Sunday, June 28, 2009

Fly Fishing Lessons

Sunday I took my second of two fly fishing lessons. Learning to cast while standing in a rustic, small park just a few blocks from our house was thoroughly enjoyable on every level. The last time I held a fly rod, I was a grade-schooler watching my dad practice casting his line from our backyard where he was standing onto the adjacent golf course (Broadmoor’s fourth hole). He let me hold his fly rod, its line heavily coated with some kind of dressing to make it float, and held my arm to mimic the movement required to get out the line. I don’t remember being particularly successful at it, but it seemed like a wonderful thing to be able to do.

I have never fished with a fly rod. Even after this recent five-and-a-half hours of instruction, I still haven’t. The instructor, an employee of a local fly-fishing shop, said the shop doesn’t take beginners to water because once there, the students only want to FISH! They stop listening to the instruction and learn absolutely nothing.

When we arrived at the park (after an hour spent on knot tying) this morning, I wasn’t sure I was even interested in fly fishing anymore. But once I started casting and heard the instructor say, “Great job—you’re doing great!” my adrenaline surged. Now I can hardly wait to have another opportunity to keep learning. (Alas, that was my last lesson in the beginner series.) But . . . I still don’t know if I like the fishing part. Time will tell.

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