Fly Fishing for Beginners: A Humorous Journey into the Sport

A funny and informative take on the trials and tribulations of the ultimate beginner fly fisherman The year was 2003 and I decided I needed a hobby. My friend Steve spoke with incredible joy about his new found love of fly fishing, and I decided I should give it a try. After all, how hard could it be? Most of my life I fished for bass in Wisconsin, so comparably, fly fishing couldn’t be that hard, right? I was working nights at a local television station in Denver, Colorado, and with my mornings free, I knew this would be the perfect hobby. So I sauntered down to a local fishing tackle store, bought a cheap fly rod and reel combo, a cool-looking vest, some recommended flies and went to Waterton Canyon. Three outings later, I had no bites and an ill-timed breakfast burrito attacked ferociously causing me to run from the water only to get my rod snapped in half by a heavy bathroom door. My new hobby came to an end because of a burrito with chewy sausage bits. Ten years later, a different kind of bug attacked deep down inside. This fishing bug came from the joy in my six-year-old son’s eyes as he pulled in his first trout at a private pond in the mountains. After this, and watching numerous fishing shows, I told my wife, “I want to go fishing.” She responded by saying, “Why don’t you try fly fishing?” She didn’t know about my first ill-fated attempt, otherwise, she may never have suggested that. My wife knows me well, and expects me to break things with ease, like fishing rods in bathroom doors. After some thought, I agreed with her and I was going to try again, but this time I was going to do it right. I researched various websites, and a whole new world opened in front of me. This sport was complex and detailed. I never realized how big fly fishing was and how much went into it. In fact, I was a bit overwhelmed. There seem to be a thousand different types of flies, so how in the heck do you know what to use when? I kept reading. I bought a book. I visited multiple stores and asked a hundred questions and found that the people at Orvis in the Lone Tree Park Meadows Mall were extremely knowledgeable, nice and didn’t make me feel like I had to buy a thousand-dollar rod. I signed up for an Orvis Fly Fishing 101 course. I learned how to cast. I learned about basic flies and other necessary equipment. On Father’s Day, I loaded up with gear at Orvis and bought a Clearwater rod and large arbor reel. I was ready to go. After a Facebook posting where I asked if anyone knew how to fly fish, I soon found out that my neighbor Dan, whom I have lived across from for the past seven years, has been fly fishing all his life. I guess I should ask more questions about my neighbors. With his assistance, we travelled to a spot on the South Platte River, which was south of Sedalia. I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you exactly where it is, not because it’s a secret, but because I can’t remember. When I first moved into my new home in 2006, I got lost twice trying to find it, and this was AFTER we already moved in. The two of us geared up and walked to the water. It was a bit cold at seven in the morning and with only a pair of hiking boots and no waders, a chill went through my body and I didn’t even step into the water yet. Noticing my lack of waders and pasty white legs, my neighbor recommended that I start from the shore and cast near the riffles in the water. I knew I would have to get in the water eventually, but at first, this was fine. After all, I had to get over my fear of falling in the water and also my fear of snakes. I kept thinking that if I waded into the water, a snake will emerge from the darkness below and bite into my pasty white calf and that would be the end of me. I guess I should have never watched the movie Anaconda. For over an hour I casted from shore, and like a flashback to 2003, my black beauty midge received no hits. That’s when we noticed a large hatch of flies erupting over our heads. I reeled in my line and stepped into the cold water. In case you are wondering, I didn’t see any snakes. I reached down and grabbed a fly that was sitting on the rock. It was a baetis mayfly. I’ve read about these! I was excited, because for the first time, it felt like all my studying was finally paying off. After talking with my neighbor, and seeing that the fish weren’t coming to the surface to feed, we decided to switch to a pheasant tail nymph (don’t ask me the size, as it was a bit too large, I haven’t yet acquired the skill yet of differentiating sizes in flies). We stared into the water for a few minutes, looking for signs of any trout. My neighbor says, “there they are.” “Where?” “Right in front of us,” he said as he pointed to the edge of the riffles, “see the shadow?” “No.” “Really? They are right there.” “Don’t see them.” Frustrated, he says, “Just go wade a few feet into the water there and cast upstream. Let your nymph float down the edge of the riffle.” So I did and after a few minutes of casting, it was as if the heavens opened up above and the fishing gods gave me Lasik. I saw the trout. I saw fins and everything. They were only fifteen to twenty feet away from my position. With renewed vigor, I casted after those fish for hours. Technically, on this day, I never caught a fish. My neighbor stepped in a few times to show me what I was doing wrong … too much drag, hold your line up, cast further upstream, try a different size of split shot, etc. I watched as he caught three browns and one rainbow. On his third brown, he handed me my rod and said, “Bring it in.” (For your information, he wanted to try my new rod, and with his first cast, he caught a trout as soon as the nymph went underwater – GO FIGURE!) I brought it in, knowing how hard it could be and how easily the tippet could snap. I watched the brown trout enter my net and I marveled at its beauty before I slowly released it back into the water. We fished for almost six hours and at the end of the day, I didn’t fall into the water, didn’t get bit by a snake and didn’t snap my fly rod in half by a bathroom door. Hopefully on my next article, I’ll be able to snap a picture with a trout that I actually caught, instead of the scenery around me! As I’ve learned, you are supposed to end these things with “Tight lines!” … but today, I’ll just say, “Get hooked!” – because I certainly did. Matthew J. Krol is a television producer for Altitude Sports & Entertainment in Centennial, Colorado. He has produced television for nearly 18 years and has fly fished for only one week.