Far, far away

Kent Klewein of Gink and Gasoline (by far one of the best fly blog of the internet for original content, both ideas and pictures) shares his take on a massive trend in the fly rods industry: building for distance.

Every time I visit a fly fishing trade show and walk by one of those 100′ casting ponds filled shoulder to shoulder with anglers all trying their best to land their fly on the far end of the casting pond, I ask myself, “is that really what the majority of anglers today think fly casting is all about”? A part of me thinks we should shorten those casting ponds all together, and instead throw out a bunch of target rings at random distances starting out at 20 feet. Maybe that would paint a clearer picture of what fly casting is about and how a fly rods performance should be judged. Casting a 5wt and shooting backing through the tip of the rod is hard to do, and something to be proud of, but is it really what we find ourselves doing when we’re out on the water trout fishing?

Furthermore, have we all become so tunnel visioned that we feel it’s correct to judge a fly rods performance and craftsmanship based on how much fly line it can pick up and carry, and how far we can cast a fly with it? That’s not how I judge a fly rod. It’s about a fly rods ability to drop a dry fly perfectly into the feeding lane of a rising trout, it’s about effortlessly making a nice side-arm roll cast along the far bank under the overhanging foliage. It’s about having a rod in my hand that gives me the confidence to feel like I’m in complete control for the fishing situation at hand. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of watching the fly rod companies battle it out on who can design the next ultra-light fast action broom stick. I’m ready for them to start taking a serious look at areas of fly casting and rod design other than distance.

I have already written about this here. I have seen plenty of people going for very stiff and tip-actioned rods, only to overline them one or two AFTMA ratings in order to be able to cast them properly. That’s just nonsense. Of course, the casting heroes like their broomsticks, and they even fish with them. But they tend to go the other way around, and actually underline the rods. That’s what you do when you want very high line speed, as explained here, but then speed is of no use whatsoever if you can’t control it, and that’s where everything goes pear-shaped for the common caster.

Aitor’s friend, casting sexyloops with a broomstick.

In this case, I find it particularly interesting that the complaint comes from a guide, who’s arguably a quite competent caster, certainly way above the average skill level of the people shopping TCXs.

I also sense a kind of relation between the described trend, and the fiberglass renaissance we’re witnessing. All of it is quite interesting.

Sharp stop

The imitation may be Impressionist, Cubist, Futurist, Post-Impressionist, Pre-Raphaelite, or caricature. The commonest is caricature. It therefore catches most fish.

GEM Skues, The Way of a Trout with a Fly, p. 78.

Immortal words of enlightened wisdom, kindly reminded to us by Alex Vulev on SL.

“Sharp stop on the backcast”. Pablo Picasso (1924). Collage, 92×65.

This one’s for Acey

the agitated dad/angler, my good friend, for that guy is clearly not getting enough of it.

I need to get down the bayou,

Doug thought. Tonight, I’ll feed the gators.

Mayflies

Pete on Sexyloops posted today a page from Pratchett’s Reaper Man, that’s waaaaaay too good not to share it with you. Here is goes, thanks Pete!

The sun was near the horizon.
The shortest-lived creatures on the Disc were mayflies, which barely make it through twenty-four hours. Two of the oldest zigzagged aimlessly over the waters of a trout stream, discussing history with some younger members of the evening hatch.
“You don’t get the kind of sun now that you used to get,” said one of them.
“You’re right there. We had proper sun in the good old hours. It were all yellow. None of this red stuff.”
“It were higher, too,”
“It was. You’re right.”
“And nymphs and larvae showed you a bit of respect.”
“They did. They did,” said the other mayfly vehemently.
“I reckon, if mayflies these hours behaved a bit better, we‘d still be having proper sun.”
The younger mayflies listened politely.
“I remember,” said one of the oldest mayflies, “when all this was fields, as far as you could see.”
The younger mayflies looked around.
“It’s still fields,” one of them ventured, after a polite interval,
“I remember when it was better fields,” said the old mayfly sharply.
“Yeah,” said his colleague. “And there was a cow.”
“’That’s right! You’re right! I remember that cow! Stood right over there for, oh, forty, fifty minutes. It was brown, as I recall.”
“You don’t get cows like that these hours.”
“You don’t get cows at all.”
“What’s a cow?” said one of the hatchlings.
“See‘?” said the oldest mayfly triumphantly. “That’s modern Ephemeroptera for you.” It paused. “What were we doing before we were talking about the sun‘?”
“Zigzagging aimlessly over the water,” said one of the young flies. This was a fair bet in any case.
“No, before that.”
“Er ….you were telling us about the Great Trout.”
“Ah. yes, Right. The Trout. Well, you see, if you’ve been a good mayfly, zigzagging up and down properly – ”
“ – taking heed of your elders and betters – “
“ – yes, and taking heed of your elders and betters, then eventually the Great Trout – ”
Clop
Clop
“Yes?” said one of the younger mayflies.
There was no reply.
“The Great Trout what?” said another mayfly, nervously,
They looked down at a series of expanding concentric rings on the water.
“The holy sign!” said a mayfly. “I remember being told about that! A Great Circle in the water! Thus shall be the sign of the Great Trout!”
The oldest of the young mayflies watched the water thoughtfully. It was beginning to realise that, as the most senior fly present, it now had the privilege of hovering closest to the surface.
“They say,” said the mayfly at the top of the zigzagging crowd, “that when the Great Trout comes for you, you go to a land flowing with…., Flowing with…..” Mayflies don’t eat. It was at a loss.
“Flowing with water,” it finished lamely.
“I wonder,” said the oldest mayfly.
“It must be really good there,” said the youngest,
“Oh‘? Why?”
“’Cos no one ever wants to come back.

Hot with a rod, cool by the pool

Even though she had been everything he could ever hope from a girl, even though he already knew that forever the curve of her hips would haunt the nights when sleep is hard to find, he had had to get rid of her. She knew too much. And she was getting in the way of the fishing. It had been an unpleasant, and messy business. Especially the part with the gators.

Doug finished his cigarette and sighed. Today he would fish his 8′ 5wt fiberglass. He would go with the boat, he knew where to find some bass willing to bite. Tonight, he would get home very late.

Like the knowledge that you’re going to die

Field&Stream features here one of the best short text on fly fishing I’ve read online in a while. It’s from Bill Heavey, and it’s good.

Flyfishing is like the knowledge that you’re going to die. No matter how good the party gets, it’s always there in the background to remind you what awaits: tangled line, wind knots, snagged vegetation, broken leaders, and the very real possibility that by the time you do make a decent cast, your own eyeball will be attached to the hook. I have been flyfishing on and off for 35 years, during which period I have progressed from beginner to advanced beginner. With continued practice, I fully expect to be an intermediate just three or four years following my death.

And the converse is, as it sometimes happens in life, no less true. The words of John Buchan** ring all over the internet, to the effect that the charm of fishing is that it is the pursuit of what is elusive but attainable, a perpetual series of occasions for hope. No quote gets viral like that without having at least the ring of truth to it. The astute reader will have noticed that this may not directly apply to fly fishing, but I think it does. It obviously does: for instance each time I throw a loop, I hope it won’t tail.

** Despite quite an intense search over the whole internet, I did not find the book where Buchan wrote this. If, by any chance, you know which book it is, please leave a message. The darn (Right Honourable) Scot wrote lots of books.

It’s been a while

I haven’t posted a vid. I found this one appealing, probably because of the book+coffee+cigarette porn it begins with. When you get to the river part, the music switches to the kind of obsessively repeated chords that for some reason film editors use so much. Cheezy a best, in this instance unbearable crap. Still, the images are good.

(from the MoldyChum)

Dirt cheap

that’s what you’ll pay for absolutely first class casting tuition if you go shopping for that in Sexyloop’s Auctions. It’s for a cause and here’s what you can do to help. Helping is good for your karma, and my honey bunny — who holds a doctorate in Indian Studies — assures me that karma enhancement translates immediately in tighter loops. A known fact at least since the ninth century. 

Casting gods. You want to be like them.

The best guys in the world commit to works their ass off in order to tidy up a little our crappy casting. It’s too good to be true, and it’s happening there, there, there, there, there, and there. That’s right, no less than six different opportunities to take the next step on the soteriological stair that leads to the casting gods.

Sunfish

[…] and we covered the last two hundred yards to the truck marveling, for the hundredth time, at the god-awful beauty of sunfish. They’re one of the things in the world that are so much prettier than they’d have to be, you have to think it means something.

J. Gierach, At the grave of the Unknown Fisherman (2003).