Hemmingway: "Anyone can be a fisherman in May."
Me: "Yeah, but its March and too cold and they still bite for me."
After only two class meetings for fly fishing, coach let us take the school's rods and reels how to practice casting. I decided that I wanted to learn on our lake, so I purchased a leader and some flies. The leader got tangled (ok, I tangled it) while I was tying it to the fly backing. It took me over an hour to de-tangle, leaving 13 minutes for time on the water. Typical enough.
I managed to push enough line out to where fish would be if it had been warmer than 40º. The rhythm is funny, and the motion weird for someone who has been slinging heavy bass baits out from the time he could grasp a pole.
"10, 2...10, 2" After getting the fly caught on the grass behind me a few times, I managed to put the fly down in the water. It was a less-than-delicate presentation, but it got out there. Time was up. I started reeling back the line that I had let out. There was resistance. I pulled up on the line and a small blue gill came to the surface.
It was not bigger than the length of my hand, but I didn't deserve it anyway.