Hello
all and thanks for checking in at The O’Grady Flyfishing Adventures. I hope you
all had an incredible and safe Independence Day. Over the weekend I got the
chance to sit back and reminisce over some of the truly incredible blessings
that we Americans have and the Awesomeness that is America. A few weeks back,
Cody, Cat and Cody’s cousin and I decided to waste a perfectly good day by
going golfing. As most of our readers know, I used to play quite a bit. My
handicap one summer dropped to a 4 but realistically I played at around a 7.
Now I know that I have not at all kept up with the game but really expect to
hit a few balls well. We got to one and my drive ended up in the driving range,
on two my drive flew straight and long but my approach was shanked right. Hole
after hole I could not put two descent shots together. I was ready to pull my
hair out, I was so frustrated (and yes I know it wouldn’t take much to pull
what little I have left). When I finished, Cody started laughing at me and
wanted to know why I took it so serious, after all, even as bad as I hit the
ball, I played the best. I thought about that for a day or so and realized why
it was so important to me, and in addition how close it resembles fly fishing.
When I
am standing on a tee box looking down the cactus surrounded fairway, my
thoughts race to “Me vrs. The fairway”, I could care less where the other
players hit their drives. My mindset on the approach is my trajectory and
direction and, no one else’s. On the green, it’s just me and the hole. Now when
the round is over, there might be time for a little talk or exchanging of coin,
but on the course it’s like I’m playing alone. I find flyfishing to be much the
same. I have never been a social fisherman, when I’m on the water it is me vs
the fish. Oh how I love to walk the bank, spot an eater, line up and cast, and
watch the fish demolish my fly. The fight, net, and a quick grip and grin are
cool, but the enjoyment and the true satisfaction comes from beating each and
every fish. Now when we get to the campfire at night, I may make mention or
two, or many times over about the numbers and sizes of my days boast, but on
the river it’s me versus the fish, period. I find myself to be a very
competitive person, but not so much with others, but by perfecting whatever I
do, and I think that is what is Great about the U.S.A..
This
weekend we made our yearly migration to the Taylor River and it was by far the
finest fishing we have ever seen. We had been watching the flows over the last
few weeks and were nervous we would have to cancel due to high water. The flows
began to ebb last week and turned the normally skittish Taylor into the perfect
eating storm. Jimbo, Brandon and Charlie
made it up a day earlier and Cat and I made it Wednesday afternoon. Cat and I
stepped into the river and before I even got my line wet, Cat let out her
“ciggle” and it was fish on. I think five of my first ten casts produced fish
and Cat turned to me and said, “are you sure this is the Taylor?”. We moved
slowly up river and I nestled into about a thirty foot stretch that all I would
do was spot a fish, get my junk near him, and then hold on. By early evening,
my hand and arm had cramped from being in the fighting position for so long. The
browns were as fat, chunky, and feisty as I had ever seen them. Yes there was a
little talk around the fire that evening, but everyone else had shot a pretty
good round as well. Thursday was a little more difficult, but I got my Eagle
when I landed the trip fish, a 23 inch bow. Friday and Saturday got a little
crowded but even though the fishing toughened, we continued to catch fish. I
have to say that after watching Cat, Brandon, Jimbo and even Charlie demolish
fish this weekend, I don’t think I have ever been more proud of a bunch of
fishermen. It warms my heart to think that just maybe I played a role in
helping them see their full fly fishing potentials. They have all become great,
just a little less great than me….hehe.
Now, a little
on the non fishing joys of the trip. When we first got to our campsite, we let
Winston out of the back of the vehicle. Winnie took a quick look around and I
could see his eyelids raise and he began to prance around the camp as if he had
missed it as much as us. I’m not sure if dogs technically smile but his mile
wide grin put a chill down my back. When leaving on Sunday, we just happened to
look up and saw a moose getting a drink, thank you God, you get an A+ for
making them. Now on a funny note, if you have ever fished with me or been
guided by me and you hooked a tree, than you have heard my Dr Seuss comments, no
matter what he wrote, there are no fish in that tree. I know Brandon heard it
on Thursday. Anyways I did a first, in one of our favorite runs we cast with
the dirt road at our backs. The road does not see a lot of traffic so it is not
something we usually worry about. At one point I looked up and saw two vehicles
coming by, I waited and after hearing the second vehicle pass, I went to cast
mode. As I was casting, I suddenly heard another vehicle and one of the
passengers exclaimed that I had caught them. Sheepishly I turned and saw a
stopped truck with my flies lodged into the corner of its mouth (the antenna).
Luckily they laughed about it and I was able to retrieve my flies. Cat thought it was so funny she took several pics and yep, one even made it into the video.
It’s a good thing I was fishing the One with the Sage 4200 reel or I may have
not been able to bring the Ford to a complete submission. Hehe. And lastly, we
had several nephews and friends camp with us and I learned a valuable lesson,
that even without fireworks teenagers can still light up the sky with gasoline.
What an incredible way to spend Americas Independence weekend. I hope you all
enjoy watching the video as much as we had making it. As always, Connell, Cat,
Winton, Brandon, Jimbo, Charlie, Uncle Sam, and the Drift Fly Shop want to
thank you for reading and watching…..
