All the recent talk of possible military intervention and the establishment no fly zones over Libya, compelled me to share this story. It happened last spring while fishing downstream of my favorite fishing hole in the Muskoka River.
Several ‘regular’ (spinning reels) anglers watched me, with a curious interest, as I put my fly rod together and approached the riverbank. We were all here to hook into some trout that were moving up from Mary Lake to the Lock System. One could easily hook into a smorgasbord of Lake Trout, Rainbow Trout, and Speckled Trout.
Somebody was in my regular spot so I was forced to fish on a less than ideal section of the river. I did not have hipwaders, so this meant I had to fly fish from a portion of the bank surrounded with small trees. It was possible, but it would prove to be a difficult assignment for this rookie fly-thrower.
I started to get into my ‘groove’ of getting my fly out into the water when a slight tug behind me hooked my attention. My fly and attached fishing line could be seen (by myself and the surrounding anglers) dangling several feet in the air. I could hear quiet chuckling from the gathering spin casting crowd.
Embarrassed, I untangled my line and began my line ‘motions’ again. Things went very well for about 20 minutes. I became more confident in my casting and the line reciprocated by moving farther and farther out. The other spin casting anglers seemed to be very curious and interested in what I was doing. I reciprocated their stares with some 'cool-guy' nods and hand waves. My eyes stayed focus on the crowd in front and forgot the crowding trees on my six.
Shortly into my crowd pleasing spectacle, I did not see the small clump of birch leaves that fell and drifted downstream behind me. The leafy harbingers' warning went unnoticed and their silent passing ushered in a delayed, cold reality.
After 15 minutes of my fish-less casting show, I thought I should change my fly. When I had all my line up to where I could reach for my tippet, I noticed that there was no fly attached.
I looked casually behind me and noticed it had, once again, lodged itself into the branch it had snared earlier.
Defeated, I pretended to take off my imaginary fly and quickly exited the river - stage right. For the sake of the brotherhood, I hoped that nobody noticed my dry fly indiscretion. I laughed the whole way back to my vehicle.
I have plans to return this coming spring, with my spin casting reel in hand, to remove a dry fly caught in an old birch tree and post a hand made sign that says,
No Fly Zone.
Just in case another rookie makes the same mistake I did.
