"Wading in and starting to fish to soon is the most common mistake fishermen make on high country lakes, or any other trout water for that matter."
John Gierach "Fly Fishing the High Country"
"Caddis Time" - Image by Neil Travis
Down through fly fishing history the caddisflies or sedges as they were long referred to in England and even in America, with the exception of a specific hatch or two the caddis were always regarded as the second class citizens, so to speak.
However over a period of years this view began to change as several fly fishing authors began to realize the importance of the caddis hatches on various waters.
Many of the historical volumes related patterns and methods of fishing the sedge or caddis hatches, however for this missive we are only going to refer to volumes by American fly fishing authors, with one notable exception and with two exceptions the volumes all refers to books published from 1972 to 2009 and who contributed to the increase in knowledge of the art of caddisfly fishing. The books that I will be referring to are all volumes which give excellent coverage to caddis flies, it is interesting to note that very few books have been dedicated to the caddis flies.
I headed out to a pond, but I did not take the canoe as I knew that it was way too wet to try to drive into this pond. When I got to the road into the pond I could see the water running over the road. At the bottom there was a small pond just before the little hump over the culvert and there was also an idiot that was stuck in the pond. Who in the heck is trying to drive in when the conditions were obviously like that? I decided this was not a good pond to try to go into. Just as I was getting ready to leave the person that farms this land came by and the things he said about the stuck car cannot be repeated. He did ask if I would help get it out and I agreed.
By the spring of 2014, I completed several assignments with my mentor and dressed many patterns on my own. The more I dressed the more I learned. Also as I completed one pattern, my interests grew to the next pattern. And so it continues.
I didn't consider getting this book till I become familiar to and comfortable with the entire subject. This is where enthusiasm and dedication to Atlantic Salmon Flies lead. This book is where I finally reached and sought for as I get more enthusiastic and more dedicated to the subject. Then I go more from & with this book!!
Why was I here when I could be home where I could settle into my recliner in the coolness of my front room? Truthfully I doubt that I could answer that question in any coherent way.
The sound of clicking wings as the male grasshoppers launching themselves over the hay meadows that flanked the stream was the only sound that broke the silence of the hot late summer day. A lone hawk was carving lazy circles in the hazy summer sky as I settled back in the shade of a cottonwood tree. The bark is rough against my back and even in the shade the summer heat was relentless and the occasional breeze was hot. A small trickle of sweat slid down my cheek and dripped on my shirt adding to the sweat that already soaked the fabric.
"Grandpa, why do you fish with flies?"
"Well, there are lots of reasons but I guess it's mostly just because I enjoy it."
"But couldn't you catch a lot more fish with a lure or bait and still have just as much fun?"
Dusk was close on our heels as my youngest son and I removed our waders after a long day of fishing and turned to gathering our belongings. We had enjoyed a day on near perfect water, under blue skies and no wind. The icing on the cake was the 4 fish we landed. Jake had gone fish-less on this day, but not for lack of trying. He fished like a champ the entire day, but the Piscatorial Gods were just not on his side. I was immensely proud of him however, as I watched him gain maturity with his casting and his understanding of the streams flow. Not bad for 12 years old. I reached for my rod in order to break it down when I saw them. He watched as I tracked a bug" through the air, then caught it with the back of my hand. There, in the fading light sat a Blue Quill.
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