So my path to the world of fly fishing for me started in late May or early June of 1975. My dad was a spin fisherman and we fished for brown, brook, rainbow and cutthroat trout almost entirely in the free stone rivers of Colorado and Wyoming from the time I was old enough to walk, cast and not fall in the river. Well, he fished, I got lures caught on rocks, brush, myself and occasionally in the mouths of fish. By 1975 I had gotten halfway decent at casting a lure, knowing where to cast and hooking and landing trout. I had a marginal understanding of where they'd congregate and how to present a lure to get a fish to bite. The rest was just magic at that point, but nothing as magical as the first time I watched my older cousin fly fish.
Around this same timeframe my dad and I really started getting into backpacking into some of Colorado and Wyomings high mountain lakes and my cousin suggested one of his favorites. While lake fishing wasn't either of our favorite ways to spend a day, the scenery was always spectacular and the fishing had been surprisingly good, often catching some 2 or 3 pound Brook or Cutthroat trout in lakes that didn't receive much in the way of fishing pressure. My cousins suggestion was sweetened by pictures (of the 110 variety) of a half dozen fat, colorful Cutthroat trout and stories of being the only guy on the lake. That settled it, we were in.
Weather and a later start than was desired put us at the lake in mid afternoon and after setting up camp and gathering fire wood, we hit the lake for a bit before the sun set. This is where the magic started for me. A high mountain lake, with snow still on the peaks in the backdrop, the sun setting and my cousin casting a fly that he tied to rising trout. I was hooked. He caught and released several nice sized fish, keeping the last for his dinner. The casts he made were something to watch and to this day I don't know that I've seen another fly caster that was his equal. He could cast all the fly line and some of the backing and still present a dry fly better than I could on a 20' cast. He made his own rods, tied his own flies and was as cool as the other side of the pillow. I had to do what he did, though to this day I've not met he equal on the river or at the tying table.
It took me the rest of that summer mowing lawns and that next winter shoveling driveways, but the next Spring I bought my own Pflueger fly rod and reel. Later that month was my birthday and my folks sprung for a Cabela's Beginers Fly Tying kit and I was off to the races. Every bit of money I made over the next two or three years went into fly fishing or fly tying accessories and materials. My tying advanced quicker than my casting did (if my dad was still alive he would confirm this), but I caught fish the first year. Not at the rate or the size that I did as a spin fisherman, but it didn't matter to me. I'd never wanted to do something that bad in my life and damned if I wasn't doing it. The thing I was most proud of as a kid is that it was all self taught. Other than watching my cousin cast when he'd join us on a trip once every year or two or reading his Jack Dennis fly tying books, I had no training at all. It was all trial and error. What worked and what didn't. It took years and I mean years.
As the years passed I'd buy more or better tying materials, better line, maybe a new vest to replace the old hand me down my cousin gave me. I learned more and more about how to present a fly, what fly to present when and how different each stream and hatch could be. We fished the Arkansas, Blue, Colorado, Eagle, Frying Pan, Gunnison, Roaring Fork and dozens of other little streams in Colorado. Trips to Wyoming put me on some of the legendary streams in Yellowstone. The Madison, Firehole, North Platte, Snake and more. I got better and better at tying, casting and catching but the one thing that never changed was my fascination with world that was just under the shinning, glossy surface of that ice cold water.
Family, work and moving to the South had taken much of my fire away, but I have to say the discussion on this board about fly fishing has brought a lot of it back. I'd already carved out a corner of my attic office for a tying table that only needs it's top to be ready to go. My materials are still in order and tools at the ready. I've never been a big spender when it comes to rods, reels or line, but I guess I'll have to break all of that out and see where I stand.
This fall...I'll be standing in a trout stream somewhere nearby, casting a fly to a trout who has no idea who Jack Dennis is and has never seen the beauty of my cousins casts.
I use a fly rod almost all of the time when trout fishing, so on those occasions when I do pull out the salmon eggs, I'm that rarest of rare creatures: a guy using a fly fishing outfit to fish with bait.