Chapter 3 The Education Begins

Chapter three: The Education Begins

As with many things in life, my love for the Missouri, (and maybe even fly fishing in general,) started with an intense attraction being enticed with a couple good fish, turning into distain and frustration before being able to come to grips with the fact that the more I tried to control the outcome and meet my expectations, the less I would be able to appreciate what this new found love could offer.

I didn’t even purchase my first fly rod; it was my cousin who lived in Florence, MT who gave me one for my 32nd birthday. It was an inexpensive package deal of the nation-wide department store variety and I was grateful to have one just to try out. It came with a reel, 5 weight floating fly line, a leader and a little pamphlet on how to tie knots. (Probably a couple flies too like some zuck bugs and prince nymphs.) I had no idea what I was getting into.

Searching for as much information I could sponge up, I went to a local store out on HWY 12 West in Helena. I learned quickly who I couldn’t go to for help. I remember being incredibly intimidated while walking into that store. As the door swung open to the sound of cow-bells hanging from the handle and I stepped in, the man behind the counter lifted his head up from his tying vice just enough to peer over his glasses at me. I nodded my head at him and said, “Hey, how’s is going? Nice day out there. Shouldn’t you be on the water or something?”

His response was letting his head fall back down to his vice; his hand continuing the circular motion of wrapping thread on the shaft of the number 16 dry fly hook; not a frickin’ word.

“Hey, I’m just kind of getting into fly fishing and I was wondering what I should pick up for flies?” In a nervous voice I continued, “I’m heading out to the Little Blackfoot.”

The man behind the counter continued tying his PMD and only after he had finished he looked up at me and I’m not kidding, he shook his head and said, “Here, try these,” and he pulled a couple nymphs out from behind the counter, sliding them across the glass surface of the counter-top.

“I have a 4-weight leader. Do I need tippet?” I asked.

In his most condescending voice he said, “Well, if you want the fly to drift right you do.”

Obviously my naivety for this newly discovered past-time really pissed him off and afraid to push him any further, I threw six dollar bills on the counter for the three flies and said, “Thanks,” and rushed out of the shop like a twelve-year old that just ran diversion for his buddy who had spent the last 3 minutes raiding the candy rack.

I wasn’t very successful that day. I spent a lot of time in the trees and a lot of time on the bank trying to figure out how to tie on tippet material. I remembered the back country director of AYA telling me that a lot of the success one has in fly fishing small creeks was learning how to keep the bugs in the water. The more time the flies were in the water in front of the fish’s mouth, the better chance you had to get him to eat. “Fish don’t live in the trees,“ he would say.

I learned that day that keeping your bugs where the fish lived meant a few things; one) being able to keep your line out of the trees, two) keeping your line from getting tangled around your feet, your reel, your rod tip or any other obstacle line inherently is attracted to, and three) once you get tangled or caught in the trees, getting re-tied and back in the water quickly. Man I needed help.