I went fly fishing today, my first time—accomplished fly fishermen are potentially already laughing. In my defense, I’m currently taking a Summer course at the college. I’ve been practicing.

We cast on the soccer field, people walk by and snicker. It’s mildly humiliating.

So I finally ventured out today on my own with a tackle-box full of brand-new flies, tippets and leader lines. I caught so much stuff!

First, I caught my hat. Then after catching the bushes behind me a few times, I lost my fly in the water. After replacing the fly, I caught the tree above my head and lost yet another fly.

After twenty minutes of this business, a fisherman trolled by and asked how I was doing. I tried to play it off fancy, but my reel popped off the rod and dropped in the water (still don’t know how this happened). Red in the face, I picked up the reel and hurriedly tightened it back on, only to immediately get stuck in the tree again after my next cast.

“Fine…”, I said.

Later, as I was deciding a better name for “fly fishing” would be “snag stupid,” a family rolled up next to me and began to fish. Within a minute of the grandpa’s first cast, he caught a very keepable, beautiful long fish. He laughed, the family applauded and took pictures. It really was a joyous time. “After only one cast,” he kept saying!

I could’ve pushed the old man into the lake.

Fiddlesticks

So what was the total catch for the day?

8 bushes, 6 trees, 2 hats, and almost 1 lost reel. Fly-fishing is just a blast.

Truth be told, I actually caught 4 baby trout. By the time I reeled in my first fish, I was so proud I almost cried. After all the work and patience, all the trees and bushes, all the snags and dropped reels, I realized what fly fishing was all about: an amplified sense of accomplishment when anything good happens.

Yes, even if the “Good” is the size of an index finger.