Fly fishermen have a standard of conduct of their very own. When approaching one another on a stream, two anglers will try to avoid crowding each other. If the area appeals to both, one will usually wait his turn and the other will avoid dallying in the spot. He will fish it, but not turn it into a drawn-out affair, thus giving the waiting angler a chance to fish it in short order.
But there are times the standards of conduct are violated. This is not taken lightly: the normally courteous angler will only transgress in the most unusual of circumstances. A case in point:
I was fishing my usual stretch not long ago when I realized I was compelled to break the rules of conduct. I usually fished my favorite pool in an area known for its pools and lies where trout where known to inhabit. In these pools and lies, trout find security from predators and are free to move about and feed. I fished one particular pool quite often and normally preferred it to others. But, like several others, I was tired of fishing my pool and was considering moving on to another.
Now, some guys move along very quickly, never giving a pool a decent chance. They always gripe about how the trout in the pool are non-responsive. I don’t think it’s the trout’s fault they are not responding—the anglers are not making the right presentations. They are impatient and often don’t use the right fly. One must use both the right fly and presentation, and be patient enough for them to work before they can judge a pool to be a waste of time.
There was a pool not far from mine that appealed to me. Like mine, it held but a single trout. Another angler had already staked it out as his own before I ever fished this stretch. Sometimes I would sit and watch him fish. Every so often I had a chance to watch him catch the pool’s solitary trout. She was a female rainbow, all silver and pink and shiny like a new penny.
One day while he was gone, I was sitting on the bank just watching the fish as it swam gently in the current; she turned and faced me. She seemed curious about me and why I was just sitting there peacefully admiring her.
To me, this seemed like an invitation. Not wanting to transgress the standard of conduct, I decided to only make a few false casts over the trout, just so see if I could get her interest. Using a very peaceful approach I made false casts that made the fly almost touch the surface of the stream. It became a challenge to see how close I could get the fly without it actually touching the water. If it did touch, I would be guilty of fishing this other fella’s pool and would have crossed the line.
Now, I never made these false casts while he was there, only when he was off at work or hunting, or whatever it was he did while away from his pool. During one of my false-casting sessions, the trout actually chased the fly, even though it didn’t touch the water. I was surprised; it had been a long time since I had gotten a trout to chase a fly I was false casting. I had to be careful. I did not want him to catch on that I was false-casting over his pool. If he found out, he probably would be quite upset about me crossing the line of propriety.
Could I bring myself to actually allow a fly to touch the water—to fish this guy’s pool?
I would let the fish decide. One day I approached from the downstream side of the pool so as not to spook her. I dropped a fly ever so gently upstream from her and let it drift drag-free with the current. She rose gently and took it. She dragged my line across the current and then headed for the bottom and back up again. Almost in ecstasy she fought and leapt—and then finally succumbed to the pressure. I gently netted her as she swam close to me, and then I released her back into the river.
I still have my own pool to fish and do so when he’s around. That should keep him from ever suspecting I’ve been in his pool, catching “his” trout. Maybe he’ll move on to another pool one of these days and I can fish this new pool of mine without concern. Then again, maybe he won’t move.
But I’ll always be back.
