An Idiots Fly Fishing Diary: My First Fish on the Fly

In this edition of “An Idiot’s Fly Fishing Diary,” my adventures (or misadventures) continue as I deal with an inflated ego, knots in lines, lost flies and finally, and my first official catch of a rainbow trout!

I am the Justin Timberlake of Fly Fishing. Nothing sounds more egotistical than that. Yet, after only two outings on rivers, and plenty of books and articles read, I felt like I was on top of the world. I had some nice Orvis equipment, a good assortment of flies and a bunch of knowledge piled up in my Polish brain.

But as we all know, there is a difference between “book smart” and “street smart.” As I quickly found out, you could study all you want, but to become “river smart” takes years of practice.

In truth, I wasn’t Justin Timberlake at all. I was more like JT’s third cousin, twice removed, who fills Slurpee machines at the local Quickie Mart.

My mission after two outings was simple: I want to catch my first fish. If you had read my first article, you’ll remember that my neighbor caught a trout on my rod, and then handed it to me and said, “Bring it in.” I did, but it didn’t feel right. I didn’t catch the trout from beginning to end.

Less than a week later, I returned to the same location on the South Platte River, but I struck out. I only received a few nibbles, and no fish. I returned home with my tail between my legs.

But, I kept working at it. I talked with numerous fly fishermen. I read more magazine articles. I picked up more books. I stopped by my local Orvis store numerous times for advice. As my head swelled with information, for some reason, so did my ego. I thought I was better than I really was.

After talking with my boss about his 7-year-old son and his many successes on the Snake River in Keystone, Colorado, I was on a mission. I was going to head to Keystone because, 1) it would be cool to fish a river in the mountains, and 2) I wasn’t going to let some 7-year-old kid be better than me! After all, he’s probably reading Jack and Annie books while I have my head buried in “The Orvis Guide to Beginning Fly Fishing.”

I went to my local Orvis store in Lone Tree, Colorado, and asked about flies that have been working on the Snake River. They guided me to an assortment of ant patterns, tricos, and the reliable flashback pheasant tail nymph. The next morning, I loaded up my car and took off on a two-hour drive to Keystone. I was pumped up and ready to catch a load of fish. I wasn’t going to be stopped. I was a freak of nature with a fly rod.

Boy, was I ever wrong.

I reached Keystone just after nine in the morning, and pulled off to park on a road that paralleled the Snake River. I geared up, and walked towards the river. After walking past some trees and heavy brush, I finally reached the river. My jaw nearly hit the ground. The water was moving fast. I didn’t see any pools or riffles. There were white caps everywhere. I immediately knew stepping into the water to fish would likely mean a broken neck. (Okay, it wasn’t that bad, but to me it looked like a flash flood) After staring at the water for a minute, I decided to walk up stream. Maybe, just maybe, I was in a bad section of the river and there would be a quieter area upstream. So I walked, and walked some more. It all looked the same. That’s when I came to a realization:

I have no idea what I’m doing. That 7-year-old truly is better than I am.

I had driven two hours for nothing. I had no idea what to do. Do I give up and go home? Do I return home early and tell tall tales to my wife about how I hauled in a twenty-pound rainbow and decided to call it quits early because it couldn’t possibly get better than that?

I didn’t want to give up. I wanted to fish. I just couldn’t do it on the Snake River. I was better off bringing an inflatable boat and going white-water rafting than trying to fish.

So, I walked downstream and after a few minutes, I came upon a small discovery. It was a small pond with perfectly still water, and I can see trout rising to the top to eat. My eyes grew big with excitement. While fishing the Snake River was out of my league (darn that 7-year-old!), I could use this small pond as a place to work on my dry-fly fishing.

I rigged up my fly rod and decided to use the ant pattern that was recommended to me by the people at Orvis. I started my cast and … SNAG! It was my first cast of the day and large bushes behind me took hold of my ant fly. I tugged and tugged and finally my line snapped loose. Unfortunately, my ant fly never returned.

I sat down, and tied on another ant fly, and as I did, I said to myself:

I have no idea what I’m doing. That 7-year-old truly is better than I am.

Minutes later, while keeping an eye on the bushes behind me, I was casting into the pond. Smaller trout rose up, took a look at my ant fly, and then darted away. After watching this happen numerous times, I wondered if my presentation was wrong, or if the ant fly wasn’t going to work.

Then, it happened. A larger trout took my ant fly and I set the hook. I had him. Adrenaline coursed through my veins. I fumbled with my rod and started to reel him in. But, just as fast as he took my ant fly, he was gone. My line went sailing into the air and settled in a heap on top the water.

It felt good to finally receive a bite from a trout, but at the same time, I wondered what I did wrong. Should I have stripped the line? Should I not have taken the few precious seconds to tighten my line and reel him in? Probably yes on both.

I reeled in my line only to see a mass of knots in my leader. Once again, I sat down and held the leader in my hands and had no idea where to even start. I looked at my watch and saw that two hours had passed, and I had barely fished at all.

I took my time and tried to untangle the mess. But, since I am prone to quick frustration and would rather try to run through a brick wall than take it down brick by brick, I took out my nippers and cut the leader.

I added on some tippet, re-tied on my ant fly, and I was back to fishing. Part of me wanted to give up after what I’ve been through. Chalk it up as a learning experience and move on, but I really wanted to catch my first fish. After a few minutes of casting, I struck gold. I reached the mountaintop. The heavens opened above and the sun shined on my tiny ant fly. I watched as a large trout devoured it. I did it all perfectly. I kept my lines tight. I reeled it in and watched as the trout landed in my net.

I had done it. Finally.

If you notice the picture with this article, you’ll see the 13-inch rainbow trout I caught on that day. It’s a picture I’ll save forever, because it was my first. And as I released that trout back into the water, a final thought entered that thick, Polish head of mine:

I have no idea what I’m doing. But I finally caught my first fish!

Now that I am developing my “river smarts” and my ego has sufficiently, and appropriately deflated, I’ll know that I’ll have good and bad days. I will get my fly snagged in tree branches. I will have massive knots in my leader. I will spend more time fixing my line than having a fly in the water. But, I know one thing, I finally caught a fish, and, I’ll catch more.

Matthew J. Krol is a television producer for Altitude Sports & Entertainment in Centennial, Colorado. He has produced television for nearly 18 years and has fly fished for only two months.