Putting the Learning Together

....I had tied on this very bank earlier in the day.


"While they're taking from the surface, I'll catch 'em" the great prophet of fly declared to his surrounding minions.
There he stood, a "god" amongst mere mortals.
A fly fishermen amongst a gaggle of "spinners."
"Let me show you how."
The throng parted as he strode towards the bank.
And here my dilemma began.

My family had set up camp alongside our favourite stretch of water at the campgrounds.
A spot we had visited 3 or 4 times over the years.
A spot, that had always teemed with rising fish after the swimming had finished and the light began to fade.
I had been completely unsuccessful in any of these previous visits.
And here I sat.
Watching.
My limited years of experience were trying to remember things I should remember if I wanted the success I was confident of achieving this night.
Yes, there were rising fish.
I spent 10 to 20 minutes watching.
Lots of small brown trout leaping out of the water.
Lots of small trout.
Yet, my peripheral vision had detected something in the bubble line coming under the branch on the bend.
And here I found myself, sitting on the bank.
My rod, leaning on a tree 3 metres away.
Set up and ready to go.
And my hopes, dashed from behind with the crowd of enthusiastic star-struck anglers.

He stripped out line and started casting at the rises.
I cringed as I saw the ripples come out from under the branch again slightly downstream of his casts.
I argued internally.
"I was here first."
"It's my pool."
"But where's your rod?"
"How could anyone know?"
I bit my lip, stayed seated and kept watching that bubble line.

Another subtle rise brought forth ripples.
Hard to spot in the other swirls, but surely he saw it too.
Another.

I died inwardly as one of his cohorts started tossing out a lure and rapidly retrieved it through the middle of the run.
"Don't spook it"
"Don't spook it"
It was almost too much to take.
My bottom lip was screaming out in pain from being bitten.
I quickly scanned the run again and again.
Nothing.
Nothing.
"Poo!"
It's gone.
A rise.
Phew!

"Well it's not happening here. Where's the next spot?"
I couldn't believe it.
They were leaving.
He hadn't cast into the bubble line?
He hadn't seen the rises?
But they were going.
My chance.



.....I saw the ripples come out from under the branch.....


I waited patiently for the throng of 6 or 8 to slowly walk off. Sounds of disillusionment obvious as they discussed a place that "never" ends with a blank.
Waiting........waiting..........another set of ripples was all I could take.
I whispered a shout to my wife and kids to come and see.
I tried to slow my breathing as I casually stepped over and picked up my rod.
The sounds of chatter had gone except for a distant outrageous laugh.
I studied the water.
Watched the line of bubbles gather in the corner and then gradually glide under the branch 15 metres away.
I peeled off line and unhooked my fly.
An Adams variation I had tied on this very bank earlier in the day.
I cast.......................
Short. As usual. Aaaarggghhh!
I really need to work on that.
Take two was unbelievably spot on.
The fly danced as the current caught it upstream of the branch and gently swept the tied treat towards the target zone.
Suddenly, it was gone.
Ever so subtly, gone.
I giggled as I struck it home. Destroying any illusion of rugged manliness I sort of possess.
But I had hooked the trout.
I had looked for it and found it and now I had hooked it.
Soon, I had landed it.
A hero to my family.
A sense of mediocrity within myself had disappeared.

"While they're taking from the surface, I'll catch 'em"
Heh heh.