What The Trout Taught by Beth Wilson

Volume 6 Issue 4
Quarterly Newsletter of the Dame Juliana League
What The Trout Taught
Y
ou are not long in this world
before you start figuring out
that there are many lessons
in life: but it takes a little
maturity to realize that not
all of them must be learned
by Beth Wilson
scription. Part of the wonder of this is
knowing that it is all so chancy: you're
dancing with a wild thing, a free thing
that you have tethered for a moment, but
with a chain that is so fragile and so thin
that you can't entirely believe that it will
really bind the bursting heart of that
creature on the other end. You know, after all, that it is truly the heart of the
thing that tugs so furiously in your
hands: you know it because you can feel
it beating and singing and loving right
up your line and down the twanging
length of your rod. You fall instantly and
completely in love with that dangerous
heart, and risk the loss because, although
painfully.
I am forty now, and I must admit that I
am having a whole lot more fun learning
now than I did when I was twenty. In
fact, I wouldn't go back there for anything. I work with young girls that age,
and listen to the angst in their voices as
they discuss the things that are important
to them. I realize that I haven't felt that
kind of distress in a very long time, especially not in reference to a few
pounds gained or a man slipping
away.
The years have put a different
view on things, and changed the
perspective on what is important
enough to rack up blood pressure
points over, and what should be
approached, not with fatalistic resignation, but a certain clear-eyed
acceptance of the rightness of what
is. When you begin to learn that
GVA and DJL workcrew at the Slaughterhouse site .
reality is your friend, and the fact
that things are the way they are because that's really the best way for them you can only hold onto it for a moment,
to be, life and its appended learning be- it is a heart the memory of which will
comes more of an interesting puzzle to touch yours for the rest of your life, and
play with than a booby trap waiting to that is well worth the letting go when the
go off in your unsuspecting face.
moment of release inevitably comes.
This is one of the things that I have
When we think of each other, and the
learned from trout.
loves that we share, are we really reaThere is probably nothing in the world sonable when we believe that any love is
so unbelievably beautiful, so completely any more secure than that? Don't we
desirable to an angler than a spectacular, learn that love, like catching the trout,
feisty trout on the other end of the line. requires patience and tenacity and reTo hold on to that lovely creature, to try spect and care? Don't we always feel the
to bring him to your hand while know- strongest passion for the one least likely
ing that he, at any moment, could snap to be tamed? Don't we learn, as time
the hair-like leader with a toss of his goes by, the needful joy of letting go?
sleek head and dart away into the depths Don't we always remember, in the midst
of his alien world is a thrill beyond de- of our thankfulness for the one who
Winter 2000/2001
Notes From The
Tying Bench
by Bob Molzahn
inter is here and I hope you
have had a chance to fish the
midge hatch on the Little
Lehigh or Tulpehocken.
Reports from a few members
indicate that French Creek is also holding up well, with good numbers of summer holdover and fall stocked trout for
the catching. If you think that fishing is
over for the year think again, this is one
of my favorite times of the year to fish
because no one is on-stream, the fish are
usually hungry and it is a short day so
you don’t have to knock yourself out.
Try it out.
I am pleased to report that the MidAtlantic Council of the Federation of
Fly Fishers (MAC-FFF) Annual Banquet and fundraiser was fairly successful
and raised needed funds for education
and conservation projects. I was very
pleased to receive two awards from the
council, the 2000 Individual Award of
Excellence and the Frank B. Smoot
Conservation Award. As always, there
is a story behind the story, and the story
here is that I had a lot of energy and support from some very dedicated MACFFF and League members. If I tried to
name all our members that has participated in MAC-FFF activities and supported
me over the years I know I would miss a
few. You know who you are. Therefore,
I would just like to say thanks to all of
you for being a part of it. In my mind,
we all share these awards.
Todd Palmer and I were recently
elected to the Board of Directors of the
Green Valleys Association. An avid fly
fisherman, Todd joined the League earlier this year during the slaughterhouse
demolition fundraising campaign. He
quickly got involved in a big way and is
now the webmaster for the MAC-FFF.
He and his marketing firm, Virtual
Farm Creative, also produced a superb
(Notes is continued on page 6)
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STREAMSIDE
Trout Fishing Adventures
s a child, growing up in Altoona,
Pennsylvania, I had three
sporting
interests,
baseball,
football and basketball. At some
stage in my life girls were added
to that list, but I was much less skilled in
this activity, so devoted most of my time
to the others. Most of my friends were
interested in hunting and fishing, but I had
dreams of being the next great star for the
Pittsburgh Pirates. Note that the time
frame for this was in the 1940's and early
1950's, so being good enough to play for
Pittsburgh did not seem too far-fetched.
My Father and older brother, Don were
avid trout fishermen, but the sport held no
attraction for me - boring.
When I was 16, some friends convinced
me to go deer hunting, promising that it
would be one of my most exciting
adventures. I was a little concerned
because I had never even shot a BB gun,
but they gave me 10 minutes of instruction
on how to use something called a 30/30, or
was it an aught six? Anyway, we set out
for Brush Mountain on a cold,
bleak autumn day. The group
included my older brother, and
several of his friends. They took
me to some secluded place on the
mountain and said, "Stay here.
We'll drive the deer to you and you
can shoot one." With that they left
for parts unknown. I'm not sure
whether I was more frightened by being
left alone in the mountain or by the
thought of having to pull the trigger of this
weapon I was holding. I waited for what
seemed an eternity, hearing nary a sound
nor seeing anything but brush and trees. I
was cold alone and scared.
I was
convinced that this was Don's plan to get
rid of me. I was the baby, Dad's favorite
and he had had enough. We were not a
religious family, but I prayed, "Dear Lord,
please get me out of here and I promise
that I will never do anything this stupid
again." My prayers were answered. Don
had a change of heart and decided he
wouldn't be able to explain how he
allowed me to freeze to death, so he came
and got me.
I tried to keep my promise. I never went
hunting again. I did however do many
other stupid things in my life. On was to
try up the "game" of golf.
I read
A
somewhere that the Scots once committed
a grievous sin and God's punishment was
to introduce them to the sport of golf. The
Americans must have also sinned, because
golf found its way to the good old US of
A. I played at the Park Hills Course in
Altoona. I had taken more strokes than I
can begin to count, and I'm sure I hadn't
counted all of them, when the manager of
the course came to me and asked that I
leave because I was doing too much
damage to the course. Golf - an enormous
waste of man's time and nature's land.
Certain proof that Satan is among us.
My dreams of becoming a star for the
Pittsburgh Pirates came crashing down
during my senior year in high school. I
was a very good player, but there was one
pitcher in town, Bill Cochran, who struck
me out every time I batted against him.
His fast ball was faster than the speed of
sound. There was no doubt that Bill would
become of baseball's greatest pitchers of
all time. Branch Ricky, himself, signed
Bill to a contract to pitch for the Pirates. A
by Larry Shaheen
near Phoenixville, where a canal fed into
the Schuylkill River. Using our spinning
rods with worms as bait, we caught
countless sunfish. We christened this spot
as "The World's Greatest Fishing Place."
Hmm, fishing isn't so boring after all. I
don't remember how it happened but
someone must have suggested that I try
fishing for trout. I agreed and this was the
beginning of many days and several
frustrating, fruitless and fishless years.
My children became discouraged and quit
fishing.
They found baseball and
basketball more exciting. I however was
determined. I continues to spend many
hours on the trout stream with no success.
Finally I met a fly fisherman who took me
under his wing and gave me some fishing
lessons. I had only modest success, but
compared to no success, this was heaven.
A pecking order exists among fishermen.
Bait fishermen are at the bottom, spin
fishermen only slightly higher, but fly
fishermen were the elite of all fishermen,
in fact, the premier sportsmen of the entire
world! I, a mediocre fly fisherman
at best, could look down my nose at
bait and spin fishermen even though
they caught ten trout for every one
that I managed to catch. Not a
problem, after all, I was a fly
fisherman. Alas there is also a
pecking
order
amongst
fly
fishermen. Dry fly fishermen look
with disdain upon those who use wet flies
and streamers, and barely tolerate nymph
fishermen.
Years passed. I continued to fly fish
with limited success. I have spent many
enjoyable hours fly fishing and have
convinced myself that the sport was more
that simply catching the elusive, wily
trout, It was the enjoyment of the great
outdoors that really mattered. I became a
"catch and release" fisherman, meaning I
could claim to have caught and released
countless fish without having to show
proof. Life was good!
I now want to share with you a few of
my most memorable moments in pursuit of
the wily trout.
“I became a "catch and release" fisherman,
meaning I could claim to have caught and
released countless fish without having to
show proof.”
reality check came a few months later
when Bill returned home. He had been
told that his fast ball was not good enough
for the Pittsburgh Pirates! Not good
enough? In those days, Pittsburgh was
eliminated from the pennant race by May
1! The message was clear. Study, go to
college and get a job.
I did all of the above, married and had
children - and I was actually happy. When
my son was 5 years old he came to me and
said, "Dad, please take me fishing." No
Father would refuse such a request. I
immediately went to the local department
store and bought fishing equipment for my
self, my 5-year-old son and my six-yearold daughter. Not wanting to admit that I
was a pilgrim, I didn't ask for advice. I
bought closed-bale-spinning rods, with May 15, 1997
line and hooks big enough to land a whale. I have fished most of Pine Creek for the
For reasons I no longer remember we past 25 years. I have fished the uppermost
started fishing in a town call Monte Clare, stretches in Potter County, the beautiful
STREAMSIDE
section that passes through the Grand Canyon of PA. I have fished parts of the Pine
Valley where the stream is lined with majestic Pine trees, beautiful Hemlocks and
magnificent Mountain Laurel, down to the
quaint villages of Cedar Run and Slate
Run. I have fished near the lovely town of
Waterville where the little Pine Creek
flows into the Big Pine. All spectacular!
My favorite section, however, is the section where the creek passes through the
Village of Blackwell. No Pines or Hemlock, no Mountain Laurel, but the Blackwell Hotel is located across the road from
Pine Creek and one can leave the creek and
walk to the hotel for a burger and a beer
without having to remove one's waders. .
What a great idea - putting a trout stream
across the road from a taproom!
I just returned from my annual mid-May
trek to Pine Creek. Last Wednesday, I left
home at 3 AM and arrived at the creek in
Blackwell at 6. Started to fish and in the
first hour, I caught three trout, missed several, and had my tippet broken twice (I was
using a large nymph with 6X tippet - won't
waste your time explaining why). What a
glorious start to my day! Soon the sun was
shining and a while a Hendrickson hatch
was on the water, no fish rose to the flies.
I had no luck at all even though I used a
variety of Hendrickson flies and other
nymphs. A fisherman about 20 yards upstream from me was chumming with corn
and catching a trout on almost every cast.
Soon he had caught his limit and left. I
went to that spot and fished for about an
hour with no action at all. Noticed another
fisherman coming down stream using corn
so I stepped aside so he could fish in the
same spot. Told him what had been happening and invited him to try corn. It took
two casts for him to catch a trout in the
same spot I had been fishing. It was his
limit so he took it and went home. I spent
another hour using every fly I had with no
success. After a while I heard a voice," Is
this section fly fishing only?" I told him,
"No, it is open water." He asked," Why
then is everyone here fly fishing?" I
looked around and saw five other fishermen, all fly fishing. I told him, "All of the
bait fishermen have caught their limit and
have gone home." It was 1:30, I had been
fishing hard, with no action since about 7
AM. Time for a burger and a beer. Waded
across the stream, walked across the road
to the Blackwell Hotel and to my dismay
Page 3
was greeted by a sign - Open weekends soaked, I got into my car and headed
only until Memorial Day.
home. When I entered the house, my wife
Louise asked, "Is there something you
March 12, 1998
want to tell me?" I said, " Not until I've
It was a typical early April day in Penn- had a hot shower!"
sylvania, cold and damp. In fact, it was
raining. No matter, I had cabin fever and May 18, 1999
was going fishing. I had not fished the fly- Today was a warm, lazy day. A good
fishing, catch and release stretch of the day to go to French Creek to fish for a
Pickering Creek, near Phoenixville, but while. Couldn't stay too long because, it is
had heard that it was an excellent trout Tuesday, the day that I demonstrate that I
stream. I parked my car and walked down can't play tennis very well.
to the stream. Narrow, but interesting. I I drove to the creek, about 1/2 hour away
rigged my fly rod and put on my favorite and saw that there were four other fisherearly season fly, the Bitch Creek nymph. men nearby, but none on the stretch where
Success! I caught a trout on the first cast! I wanted to fish. Parked, put on my waders
Since the stream was new to me, I decided and headed for the stream. Was standing
to wade down stream to learn more about aside the creek tying on a Hendrickson wet
the stream. Whilst wading down stream, I fly when I saw a fox approaching. I have
passed two geese on there way upstream. fished this creek for 35 years and have
Nature at it’s finest. A beautiful sight that never before seen a fox along the creek.
almost made me forget that it was 35o F. This guy looked like he hadn't had a meal
and raining. Seeing nothing of interest in weeks. Had a big bushy tail, but the rest
downstream, I returned to my original spot of him looked wasted. I smiled and said,
and started to fish. My first cast was into "Hello Mister Fox, I haven't been doing
the bushes across the stream, resulting in a that well either." He bared his teeth and
tangled leader. I was standing in the mid- started walking toward me, making it very
dle of the stream untangling my line when clear that he didn't like me. I immediately
I hear a faint sound. I looked up to see a got into the stream to get away from him
goose; wings tucked in heading straight for and he came right in after me. It was soon
my head. In the few seconds that fol- apparent that he could swim faster than I
lowed, I learned two things about myself. could wade backwards, so I turned and
One, my reflexes were still pretty good and waded faster - he was still gaining. Anothtwo, I screamed as a soprano. I dove into er fisherman about 20 yards upstream was
the water just in time as the goose flew watching but offered no help. I hastened
past me. I struggled back to the bank, back t o land with the fox in pursuit. He
soaked, hat askew, glasses dripping water came out of the water and walked slowly
and tried to compose myself. After some toward me, teeth bared. I was panicky!
time I untangled my line, dried my glasses Thoughts of rabies and other bad things
and looked to be sure that no one had wit- were going through my mind. Finally I
nessed this spectacle. I was in luck. No took my fly rod and made like Zorro with
one else had come to the stream on such a it. It worked! The fox walked slowly back
miserable day. I looked down at the into the woods. Wow!
stream to see the two geese swimming by. I fished for about 15 minutes, but it's hard to
All was tranquil, all was right. Chilled and fish whilst looking back over your shoulder
so I got out and headed for my car. By this
time the other fisherman had worked his way
We welcome our
down stream. His only comment, "I saw it
new members!
but I still don't believe it."
——————
Chris Kovach & Family
Chris O’Brien
Dwayne Fetterman
Jeff Bonis
John McCann
Josh Hanna
Richard Schaeffer
Tom Hartman
Because I started fishing rather late in life, I
was not all that knowledgeable in the habits
of wildlife. These episodes provided an accelerated education about life in the great
outdoors. I probably should have spent more
time learning to hit Bill Cochran's fast ball.
Page 4
STREAMSIDE
Here’s To My Old Man
Book Review: Wishing My Father Well by William Plummer
by Todd Palmer
he times that my father took me
fishing were rare. I really can’t
blame him because, looking
back, I didn’t appreciate those
excursions with the intensity
they deserved. Not until my own son came
of fishing age did I remember the moments
my father spent streamside with me with a
new respect. And that was only recently.
A man of many capabilities, my father
didn’t solicit his wisdom. He had to be
approached to extract his knowledge;
asked to exploit his direction. Fishing with
him was like business, you set your goals
and reached them or, failing that, beat
yourself down trying to reach them. I was
far less goal-oriented on those infrequent
expeditions, often willing to abandon my
rod in pursuit of crayfish, salamanders and
rope swings.
Not until my father passed away last
Forth of July did I realize that I had lost a
valuable resource. Not only had an unparalleled father been extracted from my life,
but a close friend who was constantly researching and gaining knowledge to share
for the asking was gone. I had lost a living
flyfishing reference.
A few days ago I turned to the last page
of the definitive book on fathers and sons
and flyfishing. Wishing My Father Well by
William Plummer (Overlook Press, 2000)
is a short read that echoes the relationship
T
between my father and myself in some
ways while offering solid distinctions that
made me appreciate our unique relationship more than I had.
Penned by an editor of People magazine,
Wishing is often Hemingwayesque in its
brevity. Plummer stylishly packs each sentence with emotions ranging from
measures of regret toward his departed
father to hopeful moments concerning his
own dysfunctional family.
Flyfishing was the common bond between Plummer and his father, although
the author didn’t come to the sport until he
discovered his father’s fishing journal not
long after his father’s funeral.
Wishing My Father Well follows
Plummer’s chronological exploration of
the diary, which becomes a sort of sacred
map into his father’s life. A life that Plummer had not scratched the surface of while
his father lived it. The diary provides the
middle-aged son with glimpses into his old
man’s boyhood, strengths, fallibles, fatherhood and fishing secrets. Along the journey, Plummer not only learns to flyfish and
love it, but he extracts other crucial truths
from his father’s clipped longhand that
help him begin to repair a fractured relationship with his own son.
Not long after closing the cover on Wishing My Father Well I began keeping a fishing diary. I usually steer well clear of the
Fisherman’s Prose
The Dumb Ones
I approach the stream with stealth and cunning
And look for signs of hungry trout
But when I see one, my heart starts running
And I tie on a fly, like a hurried scout
I make ready to cast, all things in order
The line unfurls, there's an awful splash
My twisted face, shows my brain disorder
But lucky for me, the fish didn't dash
Its an ugly drift, with a knotted leader
But I've seen this before, and stick to my guns
He rises and takes it, he's a hungry feeder
When he's in the net, I give thanks for dumb ones
sentimental side of flyfishing, avoiding old
clocks embedded in old reels and such, but
the results Plummer achieved after discovering his Dad’s journal couldn’t help but
make me recall my father and his goals.
My father didn’t just fish toward a goal
but his life’s goals were periodically
summed up on sheets of yellow legal paper
and he often attempted to get me to do the
same. I rarely did and don’t now. Even
today, when I go fishing, my goal is more
about relaxing than tricking a trout. Most
of my life goals now concern my children
who will, hopefully in the distant future,
find a small book in the spare reel pocket
of a tattered old vest and learn something
about their old man that will help them.
Wishing My Father Well is a moving
story littered with memorable musings
(“The absence of pain is like the color
white, which is not a color at all, but
which, after a steady diet of black, can
seem like a color. At least it can for a
while.”) and happily cluttered with measured moments (“Mistakes are fees for
learning.”). There are pools of dramatic,
triumphant and witty moments in this short
book that are worth discovering for yourself. And, like a good trout pool, if you
don’t find them productive you’ll at least
find them endearing.
by Jack Kane
Store Fishing
When you go out to the FFO
You might find people who just for show
Are all decked out from head to toe
But they were hooked in the fishing store
And are loaded down with gadgets galore
So much so that they sit on shore
If catching something is what they wish
It might be easier to fill their dish
If they'd wet the hook and snag a fish
But its more likely they'll retire early
To the pub on the corner and waitress Shirley
To order fish and french fries curly
STREAMSIDE
Page 5
Black Earth Creek, Black Earth, Wisconsin
The Humor In
Fly Fishing
May 21-23, 1995 and May 21-23, 2000
by Lance Morien
hen planning a business trip to
Madison, Wisconsin in May
1995, I remembered reading
about a local Wisconsin TU
Chapter receiving accolades
for a trout stream improvement project. I
found the article in the TU magazine and
learned that the stream was not far from
Madison. This meant I had to include
packing my fly fishing equipment for this
trip. I contacted the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources and obtained a
fishing license via US mail. I flew out on
Sunday and was able to reach the stream
by 3 PM on a sunny, windy 75 degree F
day. I started out with a reliable bead-head
hares ear nymph and it came through in
short order producing a small rainbow.
Similar all-purpose #16 gray nymphs
worked well that day, and I landed 17
rainbows from 6-12" and missed several
others. Not much in the way of hatches
except for a few caddis and crane flies.
The next day I did not fare as well. The
weather was threatening rain. I fished the
two hours before dusk and managed to
catch two and lose two. It rained lightly
all day on Tuesday but the stream was
fishable. At the first hole, I caught 1
rainbow and missed another. At the next
hole, a nice, narrow, deep run with good
flow, I missed another then caught the fish
of the trip, a beautifully colored 14-15"
brown that took a sulfur emerger. I drove
to another access where I fished into darkness with streamers. I managed to land a
few more fish and finished the night and
the trip at 9 PM with a 12" brown caught
on a purple streamer (more on the purple
streamer at another time).
Black Earth Creek (BEC) is located
about ½ hour west of Madison in an area
known as the driftless area of southwest
Wisconsin. The spring creeks in this unglaciated area are limestone streams because of the calcium and magnesium in
the ground water. BEC is a small stream
with good public access. The stream varies a lot: not too many riffles, some shallow stretches, some deep "earthy" looking
holes, no trees in some spots with corn
fields plowed within feet of the stream,
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and some very brushy difficult-to-get-at
areas. There are sections with special regulations where I did most of my fishing.
The TU chapter worked with local dairy
farmers to limit where the cows have access to the stream thus minimizing damage to the banks. They also placed a lot
of stone to direct the stream flow better
and to prevent erosion.
Exactly 5 years later, I had the opportunity to return to Madison for "business",
so the Winston, Tom Morgan's favorite 4weight, was going on another trip.
Again, I arrived mid-afternoon on Sunday. It was warm and sunny but the area
had received enough rain prior to my trip
to make the stream a bit high and offcolor. On a positive note, I did chat with
a fly fisherman just before I was going to
start, and he did manage to catch a few. It
was tough but I did catch two small
browns. On Monday, the water was still
off-color but better than the day before.
Nothing hatching. I fished with various
nymphs from about 5-8 PM and got
skunked. Tuesday turned out better. I
fished from 5 till dark and caught 7 rainbows using a sulfur nymph and sulfur
emerger combination. There was large
gathering of sulfurs over the water, so I
stayed late, but there was no spinner fall.
Frequent business travel gets old quick,
but if you are able to locate a nearby fishery, be it coldwater or warm, it takes the
edge off and gives you the opportunity to
fish a new area of the country. Does anybody know about flyfishing in McPhearson, Kansas? I will be headed that way!
If you are interested in reading more
about the spring creek fishing in Wisconsin, try, Fly Fishing Midwestern Spring
Creeks-Angler's Guide to Trouting the
Driftless Area, Ross A. Mueller, 1999, R.
Mueller Publications, 400 South Court,
Appleton, WI 54911, ($15.95).
Editors Note- At one time I was accused
of being the “travelling fisherman” because of all the fishing trips I took as part
of business trips. Thanks Lance for taking the monkey off my back.
he setting is a warm late spring day
on a Pennsylvania trout stream, fishing with a fellow fly fisherman. I
was standing on a rock outcropping
drifting a nymph through a nice run,
when I accomplished a first, for me,
in my many years of fly fishing for trout.
Suddenly my knee crumpled, the object of
my recent surgery, and my world changed.
Every thing happened in slow motion, mentally for me. As I started to fall my choices
became, fall straight down among the rocks,
risking injury and possibly damage to my rod,
etc., or diving for the open water. I chose the
latter. When I hit the water I was in the face
down, arms outstretched position. I can only
imagine what my fishing buddy thought as he
first heard this huge splash and then saw the
large wake I created.
It is amazing how lucid and calm a person
can be in a moment of calamity. I remember
thinking, I'm not hurt, I still have hold of my
rod, and I need to get to the surface for air,
etc. I calmly righted myself and was able to
stand upright in water high up my chest and
hideously filling my waders. The first thing I
could think of to say to my buddy who was
setting speed records crossing the stream and
bank between us, was how did you score my
dive? He responded with a resounding 10!
Once my friend determined the only thing
damaged was my pride, the typical comments
started and never let up and continued when I
arrived home and my wife was informed of
the incident. A few days later we had our
monthly clubmeeting and it’s amazing how
many people were aware of my misadventure,
even though it happened on an isolated stream
with only one witness.
There is a lesson to the story. Accidents on
the stream can and do happen and the lesson I
learn was to always carry a complete change
of clothes no matter how warm the weather is.
I can attest that wearing a spare set of waders
over wet underwear is not an experience I
care to repeat. I have since packed a small
duffel bag with spare clothes, towel, etc. Just
in case!
Remember fly fishing is meant to be enter-
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taining and enjoyable, even if you are the
one supplying the entertainment.
(by Don Van Buren, Vice President of the
North Coast Fly Fishers for the FFF ClubWire Email Newswire)
Page 6
STREAMSIDE
Wading Deep
ecently I missed the last weekend of
the trout season. The rivers were on
the rise and I am certain the fresh
kings moved in.
The cooler
conditions should have sparked the
river smallmouth to their fall feeding binge.
I didn't go fishing. In fact, I volunteered to
sit all day in a cool, damp tent and teach fly
tying to kids. Know what? As much as I
love my fishing, I'd do it again in a heartbeat.
Maybe it's part of getting older, or of a been
-there-done-that attitude. Probably more of
the, "is this all there is?"quandary that usually
brings us to fly fishing in the first place. It's
just time to give back to the thing that brings
us so much happiness.
Little else brings me to the level of
euphoria as standing in a river with flyrod in
hand, surveying holding lies up and down the
stream, picking out the prime one and saying
to myself, "he's there." Then as if on
command, a fish rises in that exact place.
Places where you can do that are worth
fighting for.
We all have different agendas in life and
the rights to pursue them. Somewhere in our
constitution it says we have the right to the
R
Notes
is continued from page 1
video for the MAC-FFF banquet on the
Youth Fly Fishing Camp we held last
June at the Whitetail Resort in Mercersburg. We plan to show the video at an
upcoming League meeting. Todd’s experience in marketing and my background in
environmental regulatory and fisheries
issues will hopefully be an asset to GVA in
fostering their mission.
By the way, if you haven’t been past the
corner of Pughtown Road and Hollow
Road recently you will be in for a big
shock. The Arena Slaughterhouse has
been obliterated through the fine work of
GVA. There is no longer any sign of it.
Thanks to a work crew of GVA and
League members, the site’s vegetation has
been cleaned-up and the ground has been
reseeded and planted with native shrubs
and trees. A fisherman’s trail and a small
parking area has been constructed. A sign
memorializing the effort and recognizing
the sponsors has also been installed. This
coming year we are planning to construct a
“jumpdown” access to French Creek in an
effort to minimize erosion on the steep
bank leading to one of my favorite fishing
FFF ClubWire Exclusive
pursuit of happiness. Our lakes, rivers,
streams and forests are my happiness. This is
one reason I joined an FFF club in the first
place. We have the same agenda -- to do
what we can to protect that what makes us
happy. It takes a lot of voices to be heard,
and many hands to complete a project.
But where do all these voices and hands
come from? Is it the moral and ethical
upbringing from our parents? Is it the
Christian belief that you only reap what you
sow? Or is it possibly the words from the
great, late Lee Wulff that a fish is too
valuable a resource to be caught only once.
Or is it the simple act of a complete stranger,
taking us by the hand and teaching us how to
fly cast or to tie a fly as a child that leaves an
indelible impression. One that sets us on our
way to a future consciousness in
conservation, to protecting our valuable
resources and our happiness.
Just as Johnny Appleseed went around
planting apple seeds to share this fruit with
everyone, so are we Johnny Consciousness.
We go around to different outdoor shows and
plant the seeds of consciousness by teaching
youngsters how to fly fish and fly tie.
holes in the Delayed Harvest Area.
I would like to thank League membersBeth Wilson, Larry Shaheen, Lance
Morien, Jack Kane, and Todd Palmer
for making this edition of STREAMSIDE
one of the best ones ever. Their articles,
poems, and stories are what makes this
newsletter fun to edit and publish. This
past year, members John Burgos, Joe
King, Larry Heimes, Ed Nugent, Joe
Flather, Gil Detweiler, Bruce Baker,
Ted Danforth and Mel Walters also contributed articles to this newsletter. Thanks
folks...and keep them coming!
Last but not least, after the last issue of
STREAMSIDE is was pointed out to me
that “Good riddens” is actually spelled
“Good riddance”. Realize that I depend on
my computer’s spellchecker to catch these
sorts of goofs and alert me to the proper
spelling. For some reason, the latest, most
advanced technology available failed me
and I was left embarrassed, once again.
Sorry Mr. Webster, I will try to do better
next time.
Have a great holiday season. Tight lines
to one and all, and to all a goodnight!
Sharing our love of the sport and of the
outdoors, hopefully germinating an interest in
their hearts for it.
For we are only so many and can do only
so much. If we plant these seeds early, and
keep cultivating them, hopefully years down
the road we'll see new fly fishermen and new
conservationists. We provide new hands and
voices to our joint causes. More importantly,
someone to carry on for us what we hold
dear now and want to preserve for our
children and our children's children.
Sitting at the fishing show, having just
finished helping about my fifteenth child tie a
woolly bugger and again stating that it was
the best fly tied all day, I watched his eyes
light up and a smile beam across his face.
I looked deep in his eyes and I was
standing in a river with a fly rod in hand.
(by Craig Riendeau of the Dupage River Fly
Tyers of Glenn Ellyn, Illinois)
Book Excerpt
ou do not feel time in the river
every time you fish, but sooner or
later you will feel it. Some day
you will reel in and turn your back
on a river to wade toward shore,
and you will see, or hear, or smell something
and a sharp sense of time passing will come
on you like joy, or fatigue. It will send a little
shiver up your spine, and you will feel grateful and afraid. Then you will busy yourself
with some practical task, and the fear and the
gratefulness will subside.
Y
Christopher Camuto, A Fly Fisherman's Blue
Ridge, Holt, 1990. From FFF ClubWire,
November 2000.
The next edition of STREAMSIDE is
due out in March 2001. If you would
like to write an article, story or poem
please do so and send it to me, Bob
Molzahn at
[email protected] or
P. O. Box 178, Kimberton, PA 19442
by February 28. All articles received
STREAMSIDE
Trout
Page 7
continued from page 1
stayed, the one that got away?
There is a lesson in that.
The trout teaches us to blend in, and to
do that, we have to consider where we are,
and to wake up to it. Looking around, we
will see things that we never saw before
just so we can learn to look like we belong.
Is it so bad to know our environment so
well, to notice the nooks and crannies of
our existence that we can fit in if we want
to? None of us like to think of ourselves as
conformist, I suppose, but there are worse
things than knowing our surroundings and
ourselves well enough to know how to
look natural.
Is it conformity or camouflage?
My friend, a very good fishing guide and
fly tying expert, says that when you fish
where he guides, the water is so clear and
the cover so sparse that you'd best go out
there and look like a tree. This is
interesting, because he is not exactly what
you would call a conformist by any stretch,
but he is successful because he can blend
in when it counts. He catches fish because
he has spent so much time thinking about
being a tree that you look at him and see a
tree. He is tall and lanky, leaning slightly
to one side as if he grew on the bank of a
stream, and he moves like the wind is
blowing him.
The lines of his face are like the lines on
the face of an oak. His hair curls around
his head as if waiting for some nesting
songbird to make it home. Most of his
clothing is the color of the wood: greens,
browns, shadowy blue-blacks and sunny
bits of gold. He has become a tree, and it
gives him a comforting quality that makes
you just love him right off. He and his
trout teach that conformity can be a nice
thing-it seems, though, that the secret is to
always find yourself having to blend into
an environment that is beautiful. Never be
anyplace where you would be ashamed to
fit in.
There is a lesson in that.
There is so much in life that requires our
attention, and there are so many of us
asleep. The lessons become painful when
that inattention gets the better of us, and
when life's harsher side takes us by
surprise.
The trout teaches us to pay attention,
because it's rare that you catch him without
thinking, and, if you should happen to, the
chance is good that he will break away
from you before you bring him to hand.
No one can teach lost opportunity like a
trout.
Even more important than that is the
lesson of the other hazards of inattention.
The saddest part of not paying heed is that
you miss so much sweetness, so many of
the things that could make you happy. All
of the anglers I know can tell you which
way the wind is blowing at any given time.
They not only saw the colors of the sunset
last night, but also the ones in the sunrise
this morning. They know what phase the
moon is in. They know what is blooming,
what insects are hatching, what birds are to
be found in what spot and what their song
is like. Because all of these things affect
their ability to pursue their happiness, they
have learned to become aware of all the
little things that can add beauty and joy to
a life. This perceptiveness bleeds over into
other aspects of life as well. Most men
who fish can remember the exact color of
your eyes, the dimple in your cheek, the
color of your favorite dress. Any woman
will tell you, this ability is a very important
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thing to be taught, and any man who has
that ability can tell you that it always pays
off.
What the trout teaches is not always
about trout, or about the pursuit of him.
What the trout teaches is how to live, how
to calm you and hunker down and get
comfortable with life. More than anything,
the trout has taught me how to feel at ease
in the world, just as he does. He is a
strange creature, whose world is full of
hazards like herons and kingfishers and
other, bigger fish and men with rods. But
the trout pushes forward, not heedlessly,
because inattention would mean his
demise, but with the plain perspective that
life must be lived fully, even in the midst
of those things, which would take life
away. He spooks, but he also rises-he
keeps danger in the corner of his golden
eye while looking life straight on.
We live in a sad and dangerous world,
and not all of it wishes us well.
We are absolutely reasonable to feel
spooked, but at the same time we must
participate with our whole selves, or we
are lost. We can view the more unpleasant
aspects of life without taking them to heart,
and we can learn from them with as little
pain as the trout feels when the hook bites
just the corner of his lip, no more than that.
He glides away no worse for the wear, and
a whole lot wiser.
So can we.
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Page 8
STREAMSIDE
Dame Juliana League
Fly Fishers
-Our 30th Anniversary-
President- Bob Molzahn
Vice President- Larry Heimes
Secretary- Rick Stevens Treasurer- Joe Flather
Sponsor Relations- Joe King
Fly Fishing Course- Sheldon Toombs/Ed Nugent
Stream Improvement- Larry Heimes
Outreach- Mel Walters
Board Members- Bob Moser Jr.,
Jeff Nissle, Dick Allebach
Member dues per calendar year are
$15-Individual, $20-Family.
For new members please add $5.
Articles, news, and fly tying tips are gratefully
accepted. Please send them to
Bob Molzahn
([email protected])
P. O. Box 178, Kimberton, PA 19442
610-948-0667 (FAX)
Editor and Publisher—-Bob Molzahn
Chester County’s Largest
Fly Fishing Specialist
NEW LOCATION
Orvis - Ross - Cortland
Loomis - St. Croix
Many, Many More!
Located on Rt. 23 just
West of Phoenixville at
the Valley Forge Mall
Dame Juliana League
is an affiliated member club of the
Mid-Atlantic Council of the
Federation of Fly Fishers
Visit our website at
www.djlflyfishers.org
Open 7 Days a Week
(610) 933-7200
Mon 10-6, Tues-Fri 10-9,
Sat 10-6, Sun 10-5
STREAMSIDE
Dame Juliana League Fly Fishers
P. O. Box 178
Kimberton, PA 19442
www.djlflyfishers.org
FIRST CLASS MAIL
Inside Our 30th Anniversary Issue
 What The Trout Taught
 Book Review: Wishing My Father Well
 Trout Adventures
 And Much More!
TO:
Happy Holidays!