"I can't complain but sometimes I still do"

I was driving to work the other morning leaned over and propped up on the arm rest because my back had gone out…again. Along with the back spasms came a grumpy mood and I began to wish I was driving to work somewhere up in the mountains. Then I started wishing I had a different job. Then I started wishing I was rich enough that I didn’t have to work. But, I figured I’d get even more bored not working than I was at that moment with my current job. So, then I wished I had my own rod shop where I built custom rods for people and repaired those that were put together by inferior hands. Then I wondered what would be the use, there isn’t much water around here to fish. The only option I had was to punt my job and move somewhere that cool mountain streams defined the landscape. Then I realized that I couldn’t move because my wife loves it here and my mom would be left here without any help. I gave up and resigned myself to the fact that I was stuck here for life; and it sucked. It was shaping up to be a lousy day.

About 5 miles before I got to work I began to think about how good it made me feel when Howard called to tell me how much he loved the fly rod I built him. Then I thought about the fishing trip to Colorado I got to take this past summer. It sure was a nice respite from the oppressive heat of Texas. Then I began to think about all the friends I have made over the years at various fly fishing events and the awesome fishing trips I’ve had with them. I looked out to the west and saw a couple of does and fawns grazing in a wheat field with a crop so lush and green it looked like carpet. I began to think about how these morning drives to work are really nice. The allow me to plan my day and be ready to face the day’s challenges when I walk through the office door. I reached over to adjust the temperature of the defroster. It reminded me that the overtime and bonus’ I got while out of town last year helped me pay cash for nearly the full amount of the pickup I was sitting in. I began thinking about my family. I’ve got a wonderful wife. She takes care of me and the house. Her worst darkest moods are better than most women’s good ones. And, she understands that sometimes a guy just needs a fishing trip. We aren’t rich but have all that we need. Our house is warm in the winter and cool in the summer. All of my kids are either in college or working, being productive citizens. Two of them are married and have wonderful wives of their own. By the time I got to work I realized I'm a blessed man. It was shaping up to be a good day.

Joe Walsh was right. “Life’s been good to me so far.”

D

How It All Started Part 2...

The other day a friend of mine told me I had an artist’s heart, or soul, or something or other. I’m not too sure about that. All I know is I like to write and I feel the need to create. And, like most people I know, if I’m going to do something, then I owe it to myself to put out the best work I am capable of.

Last week, I posted the story of how and why I started fly fishing. This week I’m writing about how I got started tying flies.

Soon after I began fly fishing joined one of the zillions of fly fishing websites. Some of those cyber places can be full of snooty tweed wearing people that I affectionately refer to as “trout weenies”. This site was different. It was full of good ol’ boys that loved to fly fish. Everybody was friendly and eager to help newbies. I was full of questions and these guys were full of answers.

It wasn’t long before I struck up a friendship with a retired football coach and school administrator. His name is Gene but he’s better know by the screen name of Pearow. He’s exactly as you’d imagine a retired football coach; gruff, sarcastic, & quick witted. But, spend a little time with him and the reason why he spent all those years teaching & coaching comes to light; he loved it. Every time I’ve gotten to fish with him, I’ve come away knowing something I didn’t before the trip.

Enough of the back story. As I was saying, it wasn’t long after I started fly fishing that I realized I wanted to tie flies. I began asking questions about tying vises and materials. I was interested in what types of materials and vise features but mostly what the cost would be. I didn’t want to jump in with both feet and wallet only to find I couldn’t learn how to tie or didn’t like it. I voiced my concerns and that’s when Pearow stepped in. He sent me an email asking what my mailing address was. This was before we had met face to face and I wasn’t too sure about giving my mailing address to a guy I had only met in cyber space.

After 2 or 3 email volleys of me asking why he wanted my address and him telling me not to worry about it, he finally told me what he had up his sleeve. He had an old tying vise and a box full of materials that he wanted to send me. That was followed by several more emails of how much I owed him for the stuff. Pearow would not take a dime for any of it. His only requirement was that I send the vise along with a box full of tying materials on to someone that wanted to learn how to tie.

I tied those materials onto hooks held in that vise for several years before I upgraded to a better vise and had acquired mountains of materials of my own. One day, on that same website, there was a young man that began asking questions not unlike the ones I had years before. I began the same email chain that Pearow had begun with me. I finally convinced him to take the vise and box of materials on the same condition I took them.

After I sent them I called my now fishing buddy Pearow and told him I no longer had the old vise. Only then did I learn that I had sent the old vise to hold hooks for the 11th person wanting to learn how to tie flies. Since then that website had been shut down and I no longer have any contact with the guy that I sent the old vise to, but I’d bet money he’s sent it to number 12.

How It All Started...

“Dad, my leg’s broke.” Those were the first words out of my mouth after being body slammed off the back of a green broke colt I’d been gathering cattle on that day. It wasn’t the first time I’d been dumped but it was the worst and, as it turned out, it would be the last. The good news was, my leg was not broken. The bad news was that I had herniated a disc in my lower back and it pinched a nerve so bad that I couldn’t move my leg for a while. That was close to 20 years ago.

Fast forward 10 years and, uh several pounds. I had officially joined the ranks of the Fat Kids. My back had gotten so bad that if an activity involved just about anything other than sitting or lying flat on my back I was unable to do it. I finally had enough and went under the knife. While I was recovering from that, my doc told me that I needed to do 3 things to help me heal up. They were: walk, walk, and walk.

Like I said, I had already joined the ranks of the Fat Kids and walking with no objective other than to get from Point A to Point B is strictly prohibited in our bylaws. A very good and true friend of mine, Trey Morgan, suggested that I take up the sport of fly fishing as a way to give me an objective for my walks. I resisted at first but the walking just for the sake of walking was threatening my “Member in Good Standing” status with the Fat Kids. I finally gave in though and, as they say, the rest is history. Here is a little narrative I wrote quite a few years ago of my first fly fishing trip. I hope you enjoy…

After years of watching fly fishermen on TV and wondering if it would be worth my time, I broke down a few weeks ago and bought a fly rod set up. Since I live in Popcornfarte, TX casting instructors are like hens teeth, non-existent. So, I did what any self respecting goofball would do. I spent the next few days out in the yard waving a stick in the air trying to teach myself how to cast. Finally, the day came when I’d taught myself all I knew (nothing). It was time. I was ready to try for the mighty blue gill in the local park lake.

Armed with a poorly tied black fly of mass production & questionable lineage, I made my way to the water's edge and went for it. With the wind quartering from behind me I began my presentation of the not so tasty looking feathered lure. Again and again I deftly placed the little thing beyond a downed tree limb and stripped it back along side.

Suddenly, without warning, the lure disappeared from the surface in the midst of a swirl that had to be at least the size of a Suzan B. Anthony dollar. I held the fly line with my index and middle finger against the rod and raised the rod tip. The fight was on! Stumbling and thrashing around on the bank I pulled in the line with my left hand looking, in my mind's eye, as if I needed to be on an episode of Walker's Cay Chronicles.
After, what seemed to be at least three, maybe even four seconds, I had the beast landed. It was the fattest, palm sized blue gill I had ever seen.

It didn't last very long and there wasn't much to it, but it made a fly fisherman for life out of me. Undaunted by the size of my first fish on the fly, I vowed to return. Thus ended my first fly fishing trip; it was one to remember.


D