Fly Fishing as an Extreme Sport

Although I nearly drowned at least twice in my childhood, I’m happy to say that I no longer fear water and I have taught myself how to become a pretty decent swimmer. Now, I must say that I am not including that potential third time when I was a Boy Scout – that wannabe Navy Seal Instructor/lifesaving Nazi took my head in both hands and tried to drown me. Even at 90 pounds, a strong kick aimed at the stomach of a hairy 200 pounder that lands too low can be quite effective in disabling a lifesaving instructor bent on fighting you to the death. I got my lifesaving merit badge.

So, when my friend, an experienced hunter and fly fisherman, volunteered to take me fly fishing many years later, I jumped at the chance to learn the gentleman’s sport, and yes, it was done in the water that I no longer feared. He told me to buy a cheap rod, water waders and boots, then practice casting, long and gentle, without making a sound on the water – just float the little nymph so he barely caresses the water, as if he was sneaking up on that wily old trout. I learned my knots, kinda, and a few of the stupid flies, but I was too excited to spend precious time studying flies because after all, he and his crew were experts and they would guarantee me some nice browns or rainbows!

So, the 4 of us – Bob and his 14-year-old son, also an expert, and another gentleman with experience who I will call Jim and a smelly dog in the back of the car headed off to the mountain river. When we arrived, I noticed it was flowing quite swiftly but then, must be what these guys do all the time. I could barely hold my excitement as I put on my waders, tied them up to my chest, put my vest on with all those stupid flies, net hanging down and oh yes, a nice frumpy fishing hat with flies in it too. I knew the fish had no chance with me going after them.

But I noticed Bob out in the middle of this roaring river, and so was Jim up ahead and Bob’s son also. They were casting very nicely but I must admit I was a little timid about going up nearly to my chest in such swift waters. But they were experts and of course, I was a silly rookie. Gingerly, I went about 6 feet out from the shore, water up to my knees, and I was quite satisfied, casting and enjoying the whole situation, and of course, catching no fish.

Then suddenly, I hear a yell and Bob is suddenly on the shore, laying down on his back. He was shaking. Apparently, he took a spill in the river, floated downstream and lost his $1000 fly fishing rod. He told me he was going to rest for a while and get his old rod. This turn of events made me think that if this rugged outdoorsman was a near casualty, would there be more? I remained where I was, hoping to get a bite from a stupid trout who doesn’t care if I used the wrong fly or presented it incorrectly to him.

Then, I hear a scream and Bob’s 14-year-old son was down in the water, floating down stream, out of control, head dipping in and out. So, I instinctively dove in and swam as hard as I could and put my body in front of this kid before he smashed into a stalwart boulder in the middle of the stream, catching him, and dragged him to shore. His dad thanked me and amazingly, I had hardly any water inside my waders from this swimming adventure. After the adrenaline surge subsided, I kept fishing while the father and son pondered the thrills of fly fishing on the shore.

After a while, all of us went up stream where I was told the trout were crazy hungry and would bite on anything, even your boots. So, the four of us went upstream, hugging near the walls of the canyon and again, it seemed a little deep at the waist, the power of the river forcing us to carefully find footing on the slippery rocks. By this time, I had lost all interest in fishing and I was in full life saving mode. Then, Jim – about 250 pounds and five feet seven, lost his footing and went down, losing his rod, grabbing on to the branches on the canyon face for support, then he fell back in the river, and guess who was there to catch him?

Yeah, the rookie.

Of course, I dragged him to shore too. That was the end of the day for us. The other guys each caught a couple trout and all I caught were wet human bodies. Amazingly, I never lost my cheap rod, although I am not sure it was effective for anything that day.

It was quite an experience, and yes for me, my first fly fishing expedition turned into an extreme survival sport and thankfully my swimming skills finally paid off and we all survived with the hands of God.

Thank you, God.

©SRCarson,2017