This was it, the time for excitement and anxiety. My first fly excursion with others to real fly water. In my mind I had visualised this amazing adventure. All the time spent practising would hold me in good stead and I would land a massive, majestic trout with my first cast.
Not even close.
The patience of the poor soul who ended up wading with me was amazing. False casts, knots, snags, low back casts, too much wrist, lock it, lock it, cast up more, cast it up more, CAST IT HIGHER, no the other higher, spook a fish, spook two fish, spook, spook, spook ….
After twenty to thirty minutes he relieved me of my rod, took one cast and landed a decent little brown. My insides shattered. Was I really that bad? Well, yes, but as I was told over and over, everybody starts like this. Confidence thrives with these well meaning words.
We continued through some incredibly beautiful streams and I learned of ripple lines and riffles and bubble lines and rising water. I tried to listen to as much as I could, my stubbornness willing me on. My ability to soak up the details was only matched by my trousers ability to soak up the cold water.
My first real lesson that day was, to enjoy where you are. Sometimes it’s not about the fish. The amazing locations I got to enjoy that day were places I would never visit normally and since then I have been amazed at what a magnificent world we live in.
Sentimental outpouring over. I had one last cast at a riffle linking two pools. The red tag sped down the run and as I lifted to recast, I felt some weight. Lo and behold, hanging on for dear life was the unluckiest of small rainbows. But I caught a fish.
Let the fun begin…
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