Who do you have to thank?

Discussion in 'Fly Fishing Forum' started by Dorylf, Mar 24, 2013.

  1. Best thread in a long time

    Got to be my Dad, I'm still lucky enough to fish with him. He mainly talks about fishing now and tell fish stories. He taught me to build rods, Cast a fly rod, and tie flies. I am Lucky enough to now be able to fish with him and my son. Im truely blessed.

    Not sure but the photo looks like a fish story in progress

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  2. My dad wasn't (still isn't) much of an outdoorsman; he did occasionally fish a bit, though not with a fly nor with me or my brother. It was my dad's buddy Lloyd Lewis who taught us the way of the fly when we were probably 11/12 years old. Lloyd was one of those obsessed fly fisherman who was involved in some Eastside club at the time, had more gear than was necessary and fished all the time. He and his wife used to bring their camper van down to our family cabin on Hood Canal where he loved to troll in his Fold-a-boat for searun cutts. His wife at the time worked for Eddie Bauer when Eddie Bauer still sold things like fishing gear. Lloyd bought my brother and I each a 7.5 foot,fiberglass Eddie Bauer spin-fly cast rod, Cortland Crown reels, a floating line and an extra spool with a sinking line. I'd probably never have gotten into fly fishing were it not for Lloyd. Unfortunately I cant even remember the last time I saw him. Wish I knew if he were still alive and how to reach him.
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  3. My Pops,of course.He started fly fishing when I was a kid and by the time I was 12 or 13,I started joining him on the water.Sadly,I became too cool to do anything with my dad when I got to my mid teens.15 or 16 years later on a camping trip with my folks my dad put a fly rod in my hand"You still remember how to cast?"Ten minutes later I had a fish.My folks saw very little of me for the rest of the camping trip.Two days later the first thing I did when I got home was order myself a combo setup.
  4. This thread kinda reminds you the impact and importance of the father, father figure, adult male guidance.....so many don't have it. So many of us have been lucky.
  5. My desire to fish begun when I was about 3, at West Rosebud Lake/Creek in the Beartooth Mountains. I remember my dad baiting my hooks until I was about 6 or 7. I also remember my mom frying the fish I caught, and extended family coming over to eat my fish if I got a big one. Somehow I get the same feeling now when I c&r, but it is still good to keep one every few years to remind myself why I started fishing. westrosebud.jpg
  6. My father introduced me to fishing at a very young age. Of course, having a place on family Mason Lake didn't hurt. Our main quarry was bass, which were there in good numbers and decent size. Mix in ocassional perch or cutthroat and we had many great evenings. One of the best was when he hooked a beaver - interesting story. The lake also holds kokanee, so we had many great breakfasts. Dad was a skinny water guy and we spent many weekends exploring all over the west side. Then, he got into boating and salmon became the target. Spent more days than I can count venturing out form Redondo & Des Moines in search of just about anything we could catch. I especially enjoyed our early Christmas Day outings, which became an annual event. Many days in the San Juans chasing lings, rockfish, greenling.

    A lot of gvood memories, unfortunately, not enough tho. He passed as a young man of 57 back in '87.

    He gave me the passion and I now carry the torch.

  7. I`m with you on that one Alex .

    For me the biggest early influence had to be Gadabout Gaddis , The Flying Fisherrman , surely the coolest guy to walk the face of the earth . At least in my eyes . He came across as everything my father was not .

    I watched his show every Saturday morning if I had the chance . Sometimes he would use gear , but mostly he used a fly rod - often alone in a boat -fishing for bluegills .
    Watching him use that flyrod mesmerized me , and inspired me to spend my entire life savings on a badly mismatched fly outfit . About 40 bucks worth . Walking out of the store with my very own fly rod and reel and line may very well have been the proudest moment in my life .
    Of course , I did`nt know how to use it , but that did`nt matter . It was mine . It did`nt help much that I did`nt actually know anybody else who owned a fly rod , and never personally even saw anybody use one until I left home and moved to Alberta . So I struggled with the learning curve.
    But would`nt have it any other way .
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  8. My dad and my uncle in Montana... My dad didn't fish a lot, but did get me into the outdoors! We fished, but one of my dad's favorite lines when asked how the fishing was was "The fishing was great, the catching not so great...".

    We used to camp and hike a lot, and he and I did some overnight backpacking trips, but only fished a little. My first fish, or at least the first fish I remember was on a camping trip where dad rented a small boat so we could fish. He and I were up early and trolled around for what felt like hours, but probably wasn't that long... I was maybe 6 or 7, so it felt like a long time! Finally we hooked a fish, I reeled it in and we measured it.. it had to be 6" to keep, and it was barely, we pinched the tail and it just made it!

    Took it back to camp, and mom asked if I wanted it for breakfast.. of course I did! She cleaned it and pan fried it with a little flour, salt and pepper. I'm just about to take my first bite, and dad asks if he get a bite.. of course I say yes, and then mom and my little sis Sue asks.. sure of course! Now I get my bite or two and feel a little sad I barely got any!

    My uncle helped me years later, by getting me to come out to Montana and meet him and my aunt for camping and river rafting all over the place. I had been fishing gear at some of the local lakes, mainly Pine and Beaver, but got bored with the powerbait buffet on the docks and limiting out so quick. Started taking a fly rod out with me, the first one being a hand me down Wright and McGill fiberglass rod that had been my dad's fly rod! He passed away when I was in high school, so I hadn't had a chance to fish with him once we moved back to Washington.

    So now I fish his rod, or at least try to on his birthday and Father's day! I've refinished it and put his name on it and also used it the first time I when steelheading with a fly.. I had originally thought it was a 5wt and dragged it out too MT to fish, but it's a 8wt 8' rod.. casts much better with an 8wt line! Go figure!
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  9. My brother has said it all, if it wasn't for our dad spending all the time he did. My brother and I wouldn't be where we are, but there were many more who help us out to, at shows, fly shop and just out on a lake or river. I have so many a great memories and always get a new one when my brother gets back to fish with me. Love you Dad, Mom and you brother, as you still find time for you older brother!
  10. You got that BRO! We always may have our differences but that is what makes us human! Every trip is the best
  11. Pops of course, but Pops was a bait soaker, somewhat of a southern way of life though. Catfish don't strike flys much, but damn if they don't taste good.
  12. Brian, I remember Gaddabout! A truly fun show, and probably a great influence on me as well. My hero was one of my father's friends, Weaver Gaddini; gruff-talking, cigar chewing all-around sportsman. Weaver hunted and fished all his life, and every time I light up a cigar of my own, it's in homage to Weaver! In deer camp when I shot my first deer at 12, Weaver was there hunting as well. We were the only three people in camp, and the old man would never walk anywhere if he had to, so we road hunted. After we brought my little forked horn into camp, and after my father's only comment; "Scrawny little thing, too bad you couldn't shoot something bigger", Weaver came in and told me it was a super buck, and that I'd made a good shot for such a small-caliber gun (a 25-20 pump). So when I light up a cigar tonight, here's to you, Weaver!
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  13. If there was say a parental punchcard for "fishing 101, baiting and casting" then my parents got that clipped when I was about four or so, fishing the Murrimbidgee with a cork handline. they deserve the thanks. Next memorable fishing was catching eels off a bridge in Cape Cod with my parents and brother. And then it was pretty much my mother taking me to places where I begged to fish. Or even fishing beside me. I was about 12 when we pulled leatherjackets and wrasse off a tidal rock shelf in Malua Bay. Maybe thirteen when we cast gang-hooked pilchards into schools of Tailor in Mossy Point or fished whiting from the beaches of Broulee with pipis we dug ourselves. She had some enthusiasm for it, could cast a handline no problem. I guess the last time I fished with my father was when I was about 14. We were fishing doughballs for carp on the bottom. He was bored out of his mind and spent most of the time proofing data (he's a research scientist) and complaining. Next thing he knew his rod disappeared, dragged into the lake by a solid fish....

    I guess the first guy I ever met who was consumed with flyfishing was the Captain, an old girlfriend's dad. He lived on a trout river in the mountains above the Burrinjuck reservoir. He had the tying table, the tendency to look beyond you at the waters below. He was a quiet guy, painted in his off time, and passed before his time. what he loved about fishing seemed really cool and it was a year or two later I bought my first flyrod and a book and taught myself most all I know about flyfishing.

    Now I have two boys, I've taken both fishing, one views it as a kind of ridiculous boredom. Even if he's in the midst of hooking fish after fish. The other likes it, likes reeling them in, netting them, casting.

    I also have arid climates to thank. My parents moved us around a lot- Edinburgh, Canberra, Philadelphia, Canberra, Memphis...in the summer of 1982 we moved from Philadelphia to Canberra in the midst of a severe drought. The sunsets were dust orange and the heat extreme. There were wildfires and sirens, and the warming smell of burnt eucalypt. One day we drove out to the banks of the dry Goodradigbee river among carcasses of dessicated sheep, that sandy river bed moved through crops of limestone studded with fossils. There were caves nearby, somewhere. There were no fish anywhere. Just the geologic record of places wet and abundant, exposed everywhere to see. Places to imagine as fertile and teeming with life....I don't miss that place. I like the mildew and wet of here far more...
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  14. Some really good reading people have shared. Thanks. I actually expected to hear that more of us were self-starters and, so, had no one to credit but ourselves.

    Then, with all the hubbub around Maclean's "A River Runs Through It," a few years back, am curious no one has mentioned finding the sport as a result of that influence. In which case I guess you'd have to thank not only Maclean, but Redford too. Though I think I'd stop short of Pit ( not that he wasn't fine in the movie, it's just you have to draw the line somewhere).

    Also kind of surprised not to see more involvement of good friends.

    As I alluded earlier, it was friends from back when I was in high school who guided my journey from spin casting into flyfishing. That was such a significant shift for me that I seriously doubt I would still be fishing without it. So, thanks, Mike and Randy. I owe you big time.

    And, then, there is the influence fly tying has had in deepening my attachment to this way of life. There's nothing quite like catching a fish on a fly you tied yourself; it's another level of satisfaction.

    For learning fly tying, I credit a professor I had in college and an elective course titled (yeah, I know, pretty unreal, but true), "Tying and Fishing the Fly."

    Of all the classes I took in college, none has woven itself into my life more thoroughly--or proved more useful--than that two-semester course, complete with a mandatory two-day camping and actual on-river fishing final exam on the Deschutes.

    By contrast, I can't remember the last time I used calculus. Yet, the latter course was required for the degree I was pursuing. Go figure.

    Truth is, I nearly overlooked taking that fly tying course, and ended up with it almost by mere chance. That's a story for another time.

    Anyway, it's been a great journey, I'm enjoying the ride, and i'm richer for it. Glad you are too.

    Kent Lufkin likes this.
  15. Awesome topic. I, like most all of you, have my Dad to thank for teaching me how to fish. Frankly, he was not very good at it and we got skunked a lot. But it does not matter because fishing with my dad is something I remember and have cherished my whole life. I wish we could have had the opportunity to do more of it and spent more time together. I think I was around 5 when he started me on fishing. We would go to Shasta Lake and fish for bluegill. That was a great way to get a kid started. Then it grew into trout fishing. This is where the skunk started. He did not fly fish, but there was always a fly rod in the cabinet for some reason. I think he must have gotten it from "Grandpa". I remember one summer when I was probably 12 or so, he decided that we were going to go fishing every evening after work. He was bound and determined to learn how to fish that river. Grandpa and his buddies went a lot and they caught lots of fish. It probably was not every night, but it sure seemed like it. I would get our gear ready and be waiting for him to get home so we could leave. We were fortunate enough to live just minutes away from the fishing hole. We went to the same spot every time. It was on the Sacramento River in Redding and we fished with Pautzke's eggs. I remember how hot it was and how good it felt when there was a cool breeze coming off the water. And the late summer blackberries... the ones that hung out over the water, I remember those berries were the size of ping pong balls. So sweet and good. We would pick a bunch and take them home for mom. I think we (he) caught one nice sized Rainbow Trout all summer. But it did not matter because we just enjoyed being out there. One thing... he had a medical condition called "Cataplexy". It is a disease that affects muscle control and it is brought on by excitement. So every time he would get a bite, he had about enough time to set the hook and then the cataplexy would kick in and he would lose muscle control. If he was standing, he would go down.... if he was sitting, and he usually was, he would fall over. He was still conscious and knew what was going on, but he would be in this state for 30 seconds to a minute or so and then he would "snap out of it" and be fine. But, the second he would get a bite, then set the hook, and then go down, I would rush for his rod and get to fight the fish. Wow, this brings back memories. So, I guess you could say, I got to do the fishing for both of us. My dad took me fishing and hunting and taught me all that outdoors stuff. He's gone now, but I sure cherish all the fishing and hunting we did. One of my mottos is, "I like to hunt, but I LOVE to fish. Thanks dad! I love you.
  16. [​IMG]

    My Dad did so many years ago. This was around 1975. But started much younger. In a way, my Dad also introduced me to flyfishing. Found my deceased uncles Fenwick fly rod in my Dad's rod cabinet around 1979. He let me use it for summerruns, and the love for flyfishing began for me.
  17. I would say an equal combination of my Grandpa, and on of my Dad's best friends, Reese. Both were gear fisherman, but my grandpa's brother was a big fly fisherman and handbuilt bamboo fly rods. My grandpa knew how to fly fish and taught me and my brothers. One of my favorite stories about grandpa was when he took down a pvc pipe in his worshop, and cut off the end. when the piece fell, 5 tips fell out of it. He had stored 5 of his brothers handbuilt bamboo rods in the pipe, forgot about them, and cut them up!!! AHHH!! Man, what us grandkids would give for those things.
    Reese took me fishing all the time- usually for either steelhead, salmon, or sturgeon. Reese passed away suddenly summer of 2011- and for three previous years to that, I was always telling my wife how I needed to go fishing with him. I am disappointed in myself for not asking him before he died. Makes me excited to take our 1 year old. He can't get of fishing age fast enough!!!
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  18. It's interesting how it all unfolded. Once I became a dedicated fly angler, my Dad would flyfish with me instead of using spin gear. Problem was, he had nerve damage that made it very difficult for him to tie on flies. So, just like when I was a kid but in reverse roles, I tied on Dad's flies for him.

    I decided I liked angling once I found I didn't need to kill the trout I caught. I figured Dad would not be into that approach. I was surprised when I took him to The Metolius and told him he couldn't keep the trout and he said that was fine, he liked catching fish as much as eating them.

    So... here I take him to a fishery that is primarily a nymph fishery (if you actually want to catch fish and not cast dry flies all day and catch a few trout). I use a dead-drift dropper system so I rigged up Dad with the same system. I told him he needed to dead-drift the patterns and watch for a hesitation. He said "oh, like steelhead fishing". "Pretty much," I replied.

    Now... it took me years to figure out how to use the nymph system efficiently so I could catch many trout and whitefish on The Met.... Dad was catching as many as I the first time he tried it. I guess he was a hell of an angler. As a kid, I was too wrapped up in the fact that I didn't want to kill fish with spin gear to notice. Many experienced fly anglers have a hell of a time catching more than a few trout on The Metolius (primarily because they're into the Dry Fly or Die insanity) and Dad was hooking fish right and left on his first trip.

    Eventually, Dad's illnesses prevented him from casting a fly rod so when we'd go back to NEO for our yearly fishing and moral mushroom hunt during the Memorial Day weekend, he had to use a spinning rod and casting bubble but stayed with a fly. We found my version of a Muddler Minnow worked great with the spin set up. So, during the evenings while Mom and Virginia were cleaning the moral mushrooms we'd found, I'd tie up more Muddlers for Dad to use.

    Full circle.

    But I have a sneaky suspicion Dad was still a better angler than I... even with fly gear. That one day on The Metolius convinced me of that.
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  19. My great grandmother; she had a small Tobacco farm that had a little pond on it. She would take us kids out behind the barn, and we would dig our own worms, (apparently worms love cow shit) then she would take us out to the pond with cane poles and bobbers. If we caught anything she would fry them for us.

    I couldn't have been more than 5 or 6, but those are some great memories for me even today. So take your kids fishing, it's one of the best gifts you can give them (and yourself).
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  20. As many have said, great subject and like the vast majority it was my dad who taught (ie: forced) me to fish when I was a young lad. This really didnt' hit home until I was in FL this past week and I took my 3 year old son fishing with my dad and his dad...4 generations who live all over the country fishing together and having fun, was a great time. The picture is of me and my son, I'd hook the fish and then he'd reel it in, hoist it over the embankment and proceed to jump up and down with excitement when he saw the fish he caught, was a great time.

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