By Paul Lebowitz

Fish395 Proves Anyone Can Catch Fish on the Fly

I’d been staring intently at a bit of yellow fluff floating on the surface of Crowley Lake for hours, so when the strike indicator finally dipped beneath the water’s surface I couldn’t help myself. My arms instantly and automatically snapped back to set the hook. I guess the fish wasn’t interested in tug-of-war, because it let the tiny fly go. Well, more likely I snatched it away like a jealous toddler protecting a favorite toy. The midge sailed out of the water, whistled past my face and over my shoulder, only to plop into the drink behind me. My guide, Rick Gunby of Fish395.Com, couldn’t help smiling. “You saltwater guys,” he said as he wryly shook his head, “you set too hard. Next time just raise your arms.”

Gunby and I were fishing from his comfortable Lowe lake cruiser among a small fleet. Crowley is a spacious lake, but all the boats were gathered in a shallow bay where McGee creek pours its cool, oxygenated waters into the lake. The summer sun beat down on us from a cloudless blue sky. With not a breath of wind to ripple the water, the lake’s mirrored surface reflected the majestic Sierras that soar above its western shoreline.   Crowley’s second season had just started, when only artificial baits with barbless hooks are allowed. Fly fishers had taken over the lake, and all appeared to be employing the same seemingly simple technique: midging.

According to Gunby, a midge is a small aquatic insect related to the mosquito. Fortunately, this one is no blood-sucker. To the untrained eye (mine), the tiny flies that resemble midges looked like nothing more than small hooks with a few bits of thread tied on to represent antenna, legs, and tails. Gunby assured me the lake’s trout, a fine assortment of Coleman and Eagle Lake strain rainbows, Kamloops, Lahontan cutthroats, and nativized browns, can easily distinguish subtle differences in midge fly patterns.

Midging should be familiar to many a kid who got his start fishing red worms under a bobber for panfish. In this case, swap the worm for a fly and the hard plastic float for a fluffy strike indicator, and dangle that fly about a foot from the bottom. Then wait. The hardest part is keeping your attention glued to the strike indicator. When a fish slurps the fly and pulls the strike indicator underwater, the hook has to be set immediately, because trout will spit that fake fly right out. As Gunby says, if you look away, chances are you’ll see the strike indicator bobbing back up to the surface. Too late! Otherwise, this is basic stuff. And since Gunby had us floating in the middle of the lake just above the fish, even the most inartful novice fly cast (mine) got the fly into the strike zone. It’d be hard to imagine a more forgiving introduction to fly fishing.       

Even so, whatever form of fishing we practice most often becomes second nature, so I had to work my way through some more knuckle-headed mistakes. Like letting go of the loose line I was supposed to hold tightly in my off hand. A fish hit, I went to set, the line stayed slack, and I struck out. My left hand didn’t know what my right was up to. Evidently coordination and grace are useful talents for the fly angler.  

GIVE THAT 'BOW AN A - It might be small, but the author was no less proud of his first fish on the fly..

BEAUTIFUL–With the Eastern Sierras providing a dramatic backdrop, Fish395.Com guide Rick Gunby deftly plays a Crowley trout.

SCORE TROUT ON THE TROLL –Fish395.Com guide Rick Gunby displays a brilliant Crowley Lake rainbow trout. Although the big ones avoided the flies on this trip, Gunby says trout over 18 inches are typical, and the rare specimen gets up to six or even eight pounds.

Another unfortunate habit I carried over from my regular pursuit of saltwater fishing was hanging onto the reel handle once I’d managed to get a fish on the line. Whatever fellow figured out how to toss a weightless lure using a weighted line sure was clever. Apparently that sort of ingenuity hasn’t lead to development of a drag system that works independently of a fly reel handle. Fly fishing purists, don’t get your shorts in a knot. I realize that’s an ignorant statement, but how was my uneducated fist to know it would break that good fish right off? Chalk it up to another lesson learned the hard way.  

The patient Gunby never once showed any frustration with his ham-handed (or is that ham-headed?) client’s repeated goofs. Instead the gentle reminders and enthusiastic encouragement kept coming. Thanks to the guidance of my teacher, although it is far too early for this novice to graduate to the wider world of fly fishing, at least I passed my first quiz.  

Once more the strike indicator dipped beneath the shiny surface of the water. Without thinking I gently set the hook. Fish on! I reeled in carefully, keeping the line taut and a nice bend in the long and delicate fly rod. The fish turned to run, and my coach Rick Gunby was right there, reminding me to let the reel turn freely. When the fish tired of pulling against the drag, I reeled in again, and this time the spirited trout jumped and splashed. Once more I let it run, and then brought it to the boat where Gunby deftly netted it and held the modest-sized glistening silver rainbow up for me to admire. I was never happier to catch a one pound fish. If this mistake-prone, uncoordinated saltwater-fishing knuckle-head can do it, anyone can catch fish on the fly. Don’t be afraid to give it a try.