Upside Down Reverse Cast
This will be a highly technical report and those
who have not fished for at least 5 years should
not read this as you will be wasting your time.
You simply won't understand. But save it and when
your 5 years is up, you can read it then.
Bob Lawless, Port Ludlow, WA
I had this huge, technical problem which I will try
to describe briefly: the stream was small and hard
fished because it was near a highway.
At this secret spot I discovered, the water was
completely covered over with willows from both sides,
sort of a tube if you will. It could not be entered,
so, taking a pair of pruning shears from my vest, I
cut a small tunnel in the willows about half-way down
the tube, wide enough for me to get through, but not
high enough for me to stand erect, as this would spook
I crawled in and spotted an enormous brown trout of about
14". OK, maybe it was only 12", but a giant nevertheless
on this small, very technical water.
I eased back out and thought hard and long about how I
could present my fly without spooking the fish.
Then, BANG!, a moment of brilliance! I would turn around
and face away from the tunnel I had cut. Then I would bend
over so that I was actually upside down from the fish. Now
for a reverse cast which meant that I would have to cast
forward on my back cast and then deliver my fly through
my legs, through the tunnel, and out in front of the trout
with a drag free drift. Not easy this.
My first attempt was over accelerated as I had to
maintain a very tight loop. The line zinged past my
face which was looking at the ground and the fly
grabbed my glasses and threw them out into the pool,
spooking the trout.
When I retrieved them, I found the right lense to be
missing and search as I might, you just can't find a
missing lense on the bottom in clear water even if
you have both eyes. I only had one.
I waited about a hour for the fish to resume feeding.
Now the next cast really hurt me. I slowed the back cast
(this would be the delivery in normal cases) and this time
I missed the glasses, but the fly grabbed the gold rings
that I have on each side of my nose, ripping them
loose, flinging them into the water, and spooking the
trout again, although he made a brief rush at the flash
of the rings but then refused at the last second. If
he had struck, I would have named the fly the Twin-ringed,
Pierced, Royal Coachman fly.
Another hour. This time I tried to slow things down so
as to miss my eyes and nose but not so slow as to hit
the grass. Zing! And now the fly hooks that little tab
you have on the zipper of your Levi's, and the power
of the line rips it loose and the line rams me right
in my abalones.
I went down hard, writhing in pain. Smolt, my vest dog,
tried to lick the tears from my cheeks but he couldn't
keep up with them. So I called it day, vowing to return.
Then the real fun began. Since my zipper was frozen shut,
I had to drop my pants in order to take a little whisper.
How was I to know that I was surrounded by girl scouts
hiding in the grass around me?
Apparently, they were learning a drill which told them
to conceal themselves well when they spotted a suspicious
man approaching. One spotted me and screamed, then they
all started to beat me but ran off when smolt barked at
them, and "oleander," my vest parrot, hurled choice
words at them.
I heard their bus roar off and I hoped the scout leader
had no cell phone.
Jumping into my truck, I peeled out only to see a huge
hatch of flashing blue lights approaching. It was two
sherif's 4X4's, one state police, and one camouflaged
humvee with a pair of fifties mounted in a turret on
top. I thought they were pointing directly at me but
the whole caravan wizzed on by. Apparently, the girl
scouts had failed to accurately describe my truck
which was painted day-glow orange and had been parked
right next to them.
I contemplated what I had done, the crimes, the charges,
whatever: lewd and lascivious conduct, scaring children,
assault, mayhem and attempted murder, etc.
Surely this was an amber alert if there ever was one.
And I was just fishing!
I feared that if the heavies caught me they would beat
me to death for resisting arrest, even if I threw myself
on the ground. If not, I was looking at four or more
But they didn't get me. Though I am a hunted man, I'm
going back as soon as the coast is clear, that is free
of girl scouts and cops, and I am going to perfect my
upside down reverse cast if it kills me, which it nearly
did. ~ BOBLAWLESS
Lighter Side Archive