I’ve been thinking about taking up fly fishing again, which will probably come as a surprise to anyone reading this, or anyone who knows me. I haven’t fished in a long time, but in the distant past I was quite the fisherman. Not always successful in terms of catching fish, but successful in the fact that it was a way to be outside me outside and having fun.
When we lived in Glenwood, a suburb outside of Chicago, there were a couple of places that were close enough to ride my bike to for fishing. There is a place called Izaak Walton Park, which was a pretty cool place. In the park there was a Scout Camp, (Black Bear Lodge), baseball diamonds, trails and a series of small lakes. It was nothing to hop on the blue Stingray, pedal over to the park and spend some time fishing for crappie and bluegill.
About five or six miles away was a forest preserve park named Wampum Lake. Getting to Wampum Lake was much more of a journey, if there wasn’t a parent around to drive. It involved some riding through Thornwood, which for some reason was always kind of a spooky place. It seemed deserted most of the time, kind of Stephen Kingish, if you know what I mean. You also had to go past the Thornton Quarry, a huge excavation that seemed to fit right in the general unease of the place.
Wampum Lake was where I learned to fly fish. That’s not quite true, I learned a lot about fly fishing in the back seat of the car, reading a magazine I grabbed somewhere on vacation. It was a special fly fishing issue, and I devoured it. Some how I saved up enough money to by a Heddon Rod, reel, line, and a boxful of flies, and hit the back yard to practice. Practicing fly casting is easier when there aren’t a couple of cats in the yard; they took great interest in this particular sport. None the less, after some time the basic techniques were mastered.
After some practice I was ready to hit the lake. Dad took me to Wampum Lake where I carefully rigged my equipment and headed to the shore. Looking around to make sure there was no one behind me (the back cast is a large part of fly fishing), I took a deep breath and began casting. Practice paid off, and I was able to get the fly out towards some weeds. A few casts later and I had my first strike.
There is nothing like the feeling of a sunfish hitting a fly, on a light action rod. This fish probably came in at about five or six inches, but to me it felt like a massive trout! Now I didn’t go on to be a master fly fisherman. I did learn just a little bit more to appreciate being outside and relaxing.
I think I’ll take up fly fishing again.
