Upside Down Reverse CastFlyfishing Stories by Bob Lawless
This will be a highly technical report and those
who have not fished for at least 5 years should not read this as you will be
wasting your time. You simply won't understand. But save it and when your 5
years is up, you can read it then.
I had this huge, technical problem which I will try to describe
briefly: the stream was small and hard fished because it was near a highway. At
this secret spot I discovered, the water was completely covered over with
willows from both sides, sort of a tube if you will. It could not be entered,
so, taking a pair of pruning shears from my vest, I cut a small tunnel in the
willows about half-way down the tube, wide enough for me to get through, but not
high enough for me to stand erect, as this would spook any fish.
I crawled in
and spotted an enormous brown trout of about 14". OK, maybe it was only 12", but
a giant nevertheless on this small, very technical water.
I eased back out and thought hard and long about how I could
present my fly without spooking the fish.
Then, BANG!, a moment of
brilliance! I would turn around and face away from the tunnel I had cut. Then I
would bend over so that I was actually upside down from the fish. Now for a
reverse cast which meant that I would have to cast forward on my backcast and
then deliver my fly through my legs, through the tunnel, and out in front of the
trout with a drag free drift. Not easy this.
My first attempt was over
accelerated as I had to maintain a very tight loop. The line zinged past my face
which was looking at the ground and the fly grabbed my glasses and threw them
out into the pool, spooking the trout.
When I retrieved them, I found the right lense to be missing and
search as I might, you just can't find a missing lense on the bottom in clear
water even if you have both eyes. I only had one.
I waited about a hour for
the fish to resume feeding. Now the next cast really hurt me. I slowed the
backcast (this would be the delivery in normal cases) and this time I missed the
glasses, but the fly grabbed the gold rings that I have on each side of my nose,
ripping them loose, flinging them into the water, and spooking the trout again,
although he made a brief rush at the flash of the rings but then refused at the
last second. If he had struck, I would have named the fly the Twin-ringed,
Pierced, Royal Coachman fly.
Another hour. This time I tried to slow things
down so as to miss my eyes and nose but not so slow as to hit the grass. Zing!
And now the fly hooks that little tab you have on the zipper of your
Levi's,
and the power of the line rips it loose and the line rams me right in
my abalones.
I went down hard, writhing in pain. Smolt, my vest dog, tried
to lick the tears from my cheeks but he couldn't keep up with them. So I called
it day, vowing to return.
Then the real fun began. Since my zipper was frozen shut, I had to
drop my pants in order to take a little whisper. How was I to know that I was
surrounded by girl scouts hiding in the grass around me?
Apparently, they
were learning a drill which told them to conceal themselves well when they
spotted a suspicious man approaching. My little whisper had tumbled onto this
fat girl's head. She jumped up screaming "assualt, assault" and she hit me in my
catfish with a club. I immediately fell down on top of her and she went on with
more screaming, but much louder.
Now they all started to beat me but they ran off when smolt barked
at them, and "oleander," my vest parrot, hurled filthy words at them.
I heard
their bus roar off and I hoped the scout leader had no cell phone.
Jumping
into my truck, I peeled out only to see a huge hatch of flashing blue lights
approaching. It was two sherrif's 4X4's, one state police, and one camoflaged
humvee with a pair of fifties mounted in a turret on top. I thought they were
pointing directly at me but the whole caravan wizzed on by. Apparently, the girl
scouts had failed to accurately describe my truck which was painted day-glow
orange and had been parked right next to them.
I contemplated what I had done, the crimes, the charges, whatever:
attempted rape, child molestation, exhibiting genitalia, lewd and lacivious
conduct, whispering on children, assault, mayhem and attempted murder, etc.
Surely this was an amber alert if there ever was one. And I was
just fishing!
I feared that if the heavies caught me they would beat me to
death for resisting arrest, even if I threw myself on the ground. If not, I was
looking at four or more life sentences.
But they didn't get me. Though I am a hunted man, I"m going
back as soon as the coast is clear, that is free of girl scouts and cops, and I
am going to perfect my upside down reverse cast if it kills me, which it nearly
did.
