“Birds share a fisherman’s world and are a part of his scene. Many are themselves fisherman. They are beauty and interests and associations, and they grow richer in meaning with every recognition, every added observation. It is possible, I suppose, to disregard them and still be a fisherman. But to do so is to miss the sport’s most brilliant counterpoint.” ---Roderick Haig-Brown from Fisherman’s Spring
I think Haig-Brown captures a prevailing opinion in the fly fishing world with this quote. Birds are an ever present entity beside streams and in wooded areas, and they are without a doubt the most often observed form of wildlife. Orvis, perhaps the biggest name in fly-fishing, also sells wingshooting supplies and the two sports have long been considered synonymous. I have been interested in fly-fishing’s sister sport for a while now, but have yet to make the leap. Perhaps I will once Doug Rose releases his duck hunting book.
Besides the plumage with which we construct our flies, we fisherman borrow many techniques from our avian peers. I remember when I was first instructed on the art of fly-fishing, a man named Roger did the honors, telling me to “act like a heron.” If I lacked anything yesterday morning it was the stealth of a heron.
I had gotten used to the murky early season waters of the Lake, and yesterday morning the water was fairly clear, with at least 20 feet of visibility. I nonetheless waded in with little resembling caution, and no doubt spooked most of my prospective quarry. The result was two hours of flailing the water in frustration. My now dependable fry patterns turned up next to nothing, a fact explained by the occasional 3 inch fry that followed my 1 inch pattern. I read recently that sockeye fry grow quickly in spring, averaging 1 inch in march and nearly 3 by june. Maybe my pattern is simply to small now. Or maybe the clear water has exposed my shoddy imitation, or maybe the fish just weren’t around and I am over thinking everything.
In any case, the wind was not helping my frustration, and in an attempt to remedy that I tied on a size 12 Hares Ear nymph for a change of pace. That resulted in the by catch of several fry, but little else. I was just about at my wits end. I began making casts and letting them drift in the slow beginnings of the river current. Letting myself become distracted by my surroundings.
I heard a sound and shortly after a flock of honking, clumsy canadian geese flew overhead. I watched them, deciding to myself that spring was officially giving way to summer, and plotting their demise at the hands of my twelve gauge this coming autumn. I began to wonder at the merits of goose feathers in steelhead flies when a sharp, strong pull almost wrenched the rod from my hands. I had little excess line so the fish was immediately on the reel, and taking line. I palmed the reel and began pumping the fish back to me. It occurred to me that this felt like it could be my biggest fish of the year.
The fish made no leaps, and indeed it seemed reluctant to leave the bottom, behavior indicative of a charr. I continued to work the fish, and eventually I could see the silvery flash through the glacial murk. Less than ten feet from me, the fish made a run to the surface, porpoised, and after briefly displaying his spotless orange tipped tail that must have measured 6 inches across, rolled on my 4x tippet and was gone.
The geese made a return lap, mere feet above my rod tip, as if in jest. I smiled, Haig-Brown is right. Fishing could not be what it is if not for the birds that provide it’s most interesting counterpoint.
