(Photo by Phil Walter/Getty Images)
"What is that," I asked my Grandfather, as we walked along the cold mountain stream. "That's fly fishing," he replied.
As he continued throwing his spinner, I sat, watching a man so graceful in his movements.
After a couple of minutes I asked my Grandfather, "why is his fishing pole so long? And why does he keep pulling the line behind him"? "Someday I'll show you," he says to me.
Well that day never had a chance to come.
I had fished nearly all my life, mainly in freshwater stream, rivers, and lakes.
Encounters with fly fishers were not uncommon on Pennsylvania waters. And, I always looked at them somewhat differently, almost as if they were weird. But, I was intrigued by this weird way of fishing.
I'd watched hunting and fishing shows on TV in high school. All of them, except if they were fly fishing. Afterall, I did not own that type of equipment.
I had little trouble catching some fish on spinning tackle, so why change methods if you already know what works. And besides, that fly fishing looked much too difficult to learn. I was there to catch fish.
During my college years, fishing was a religion to me. I would fish on the two on-campus ponds, or go to several nearby streams for trout.
There was also a lake down the road a friend and myself would sometimes kayak on and fish.
I spent a ton of my free time outdoors, perhaps four to five days a week doing something.
During a late Spring trip to the Pigg River in South Western Virginia, a friend and I walked up on a man that was fly fishing. We said Hello as he was casting, he did not turn around but said hello in reply.
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