Fly Fishing Fiasco

A number of years ago I was captured by the idea of the romance of fly fishing. The thought of immersing myself in the wilds of nature ,wading a small stream, with the finesse brought by casting a dry fly to a rising trout, seemed an experience "du jour" for one of my precious sensibility. Accordingly, I purchased fly fishing tackle for dry fly fishing including the recommended flies for our area. Since I had not done any such casting before, having only experienced trolling a wet fly behind a row boat in the high lakes of the B.C. interior, I resolved to practise casting on our lawn. After several weeks of diligent work I was pleased with my progress and no longer wrapped my line around my head or snagged myself in the trousers. I could cast a fair length and hit a modestly small target area. The pianist and our children arranged a picnic at the Sooke River where trout were known to lurk. Before the picnic meal I donned my gear for wading and proceeded with my tackle and flies. Resting against a tree in the little park were two farmers in coveralls watching me as I cast to and fro with considerable aplomb. I thought they were probably admiring my technique and, perhaps it was, for them, a learning experience. It was clearly a poor fishing day and my efforts were not rewarded. I repaired to the family for our picnic. As the sun started to go down one could see little circles on the smooth flowing river appear. The farmers took off their coveralls and waded into the river under the observant view of my children. They cast hither and yon with practised skill, rendering my feeble efforts a dash of reality. They left as it got dark with several trout each. I was properly chastened, and on a practical note, abandoned further fly fishing to my son.