Good Enough

"If I fished only to capture fish, my fishing trips would have ended long ago." Zane Grey

The sun is just now fully in the sky as I’m standing in a city park staring out over one of my favorite Smallmouth creeks. Nicci and I were already rigged up and she was casting into the first hole as I stood on the bank checking my camera equipment and waiting for a friend to meet us there. We had never fished together before but thanks to the wonders of the modern era (and fishing groups on Facebook) it soon became apparent that between proximity and a shared interest in stomping through creeks and chasing finny creatures, it was an inevitability. He had found plenty of success chasing trout but had never landed a long-rod Bronzeback of his own. This, as they say, simply would not do. With all the arrangements made and proper flies purchased, all that was left was to actually catch a fish. As I listened to the birds chattering about whatever it is birds chatter about, (bugs probably? girl birds? Maybe neither. Probably both.) I was trying to concentrate on the relevant information I would need to convey to my friend to ensure he had the best chance of success. Instead I found myself thinking, as I have a bad habit of doing lately, about the circumstances that had led to me being a person people would even consider asking questions about Smallmouth Bass on the fly. I wondered if I, as a fishermen, was good enough.

I started fly fishing for Smallmouth almost accidentally. I had gotten a fly rod to chase trout as, in my eyes, it was the proper way to do such things. The only problem was, when it came time to actually learn how to use the damn thing, I found myself far too embarrassed in front of all the professional looking old men in their Gore-Tex waders and a million gadgets hanging off their vests to do any fishing. As I do with most problems to this day, I solved this by finding a creek and going fishing. In the muddy waters of northeastern Missouri I spent hours throwing the most hideous casts, untangling line, and pulling my flies out of every tree branch and bush within two mile radius. I caught a few fish but mostly I casted and casted and casted and casted. I knew that Smallmouth lived in these creeks, I’d caught them on gear, and that’s why I was here. Eventually I had gotten the basics down well enough to cast and retrieve a Clouser's Minnow or Woolly Bugger with what, I was proud to realize, resembled mild competence. Finally, I started catching Smallmouth and as my skills grew, (slowly) the fish came more often ( albeit still slowly). Over the next few years I spent more and more time in creeks and rivers I knew held Smallmouth and my spinning gear started to accumulate a fine sheen of dust. I devoured fly fishing media on the internet and my Facebook feed (and photo albums) were eventually taken over by fish. While I was getting south to chase trout as often as possible the vast majority of my time and skills were put into chasing Bronze. Before too long I had become the “fish guy” to my circle of friends, maybe a little weird and obsessed but nice enough.

I started dating a girl a few years back and after a few months I invited her to the annual trout fishing trip we took for my father’s birthday. This would be an important milestone for our relationship because as John Gierach once said “Creeps and idiots cannot conceal themselves for long on a fishing trip.” and in the same vein a bad relationship doesn’t survive cold nights in a tent, fishing at the break of dawn, and whiskey for lunch. She hadn’t fished since she was a kid and throughout the weekend I got to watch her light up as she caught trout after trout. I bought her a fly rod shortly after and (incorrectly) assumed that the best place for her to learn would be fishing for trout. The fire I had seen for fishing started to wane as tangles and collapsing casts mounted up.
Finally one day we were at a local pond together and I was harassing Bluegills on my new 3 wt. She eventually wandered over and asked to see the rod. I couldn’t have gotten it into her hands fast enough and within a few casts she was landing fish after fish. For the next few months we haunted that pond and she poured herself into that 3 weight. One day I came home from work and a tube shaped package from Cabelas was on the porch. She had ordered her own rod and before too long we were back on the trout streams and she was landing her first trout on the fly.
We spent the next few months splitting time between trout and panfish and she slowly developed an affinity for streamers and poppers when the revelation hit me. It was time for Smallies.
Earlier this year we were exploring a creek I had gotten the tip off for from a friend. The February sky hung heavy above us looking like it was ready to dump snow but the weather had been unseasonably warm for weeks. Cabin fever had driven us both out of the house and into some water. We worked our way down the creek, soon sinking into the rhythm of casting that occurs when you don’t expect to catch much but just enjoy the spectacle before you as the world takes its first stuttering steps out of winter. As almost always happens when you aren’t anticipating it, a sharp tug on my line snapped me out of my reverie and moments later a chunky ten inch Smallmouth was staring back at me. A few moments later I heard a shout from just upstream and looked up to see Nicci’s rod doubled over as she stood at the head of a pool. I sprinted through a riffle and by the time I got there she had landed an absolutely beautiful Smallie. All this year we have traveled around catching fish and she has caught more trout and Smallmouth than I can count, but I personally have never been more satisfied than I was seeing the look on her face as her first Bronze swam away on that grey February afternoon.

Talking about fishing is one of my favorite things to do. If I’m not fishing or working chances are pretty high I’m in one or more fishing related conversations through text, or on one of the fishing groups I frequent on Facebook. As I’ve made more and more friends throughout the far flung reaches of the internet, more and more people have reached out to me to talk about Smallmouth fishing, fly fishing, favorite spots or all of them combined. I’ve made some fantastic friends from the area and we have built a community between each other that has not only increased my fishing knowledge but helped me become more comfortable sharing what I know.

I wish I could tell you my friend Ross showed up that day and we caught dozens upon dozens of Smallies. I wish I could write about how 18 inchers were the norm that day and Ross left to get Small Jaw tattooed across his shoulder blades. The reality is that we had a decidedly average day of fishing and we spent most of it talking, catching Longears, and wondering what the bass were eating. He did catch his first Smallmouth that day and a few weeks later another new friend of mine managed his first Smallie on the fly with me under the towering bluffs of the Big Piney River. All told I’ve managed to help 3 people catch their first Smallmouths this year and I hope in the years to come I can help many more.  I’ll probably never be a guide or make a living exclusively from fishing. I simply don’t have the temperament, skill or patience for it. But if fishing a ton and writing about these amazing fish will help me make new friends and show them the wonders of fly fishing for Smallmouth Bass. Well hell man, that’s probably good enough.