i took the fly rod out last night to the exact spot where i first fly fished ohhhhh lets say close to 50 years ago (HT and KP shut up !) i fished for the same fish too small white perch and bluegills .....started out with a simular fly ,a small panfish popper .... and yup the smacked it till the rain forced me to call it a night ..... isn't it funny how a old flyrod can be a time machine ? i looked over at the shore where we use to park and swear i seen a old friend standing next to a beat up plymouth wagon ..... fishing wasn't that good with a cold front coming in .... but memorys can warm the soul life is good boys
Man trapper...you are right on.."isn't it funny how an old fly rod can be a time machine". ..."memories can warm the soul" .I'm new to this thread, but had to reply. One of the few good things about being an old fart is all the fishing experiences that we have tucked safely away in the back of our minds....burned and stored forever into are memory banks. I pull out my first brand new "bamboo" rod that I bought when I was in high school once in awhile....it was 1969 when i bought it, and I paid $180.00 bucks for it. A ton of money back then .Orvis Madison 7 1/2 ft. 5 wt.. I never told my parents how much i paid, my dad and mom never knew how to fish back then, they would not have understood.But that rod and me became such good buddies..I fished with it all through the catskills and the Ausable up north.When I take that rod out... it sends me back to the late 60's and 70's...every week end on the Beaverkill and Willowemoc or Delaware and sometimes Ausable.... with Mac , Tommy ,Bill , Greg, Joey , and Mr. Wanko..waiting for a hatch, dry flies only,no split shot nymph fishing with it, sleeping streamside , not many Posted signs back then,.. wake up , coffee, bacon and scrambled eggs on the coleman stove,stop at the Darbees and Dettes and Betters... tie up some flies for the afternoon ... wait for the swallows to start working ....fish the hatch and spinnerfall til after dark.... Late "dinner" of Dinty Moore beef stew ... a campfire...a few beers and smokes and stories of fish landed and lost..nod out, wake up in the morning and do it all over again. Man I loved those days...and that fly rod..and the memories...that do warm my soul trapper !!
choo choo ... in the 60's was a store called the easy bargin center in fulton when i was really little i actually was lifted up by a man and my pic taken ...now i know thatt man was robert kennedy ...anyways i got my first flyrod there a cheap bamboo and reel with a level line .... a card of fly rod poppers filled the ticket ...then pop drove me to northbay in fulton where i hooked everything but a fish for the first hour ...as it started getting dark the "silver bass" as we called them then started hitting those poppers ..... and thats where i started fly fishing ...... my pop was far from rich but he could always afford to spend time with his kids ,and fishing was always fun .... glass bottles of grape soda .... chocolate bars where the snacks ..... life was good
Awesome post Buddy!
Well, If we're gonna wax nostalgic.....In about 1968 I spotted an 8' Fenwick Fenglass 5 wt at a local bait store that caught my eye like a slinky blonde. Can't remember what I paid, not that it matters. I purchased a Pfleuger Medalist, a hunk of Cortland line and a handful of flies and off I went. I knew nothing about trout (still don't) so I headed for my favorite bass crick. There were no coaches. Dad wasn't a fisherman, neither were my brothers and most of my 18 year old friends were either tough guy Italian kids in iridescent blue suits or raggedy-assed hippies who would rather have hugged a fish than eat it. A loner is what I was. So, I fished alone. At the time my mode of transport was a 1962 Rambler American which I had purchased for $75 from my earnings as a slave for a local Big Boy restaurant. She wasn't pretty, but she rolled.....and roll we did. My fly case was one of those roll up, sheepskin lined things. Leader was the smallest diameter mono I had at the time. Forceps were a pair of pliers. Fishing vest was my shirt pocket and my wading boots were my oldest sneakers.I taught myself to fly fish much as I've taught myself to build rods and tie flies. I realize now that my successes and failures weren't important. It was the journey. The days on the stream from sun up to sun down. The solitude of moving waters. The flies which remain stuck in the trees and the fish that were caught and released or consumed. Even today, some 40 odd years later, when I step into that water and start stripping out line, I feel the exact same anticipation, peace and pure joy of moving water. Pity the person who never knows that feeling.RG
Author
Topic: old f--ts with flyrods (Read 561449 times)
