his reel, “Damnit. This is why we hate fishing!” But still year after year he would take me fishing. His big brother, on the other hand, was an angler. Not just any angler, but a trout angler. And a fly fisherman, to boot.
He was what I yearned to be; a fly fisherman. As a boy I would pour over the latest copy of Field and Stream, marveling at the stories and photos of these majestic anglers. When I was 10 or 12, my Dad got the hint and for Christmas he gave me a cheap fly fishing combo. But we lived in the desert southwest. No trout were available except for the local irrigation reservoir, lightly stocked with rainbow trout. Embarrassed to bring out my fly outfit, I would chunk powerbait with my buddies. But as soon as I got home, I would be out in the back yard practicing my fly casting, imagining I was Kefty Kreh or my Uncle Jack.
When Dad told me I was going to spend the summer with my Uncle, I was beside myself. Equipped with my little cheap combo rod and a suitcase of clothes, I was thinking this was it. My future as a expert fly fisherman and woodsman was clear. I was going to be the apprentice to my flyfishing hero.
Uncle Jack was an old timer. He had 4 split bamboo fly rods that he had fished with since the 50's. He carried extra tips in a leather pouch. He only fished dry flies, especially Royal Coachmans in a variety of sizes. He carried these in a battered leather fly wallet that stuck out of his back pocket. He carried a wicker creel on his side.
Uncle Jack and I drove up to the headwaters of a spring-fed river to camp and fish for three days. The double track ended at a small meadow. Pristine except for a small fire ring, it was timeless and perfect. Except for meals and sleep, we just fished. It was perfect. Waking up to deer grazing in our camp. Eating trout so fresh that they curled up in the cast iron pan balanced over the campfire. And we didn’t see another person for three days. That summer changed my life forever.
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