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Experience

Experience July/August 2024

Catch and Release

Gerald Joseph Todaro

Summary

  • The art of fly fishing pits the angler’s skill and strategy against a fish’s keen
    instinct.
  • Patience, technique, and a knowledgeable guide to introduce the river are essential components for all fly fishermen.
  • Memories of your time among the beauty of nature while fly fishing can calm the restless mind  after a stressful day of practicing law.
  • An angler must respect the power of nature and come to the river prepared, as this author learned the hard way.
Catch and Release
sanjeri via Getty Images

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The art of fly fishing pits the angler’s skill and strategy against a fish’s keen instinct. In the words of Tom Brokaw, “If fishing is religion, fly fishing is high church.”

Mr. Brokaw knows a thing or two about fly fishing. A beautiful trout stream runs through his ranch in Montana.

I don’t own a ranch, but we did own a condo in Snowmass, Colorado. And just three miles down Snowmass Mountain runs the Roaring Fork River, a “Gold Medal” trout stream that flows 70 miles from Aspen to Glenwood Springs, emptying into the Colorado River.

The Roaring Fork Gorge is a picturesque stretch of water streaming through canyons, lined with Colorado blue spruce and Douglas firs. I was 45 years old when I was introduced to “the rush of a hook up and the thrill of fighting a sleek rainbow to a draw.”

Like Tom Brokaw, I was thrilled when I netted my first rainbow, and I still am.

A chess match with fish

What is it about fly fishing that captivates so many? Unlike hunting animals with guns or bows and arrows, the fly fisherman enters the water on equal terms with his prey. Fly fishing is an adventure, a challenge, and fun—but only when the angler has acquired the skill and knowledge necessary to trick a trout into snacking on artificial insects such as mayflies and a blue-winged olive.

Technique is imperative. Experienced anglers approach the edge of a stream quietly to avoid spooking the trout. It’s not unusual to see a deep wound in the dorsal area (back) of the trout—evidence of a failed opportunity for a meal by birds of prey, such as an eagle or raven.

Another absolute for fly fisherman is “matching the hatch.” If you’re on the water just before noon, and your objective for the day is using a dry fly in the hope of luring a trout to rise and pounce on an artificial fly (for me the most exciting moment of fly fishing), that fly must lazily settle on the water—no splash—and drift without leaving a wake, mimicking patterns of natural flies skittering on the water.

Wet flies are fished underwater and angled to drift with the current—fun, but not as exciting as a trout striking a top-water fly. And one more thing, a tight line is the sine qua non of hooking trout. Once a trout strikes, there’s a fraction of second to set the hook; otherwise, the trout immediately spits out the tasteless morsel.

The guide makes the angler

For beginners, a river guide is mandatory—an individual who knows the water, who knows where the fish lie in wait, and who has the patience to correct improper casting techniques. I was lucky at the start to have such a guide. Steve came out to Colorado after graduating from Syracuse, fell in love with fly fishing, and guided summer and winter while helping his wife’s property management business.

I watched and listened as Steve tutored me on roll casting—a technique used when the evergreens lean over the riverbank and false casting is impossible. Before we entered the river, we first cupped a few flies floating at the edge of the water to identify the hatch. Steve coached me on how to wade into swift water and walk upstream without losing my footing on submerged, mossy rocks. I learned to fish the pooling waters behind the large rocks where trout waited for the smorgasbord of terrestrials and insects floating downstream.

Later, as I began wading the Roaring Fork on my own, I experienced moments that I’d revisit at 3 a.m. while I lie in bed, eyes glued to the ceiling wrestling with my cross-examination of an opposing expert who wouldn’t agree that Sunday comes before Monday.

I’d see myself sitting on a large boulder at the edge of the river eating a sandwich. It’s early afternoon, and rays of sunlight filter through the evergreens on the banks. Mirror-like reflections on the water cast a soothing spell and a sense of oneness with nature. Soon, I’d drift off to sleep.

A reminder of the power of nature

Yet there was one traumatic incident that reminds me of the unforgiving force of mother nature. In late Spring, the mountain snowpack melts, and the runoff in the Roaring Fork is deep, swift, and powerful. The locals say it’s the time when the Roaring Fork roars.

It was the first of July. I fished alone that day, which I confess isn’t recommended on big rivers. I’d waded upstream about two miles, and it was late afternoon. Dehydrated and weak, I stumbled a couple of times on the rocky banks lining the edge of the river.

Unfortunately, I had to wade across waist-high water to get near the location where I could call my wife to pick me up. I found the narrowest spot to cross. Big mistake. The current wouldn’t have been as strong if I’d crossed a wider stretch of the water.

I lost my balance, and the swift water swept me off my feet. I lost my brand-new Orvis rod and Ross reel. I managed to get my feet out in front of me and was carried downstream feet first, protecting my head, bouncing over boulders and rocks. I gulped for air trying to avoid inhaling the foam on the surface of the water.

I thought this was it. I was going to drown. Three hundred yards later, I slid over a rock and hung desperately to the mossy surface. Lucky for me, two college boys fishing in the canyon hauled me out of the water.

I was 58 years old when I went white-water rafting minus a raft and life preserver. Severe dehydration is the cardinal sin of amateur outdoor enthusiasts in the dry, mountainous regions of Colorado, especially in the summer. Where I fish the Roaring Fork, the elevation is close to 8,000 feet.

In thin air and dry conditions, constant hydration is a must. After drinking a gallon of water, I was fine the next day, but I needed to replace my water-logged cell phone. I still fish the Fork alone, but I carry two plastic bottles of water in the back pockets of my fly-fishing vest.

Mother Nature can provide natural beauty, serenity, and a sense of calm. But in an unforgiving moment, she can also turn deadly for those of us who underestimate her power and don’t play by her rules.

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