How to get your wife and friends hooked on Fly Fishing; more Hillbilly SUP fishing pics

If you’ve ever wondered how to get your wife and friends hooked on fly fishing here’s the recipe.

1. Rent a cabin with a pond right out back.
2. Make sure pond is stocked with fish eager to take a dry fly.
3. Make sure pond has floating dock that can be detached and paddled. (Hillbilly SUP)
4. Bring lots of beer and good friends.
5. Bring plenty of rods.
6. Teach wife and friends to cast fly rod.
7. Spend entire lazy Saturday afternoon getting sunburned and drunk on said pond casting said rods while hammering said fish on dry flies.
8. Lather, Rinse & Repeat

These pics came from a weekend spent doing just exactly that, and resulted in a wife who now wants her own fly rod.

Pics below.

See you on the Hillbilly SUPs!

Dad! Did you Gink it up?

My son and I hit one of the local Bluegill pond for a few minutes last night. We only took fly rods this time. We were committed and he was excited. His mom told me as soon as he got off the bus that fishing was the first thing out of his mouth. Unfortunately we got a late start because his mom had gotten a flat tire on the riding mower earlier in the day and getting that silly little tire reseated on the rim and pumped up took longer than I thought after dinner.

When we did finally got to the pond, the bug activity looked promising and the fish looked active. I said I was going to tie on a dry fly, and he said, “yeah, I like dry flies.” I agreed and tied on a rubber legged ant with an easy to see bright orange orange hot spot.

After a few lickety-split false cast he fired off a fairly decent cast and the fly plopped on the water and promptly sank.

He looked over at me and said in a frustrated voice, “Dad! Did you gink it up?”

Sure enough I forgot the secret sauce. How bout that, my boy even remembered the Gink.

After another whippy cast, he promptly missed a big slow motion slurpy strike.

Last time we were out I missed a strike on a nice rise and said a few choice words. He looked over at me and gave me a look like I had REALLY done it. I said “it’s ok we’re fishing, you can say a few bad words when you’re fishing, especially when you miss a strike like that”

You can guess what he was up to last night when looked over at me and with a big grin on his face, said “Dad are we fishing?”

After a silent pause I said, “Yep.”

He responded back quickly, “SHIT!”.

He even got to pee on a tree, not a bad evening. He’s learning well.

The Sunfish Slam and a creepy ending to some dry fly action.

Last night I fished one of my favorite stretches of cool water but was chased out by a specter of unknowable origin.

First the Fishing

This stretch of water is usually riffley and pocket-like when flows are up, but last night it fished more like a pair of big creeks where it split into ribbons around the big island. I usually fish the larger backside of the island first then hit the secondary channel on the way back to the Jeep. I hit it just right last night, and found what I like to call the Sunfish slam.

Sunfish Slam is of course, my stupid name for catching a Smallmouth, a Largemouth, a Green Sunfish (or Bluegill, Red Ear, Black Ear, Warmouth, whatever) and a Rock Bass, in one outing.

Does the world need another fishing "Slam"? Probably not. Is it some sort of elite prize? Probably not? Does it involve a high level of skill? Probably not. Was it a whole bunch of fun? YES!

Even better yet, they were all caught on my 8′ 4wt while throwing a Simulator dry fly. This makes for some seriously exciting takes of the fly. Most were on the small side, but I’ve driven much much longer and hiked many more miles to catch much smaller fish than these.

Throw in the mini-tarpon-esque, silver sided, dry fly attacking, giant (8″) creek chubs that eat nymphs and dries just like little somkey mountain brook trout, and I had about as much fun as can be had with a 4 wt.

Ad to that a heapin’ helpin’ of spinners, clouds of caddis and the atmosphere turns into a very pleasing combination of fish and bugs.

A night like this with a fish on every other cast is fairly rare event for me and honestly probably for most fisherman, if truth be told, so I take it when I can, with a smile, and know when to say when.

Finally the Specter

After I lost track of how many fish I brought to hand I headed back toward the Jeep.

With my pearly white sh*t eating grin illuminating my path through the woods, I heard someone yell out to me,

“Hey, come over here!”

“Uh, Nope, I’m fishing” was my reply.

“Hey come closer”, he said.

“Uh no, sorry, I’m fishing” I responded as I hopped back onto the dry gravel bar from shore.

I couldn’t see who it was, or where they were exactly, but they were fairly close, just through the tree line and into the field a little way. My walking pace quickened and I fumbled for my cell phone to call a witness in case something nefarious took place.

I finally got a hold of my wife, the audio witness. I talked her through the situation a few times before she understood me through my panting breath and concerned state of mind.

I stepped up my pace to a jog when I got to the more well trodden fisherman’s trail.

I ducked fallen trees. I hopped logs, and took twigs to the eyes. Somehow I managed to never, not once, ever, snag my fly line on the nubbin of a branch. Since when, can you avoid that trap whilst running through the woods?

I looked back and could see him standing on the trail behind me. He was still. A shadowy figure standing there in dark attire. His legs faded into the misty ground. His profile was outlined against the pale evening glow of a sunset sky. His hands were cupped to his mouth but his shouts were drowned out by the crunching leaves, crashing sticks, and heart pounding in my ears.

I kept running and narrating the events to my wife over the phone.

She kept asking me, “How far to your Jeep?”

I finally arrived back at my Jeep, with no person in sight behind me. I tossed my gear in the back, hopped in the driver seat and fired it up. Doors were locked. Gravel flew and wheels spun as I high-tailed it out of there.

I have no idea what he wanted.

I [thought] I was fishing on public land.

There were no vehicles, other than mine, in the gravel pull off.

There are a few houses in the general area, but not at all, close by.

What did he want?
Why was he out there?
Where did he come from?

And why he wouldn’t clarify himself ¬†beyond “Hey! Come closer” might forever remain a mystery.

Maybe it was a very polite and educated Sasquatch? Who knows.

This reminded me that I recently read a scientific study about how endorphins and other hormones secreted during times of fear apparently help to cement memories more vividly in our brains.

This is one Sunfish Slam I will never forget.

Breaking News Update:

Ok, so I did some internet sleuthing on the county auditors website and discovered that the land I thought belonged to the county actually belongs to the house directly north of the sanctuary where I parked my Jeep. So I was fishing on private land without permission. Ooops.

So I looked up the folks who owned the house to the north and called them. Mind you, the internet failed to produce a good phone number, so I was reduced to slumming it in an actual phone book. Old school techniques paid off, they were in there!

As it turns out, the lady who owns the property lets her grand daughter and grand son-in-law hunt deer out there. And as you might guess, he was out there the other night. He was down from his tree stand looking for an arrow and heard me tromping through the woods.

He was apparently as concerned as I was, because he thought he saw me with a bow? Go figure. So I can see why he was being a bit cagey with his call outs.

So I apologized to her for trespassing and told her I wouldn’t have been fishing there if I knew it was private property. However, after that I asked her if she minded if I still fished out there, and she said sure no problem. Its just that easy.

I did reassure her that I would fish other places during deer season though.

Wow, what a specter huh?