Call me a romantic, but there seems to be an elemental connection between fly rods and canoes. The kinship is partly philosophical: canoes and fly rods work on simple mechanistic principles, are aesthetically pleasing, and in their small ways help slow a world gone mad with speed and complexity. Furthermore, both are elegant, highly refined tools with long and colorful histories, and if you fall under their spells they can be endlessly engrossing.
I have long considered canoes and fly rods among the most practical of angling tools. Years ago, when I began fishing trout rivers near my home in northern Michigan, I quickly realized a canoe gave me an advantage over the majority of fishermen who always congregated near bridges and access sites. In a canoe it was possible to visit sections of the river that bank fishermen never saw, inhabited by trout that may have inspected artificial flies only a few times each season. I caught more trout, and, more important, found I had long stretches of the river mostly to myself.
How does a person get started in fly fishing? First, understand that fly fishing is not an indulgence only the idle rich can afford, nor a mysterious, esoteric discipline passed on from master to student. Just as anyone can get into a canoe for the first time and make it work, anyone can pick up a fly rod and use it to catch virtually any species of fish in North America. It can be easily and quickly learned on equipment that may cost no more than a good paddle.
Fly fishing equipment is the most varied and complex in the angling world. Yet, perfectly adequate outfits of matched rod, reel, and line can be purchased for less than $100. Spend another $50 for flies, leaders, and accessories and you have virtually all you need for ordinary use.
The initial consideration is a rod. The size and type of fly rod you need is determined by its uses. Will you be fishing primarily for trout? For bass and panfish? For striped bass or tarpon? Will you be casting in small rivers? Large rivers? Ponds? Lakes? Oceans?
Unfortunately, you can't buy an all-purpose fly rod, just as you can't buy a canoe that is equally well suited for whitewater play, expedition tripping, and casual touring. Fly rods are classified by length and by the weight of the line they're designed to cast. An 8 1/2-foot rod, for example, might be made for lines from 2- to 9-weight. The lighter lines--2- to 4-weight--are best for small waters and tiny flies, and will not perform well in strong wind. Heavy lines of 8-weight or more are for large freshwater fish like salmon and steelhead, or for many saltwater species. They'll cast an enormous fly, cut through the wind admirably, and cast great distances. Middle range lines of 5-, 6-, or 7-weight are a good choice for beginning casters using rods 7 1/2 to 8 1/2 feet long. Such an outfit can handle a fairly wide range of fly sizes in a variety of situations, and is the closest to an all-around outfit available.
Much of the difference in price among fly rods is determined by the material they're built from. The most expensive rods are handmade from Tonkin cane, a rare and close-grained bamboo grown only in a small region on the border of North Vietnam and China. Fine split-cane rods are lovely and meticulously crafted and cost around $1,000 and up.
Next on the quality scale are those rods built of graphite. Those materials are to fly rods what Kevlar is to racing canoes. Graphite is strong, dependable, and durable, and seems to satisfy most anglers' practical and aesthetic considerations. Prices range from less than a hundred to several-hundred dollars, depending on brand and quality.
For years the majority of fly rods were built of fiberglass. They remain the most economical rods and a good choice for beginning anglers or those who plan to use them only occasionally. They're also a sensible rod to take along on rigorous expeditions. A decent fiberglass rod can be tossed around as casually as a spare paddle, can be left out in the rain, can be dragged, bent, walloped, and scratched--and will continue to catch fish.
Unless you require a large-capacity reel capable of fighting big, hard-running fish, a reel is not as critical as a rod. The most important consideration is to get a reel balanced to the size of your rod and line. A knowledgeable sales-person can help, or check carefully on the reel itself--the line weight it corresponds to should be noted somewhere. Expect to pay $50 or more for a decent, single-action reel--one that is pleasant to use, is built with a minimum of breakable parts, and will last many years.
Fly lines come in a baffling variety of types and sizes, and range in price from $15 to $50. All you need to know to begin with is that 1) fly rods cast the line, not the lure as in baitcasting or spincasting, 2) a line will help determine whether your fly floats or sinks, and 3) if you don't have the proper size line for the rod you own, learning to cast will be frustrating and fruitless.
While, again, there isn't an all-purpose line, a floating line is the most versatile. It allows you to use floating flies and poppers, as well as subsurface streamers, wet flies, and nymphs, and is suitable for 90 percent of fishing situations.
Three types of floating lines are available. Level lines, though the most inexpensive, maintain the same dimensions and shape from end to end, and are difficult to cast. The double-tapered is built with the heaviest, thickest portion at the exact center of its length, which allows for a controlled presentation of the leader in short to medium casting distances. One big advantage to a double-tapered line is that when the front portion becomes dirty and cracked with use and no longer performs well, the line can be removed from the reel and reversed, essentially giving you a new line. A third type of floating line is built with its heaviest, largest portion at the front. Weight-forward lines cast farther than double-tapers, will handle larger flies in more adverse conditions, yet can still cast small dry flies on small waters.
Before you attach a fly line to your reel, you should fill about a third of the spool with Dacron backing. Backing your fly line helps fill the spool so the fly line will not coil into tight loops. It also provides a backup should you hook a fish large enough to run all the line off the reel.
Leaders are the monofilament connector between the fly line and the fly. They are generally tapered from a thick butt-section that attaches to the fly line, to a smaller, more supple tippet that attaches to the fly. The variation in thickness and stiffness allows the leader to "turn over" at the end of the cast and straighten so the fly lands at the point farthest from the rod.
Tippet material of various diameters can be purchased in small spools, and used to alter the strength--and length--of the leader. As a rule of thumb, the larger the fly, the heavier the tippet should be. A 7-foot leader tapered to a 3-pound-test tippet is adequate for much of the freshwater fishing in North America, and will work for trout, small bass, and panfish. Replace the tippet with heavier monofilament for larger fish; add a length of lighter mono for street-smart trout and other finicky fish.
Casting a fly rod is simpler than it looks. The best way to get the hang of it is to begin modestly. Start someplace spacious, well away from trees, shrubs, and high grasses, such as the end of a dock, an open river bank, a beach, or a sandy point. Strip 15 or 20 feet of line from your reel and stretch it in front of you, as free of slack as possible.
If you're right-handed, reach your left hand forward to grasp the line near the first rod-guide. Pull it toward you to take up any additional slack and to break the surface tension of the water. At almost the same moment, raise the rod in a single smooth motion to get the line in the air. The motion of your rod hand is similar to the motion an umpire uses to signal an out--all in the wrist and forearm. Once the line is airborne, stop the rod when it is vertical. The line's momentum will carry it into the backcast, where it will unfurl and straighten. At the moment it straightens you will feel an insistent tug on your rod. That is the signal to reverse the direction of the line with a forward thrust of the rod.
In all, your rod should travel only a few feet, and the forward/backward motion of the line should have a very easy, natural rhythm. For decades, beginning casters were taught to keep a book--preferably a leatherbound Bible--pressed between the elbow and rib cage to prevent movement of the upper arm. You can spare your family Bible simply by remembering to keep the action restricted just to the wrist and forearm. It should feel nearly effortless.
One common mistake is to rely on too much backcasting. A backcast has only two major purposes: to lengthen line for a cast, and to shed water from a dry fly--and both tasks usually require only one or two backcasts. Too much false casting results in tangled lines, bungled casts, and terrified fish.
Because you don't always have the luxury of making long backcasts, it's useful to learn the basic rollcast. To make a rollcast, strip off 20 or 25 feet of line, and hold the rod upright and slightly back, at about the one-o'clock position, so that a belly of line extends from your rod tip to the water. As the belly falls behind your casting elbow, give the rod a sharp forward thrust, stopping it abruptly when it points at the spot where you want the fly to land. The line will form into a tight loop that "rolls" forward, unfurls, straightens, and drops the fly. It takes some practice to get the timing right. Cast too hard and the loop unfurls right at your elbow, like a tire breaking traction into a spin; cast with too little effort and the line collapses around you.
The higher you remain off the water, the easier casting becomes. For that reason it's not a good idea to take to the water in a canoe until you feel comfortable with a basic forward cast. Practice, of course, is all it takes to get to that point. Equip yourself with a few small cork poppers and visit a lake or farm pond inhabited by bluegill, sunfish, pumpkinseed, or other panfish. Panfish are voracious surface feeders that like to hang around in shallow water, and aren't fussy about splashed casts, tangled leaders, and clumsy approaches. They're perfect for beginning fly casters. Work on casting to specific spots--a swirling fish, the edge of a line of lily pads, a partially submerged stump.
Large rivers with consistent current are among the most pleasant places to fish from a canoe. A fly cast from a drifting boat floats downstream at the same velocity as the boat, creating a virtually endless, drag-free float. Fishermen on big western rivers like the Snake, Madison, Yellowstone, and upper Missouri don't worry about stopping to carefully fish prime trout habitat. They just float along, dropping long casts near shore, letting their flies drift along beside the boat, trusting that plenty of good spots are waiting just downstream.
Most rivers are not so idyllic. A typical medium-sized river consists of a variety of water, from wide to narrow, deep to shallow, fast to slow. Tight bends require attention; rock gardens need to be picked through; fallen trees block progress. In some stretches you can simply drift and cast, but much of the time you'll be too busy maneuvering the canoe to give your full attention to perfect casts and flawless drifts.
There are a number of ways to fish such rivers. One solution is to equip your canoe with an anchor. A length of old chain attached to a sturdy nylon rope works well in slow water. The chain seldom wedges on bottom and you can play out line to lower the boat into a new position.
In quicker current, however, an anchor rope sheering past the stern converts the keel to a rudder, which is grabbed by the current, causing the boat to veer crossways. Some anglers have avoided that disconcerting problem by mounting a small pulley at the tip of the stern, thereby ensuring that the anchor rope leaves the canoe as an extension of the center line. It works, but leaves the canoe permanently marred.
As an alternative to anchoring, two anglers in a tandem canoe can simply take turns fishing, with the stern paddler given the job of controlling the canoe and maneuvering the bow-person to the best casting position. The stern paddler's responsibility includes back-paddling or sculling to slow the canoe so the angler in the bow can place a cast over a good-looking pool or above a rising fish. He can also hold the canoe in position by prying his paddle (or a pole) into bottom. Such maneuvers should place the canoe in a position that allows the caster the easiest, safest approach to the water.
On small rivers where overhanging trees make backcasts difficult, it's often safer, more effective, and more enjoyable to beach the canoe and fish on foot. An effective method is to "leap-frog" downstream. One angler gets out of the canoe to fish from shore, and the second continues downstream a few hundred yards, paddling solo. He beaches the canoe, then begins fishing downstream on foot. When the first angler reaches the canoe, he paddles it solo to a point below the second angler, and so on.
Casting in lakes can be the best of times and worst of times for a flyrodder in a canoe. On small lakes, or in calm, protected bays, the experience can be wonderful. A canoe can slip up on feeding fish, approach promising cover such as lily pads, stumps, and rocks, and allow an angler to present a fly in places that may never otherwise get fished.
Too often, however, wind and waves make fishing in a lake a real challenge. If conditions are difficult, I prefer to alternate fishing with a partner, just as in a river. Casting a fly rod in the wind is less of a problem if the rod is large enough and the line heavy enough. Generally an 8 to 8 1/2 foot rod will handle any wind short of a gale, and line weight of 6 or more will cut through it and allow you to place your casts with at least approximate precision. If the wind is from your back the problem is not so great: make a strong backcast and allow the line to vault forward with the wind. In a headwind, it's helpful to keep your cast low, allowing the wind to take the backcast, then pushing it forward with enough force to get the line and fly under the wind.
Cross winds are more difficult. Avoid a strong wind blowing from your casting side. Turn the canoe to another angle, or if you have no other alternative, keep your casts short and quick, with a minimum of backcasting. A cross wind from the noncasting side is not so tricky, but expect to lose a great deal of accuracy because the wind will often catch the leader and fly and lift them 5 or 10 feet off the mark.
Knowing where to fish is half the challenge on an unfamiliar lake. A few spots are always worth investigating. Any stream or river mouth, for instance, washes insects and other food sources into a lake and is a likely place to find game fish. Also check out rocky points, sudden drop-offs, and bays near deep water. Keep in mind that most fish require cover of some kind to provide protection and shade. Clumps of reeds and lily pads, sunken logs and stumps, fallen trees, clusters of rocks, even docks and diving rafts--all will attract baitfish and the predators that feed on them. On sunny days cast to the shaded side of such cover; in the evenings and early mornings try placing a popper or dry fly as near as possible to the cover, allow it to rest a moment, then retrieve it in short strips.
I sometimes take my solo canoe to a certain stretch of the Boardman River not far from my home. The current there is slow, the river wide and meandering. I paddle upstream a mile, then drift back with the current, fishing as I go. In the 1950s and '60s the water was locally famous for big brown trout, but these days the fishing is poor. I consider myself lucky to catch one or two small trout, always releasing them unharmed with the hope they'll mature to repopulate the river.
But I don't go to that stretch of river to catch fish. I go because it is a lovely, nearly forgotten place, and fishing gives me an excuse to be near it. I go to mess around with a fly rod, to cast for the fun of it, to lose myself in the rhythms and sensations of the sport. That is another thing fly rods have in common with canoes.
There's a lot of disagreement over what constitutes a well-equipped fly box. Actually, most fly fishermen I know have six or eight well-equipped fly boxes, and complain that they need more. In the interest of brevity and economy, however, it's possible to pare your supply down to a few patterns, in a variety of sizes, that will be effective for the majority of fly fishing situations. Here's what I'd carry if I only had room for two small boxes of flies:
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