Arkansas Outdoors

Mastering fly fishing process yields lifelong results

Process vs. result.

They are somewhat exclusive until the magic moment when a perfect process produces a perfect result.

If you want results, you'll almost always catch more trout and catch them more ways with spinning gear.

Fly fishing is entirely a process. You seek the perfect snap of the rod that will produce the perfect loop that will produce the perfect presentation. It is so beautiful when the fly line, leader and tippet unfurl in harmony, and the fly touches down with scarcely a ripple. If a fish doesn't reward you with a bite, well, it's not your fault.

I consider all this as I sit alone in my kayak in the fading light of a Colorado sunset. It's my last day to fish Big Meadow Reservoir with Bill Eldridge, Matthew Eldridge and my son Matthew Hendricks. We've caught a lot of trout here the past four days with spinning gear, and as always, we've been very competitive. Most fish, biggest fish, prettiest fish, etc.

As we sortied to our boats on our last night, I reached for my spinning rod and then stopped. My hand drifted to my fly rod case.

"You guys go on ahead," I said. "I think I'm going to rig up this fly rod tonight. I might not get this chance again."

The process starts here as I carefully remove the four rod sections from its fitted case. I admire the glassy sheen of the finish and make sure the eyes are perfectly aligned. I admire the design of the reel and the chartreuse glow of the fly line. It's a time of anticipation and strategy.

Although Big Meadow Reservoir has some bruiser trout, you can reasonably expect to catch 10- to 12-inch rainbows, 6- to 8-inch brook trout and an occasional small brown trout. They seem to go for a small fly of a dull brown color. I attach a thin diameter tippet and a tiny black gnat, and then I make the long walk through the tall grass to the beach where my kayak waits.

The biggest fish seem to be on the far end of the reservoir where the South Fork of the Rio Grande enters, but there are more fish closer to the dam. More fish equals greater opportunity, which can offset the shortcomings of an imperfect process. I don't care about size. I just want to catch a fish with my fly rod.

I paddle a short distance up the lake and drop anchor about 60 feet out from a rocky flat. The surface is seemingly alive with trout. The evening feed has begun.

A chilly breeze ripples the water as scores of trout rise to greet the evening insect hatch. They jump, slap and roll all around me. A few of the jumpers are decent size fish. So are some of the slappers.

I lose confidence in the black nymph after a few casts. I'm not sure fish can see such a dark lure in dark water in waning light, so I switch to a slightly larger, lighter colored fly.

Here I immerse into the process. With each cast, I become better attuned to the exquisite flex of the this dandy little Cabela's RLS 5-weight rod. It takes so little effort to load and release, and it seems to shoot that tiny little fly with such velocity. I dial my arm into the 10-2 load/release position, and my casts instantly become crisper, sharper. The loops tighten, and the fly starts to fall as it should.

I change flies again, this time to something a little bigger because I'm still not convinced fish see the smaller fly. Because of the wind, I have to resort to a little sidewinder action to keep it low. It does the trick.

It does enrich the process, I should say, but not the result. I land the fly in front of trout, beside trout, on top of trout even, but I don't catch one. I finally get a few bites when the sun dips behind the mountains. However, the lack of a strike indicator hurt me. I didn't pick up the strike until it was too late.

Finally I get a hard strike. I set the hook to hard, and the fish breaks me off at the leader.

That does it. My day is done.

I love fly fishing, but I still have so much to learn. The process never ends.

Sports on 07/13/2014

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