THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, October 23, 1994 TAG: 9410220049
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E4 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY STEPHEN HARRIMAN, TRAVEL EDITOR
LENGTH: Medium: 59 lines
I LEARNED TO FLY FISH in the mountains of western North Carolina.
I have a Certificate of Achievement from the renowned Orvis Company that states I ``attained proficiency in a creditable manner.'' But I am compelled to admit that is not really true. The Orvis people are as admirably diplomatic as they are expert in all things pertaining to this sport.
The truth is, I learned that I MIGHT learn to fly fish. . . if I worked at it for weeks, or months of maybe years. But what great fun I had just learning THAT much from John Druffel, an Orvis instructor, one morning beside a quiet pond on the golf course at High Hampton Inn and Country Club near Cashiers.
Fly fishing may look easy, but casting a weightless bug imitation out over the water where you think a fish might lurk is not. It is the heavy line that does the work, that is delivers the bait - the opposite of spin casting, in which the heavy lure drags out the thin line.
Fly fishing is part ballet, part tennis - I'm not particular adept at either - a true sport that requires infinite skill. Skill alone controls that fly line. You can't manhandle the thing.
Arm, whip-thin rod and line all move together in synergy. Concentrate: wrist stiff, move the arm back to the side of your forehead - ``think of a clock,'' John instructs - rod tip back to 1 o'clock on the imaginary timepiece, then out at the fish at about 9 o'clock, forceful but smooth and in rhythm.
The line whips overhead lazily and gracefully like a snake and lays out softly and straight on the water, the ``fly'' dropping exactly beside the floating leaf at which I was aiming. Yes! Wonderful!
Sometimes that happened. Sometimes I was pretty good. Mostly, I was a left-handed mess. When you do not do it correctly, the line usually plops into the water like a bunch of spaghetti. Trout do not eat spaghetti.
WAIT A MINUTE! I just realized. To a left-hander looking at this imaginary clock, the rod tip should go back to 11 o'clock, then out to the fish at 3 o'clock. No wonder. That is my official excuse.
Fly fishing not only requires skill, developed through hours of practice, but concentration. I have a short attention span.
``Keep up good line speed; get it out of the water quick,'' John urged. ``Keep that wrist stiff.'' John is a former banker who became a fly-fishing instructor in 1969 because it's a lot more fun. He cannot possibly think that working with me is much fun.
He finally lashed my wrist to the butt of the rod with a piece of rope to remind me to keep it stiff. The idea is that the rod becomes an extension of the arm, without a hinge at the wrist. It sort of worked. But I can see that an integral part of my fly-fishing gear will have to be an elbow-to-fingertip plaster cast. ILLUSTRATION: Photo
STEPHEN HARRIMAN
Orvis instructor John Druffel teaches fly fishing with the mountains
of North Carolina as his backdrop.
by CNB