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Links * Added April 2002 Whitlock's
Sheep Minnow Series The birth of this fly began about 10 years ago when I was first attempting to catch large, landlocked, striped bass near my Norfork, Arkansas home. I had just spent 10 springs and summers working for L.L. Bean in Maine, where I'd fallen in love with catching the stripers that ran up the Kennebec River from the Atlantic Ocean, feeding on schools of alewife, menhaden, smelt, pogies and other minnows. It was a wonderful experience using poppers, Lefty's Deceivers, Clouser Minnows and a huge bucktail streamer that I'd tied to imitate menhaden, with excellent results. So when I rigged my flytackle to go after the stripers in Arkansas's Norfork Lake, I had no doubt that I'd be into fish immediately because I had the flies and system down perfectly! Was I ever in store for some new lessons!
When I began trying to catch them early in November, I had no problem finding fish, lots and lots of them, but amazingly by the 3rd or 4th morning, I'd yet to get one strike. Days turned into weeks and still no fish. I tried all the streamers and poppers that were recommended in my magazines, books, and videos as well as those I'd had so much success with in Maine, but I was getting skunked -shut out- bypassed by hundreds of feeding stripers every morning that I was on the water. I used floating, sinking-tip, slow and fast-sinking lines: I even trolling. Nothing!
Then one morning, he came over to my boat and introduced himself. "My name's John Crews and I don't know anything about flyfishing, but I do know how to catch Stripers," he said. "If you'd like, meet me here tomorrow morning at 6:00 A..M. and I'll show you what I do to catch these guys and maybe it'll help you catch one of them on your flypoles and feathers!" That was the beginning of a special friendship that changed the striper fishing experience for both of us. It was the first step in the development of the Sheep 'Shad' Minnow. John looked at my flies and said they were "all wrong." They were either too big, or too skinny, or tail heavy, or sank too fast, had too much hook showing, or had some other flaw. "They don't look or act like shad," he said. Then he gave me some lessons on approaching our stripers. "You've gotta shut your motor off, come in quiet, don't chase them, let them come to you, get your feathers in front of the school and don't move 'em but just a tad!"
I tied and tried, tied and tried some more, for almost week. Then one morning, about 30 minutes before time to head in, I saw a lone striper rolling on the glassy surface up in back of a cove. I carefully maneuvered my boat to the cove's opening and waited quietly, another new fly in hand, for the monster to pass my position. Then, it was suddenly there, rolling on the surface, inhaling shad! The 70-foot cast landed 20 feet in front of its last swirl. I waited 5, 10, 15 seconds, then began the painfully slow twitch-and- pause animation of a disabled shad minnow. Then, as if it had just materialized, a huge silver, ghostly form appeared behind the fly, opened its white mouth and sucked my little shad streamer out of sight! I struck with a whirlpool-like, 10 foot wide swirl on the surface, and vanished! Then my shooting-line vanished, followed by the beginning of my backing. The reel I was using had about 240 yards of 20-pound-test backing on it, so I was not concerned about holding this big fish --- until I noticed two things: the reel handle had suddenly stopped turning and then the backing got very tight. Then a huge fish broke the surface at what looked like an eighth of a mile down the lake! It was the striper I'd hooked and all my backing was gone! Panic replaced elation and I threw the electric motor into fast forward. I was winding like mad and praying that everything --- backing knots, leader knots and barbless hook --- would stay connected to my first Norfork striper! I wanted this fish so badly. A lifetime later (maybe 15-20 minutes) I had the big fish on its side next to my boat and it was even larger then I had estimated. I was tempted to reach over to land it, but was worried that it might jerk me overboard. Swimming alone in the middle of Lake Norfork Lake in January is no fun! So I led it to the nearest shoreline and beached it safely.
Each season after that I've fine-tuned this design so that it has become one of the best minnow imitations I've ever used to catch stripers, trout, largemouth and smallmouth bass, spotted bass, walleye, catfish, white bass, snook, tarpon, bonito, tuna, redfish, sea trout (spotted weakfish) and landlock salmon. I do several things to accomplish this versatile effectiveness and wide appeal. First, I tie each Sheep Minnow pattern with a unique combination of materials that can imitate the shape, look and movement of practically all minnows and baitfish species, including shad, alewife, shiners, dace, smelt, sunfish, perch, darters, chubs, sticklebacks and trout. I simply try to adapt my design to each minnow's color pattern and body shape. Second, I tie the patterns in three densities: floating/waking/diving, slow/sinking/swimming, and fast-sinking/bottom-jigging.
I'll never forget one morning on Norfork Lake when stripers were all around me for two hours. I was using a 3½-inch-long #2 Sheep Shad pattern. I got swirls or follows on almost every cast, but no hookup! Then I noticed several small, crippled threadfins on the surface. I put on a #8, 1 ¼-inch Sheep Shad and over the next two hours hooked six stripers that averaged 15 lbs. Back to John Crews. I'm so thankful for John's help and encouragement that I reciprocated by I teaching him how to fly fish and tie flies, and then rigged him with a couple of striper flyfishing outfits. John, already an excellent lure caster with limitless enthusiasm, learned to flycast quickly. He used his knowledge of Norfork Lake striper fishing to put us on school after school of stripers the next four seasons. John has keen eyes and can locate risers that I would never have seen. Eventually he fell so completely in love with flyfishing for these magnificent fish that he began using flyrods almost exclusively. Then he stopped keeping his limit and began releasing most of the stripers that he or his clients caught. Today the Norfork striper are nearly nonexistent, I'm sad to say. The lake once held thousands of them and they averaged 18 pounds. Over fishing (the legal limit was 6 per day until recently) plus severe oxygen shortages due to excessive chicken and turkey fertilizer use on watershed farmlands has contributed to the striper's decline. They are now often very hard to find on winter mornings. Because the stripers had a wonderful selectivity, they challenged me to develop a fly that has given me many great flyfishing experiences. I continue to use the Sheep Minnow on other waters that hold stripers to imitate the baitfish they eat. Fishing
Sheep Minnows I fish Sheep Minnows that imitate the natural minnows in an area. Live shad, shiner, dace darter and other small fish each have a particular behavior pattern. You can obtain more information about minnow shapes and habit in books such as my Guide to Aquatic Trout Foods (The Lyons Press, 1982). Waker Sheep - This floating fly will imitate minnows that are either crippled, sick, fleeing or feeding at the surface. At this position, I use either a floating line or a 4- to 5-foot-long sinking-tip line to fish it at rest, struggling, V-wake swimming, fleeing or with a dive-swim-surface action. I also fish it effectively on a 2- to 4-foot leader and a full uniform-sink line. I use a slow, erratic retrieve and a pause/swim action close to the bottom. Because the minnow is buoyant, it will not snag bottom structure, even with slow retrieves or long pauses. The heaviest largemouth bass I've taken, a 12 3/4 lbs. monster, inhaled the fly on this set-up. Swimming Sheep - This moderate-speed sinking minnow imitates baitfish that are swimming, crippled or dying. I try to balance each fly so that it swims and sinks like a real injured minnow. Such small fish neither sink head- or tail-first, but sort of wobble or flutter on their sides downward. I test-swim each minnow I tie in an aquarium near my tying desk because no two flies are tied exactly the same and some need to be fine-tuned to achieve this balance. Try to test yours at home before you actually fish it. I use floating, intermediate, sinking-tip and full uniform-sink lines. With the floating and intermediate (slow sinking) lines, it is important to know how many inches per second the fly sinks. I prefer about three to six inches per second, the rate which most crippled or dying minnows sink. Often I imitate school minnows, such as shad, alewife, or smelt, that have been attacked and are dropping out of the school, only to fall to larger predators waiting below. When I use Swimming Sheep Minnows in slow, still or clear water, the Scientific Angler's Clear Lake Line is outstanding for the slow, erratic, stop-and-start level swimming I need. The line (and others like it) is transparent in water and it doesn't frighten fish swimming beside or under it, like opaque lines might. It's almost like a 90 foot long leader. When I
want the Swimmer Minnow to sink deeper quickly, I don't increase
the fly's weight, because that often limits its effectiveness.
Instead I use a faster-sinking fly line and a 4- to 6-foot
Umpqua leader made for sinking-line. Deep Sheep Minnow - This fly nose-dives at a sink rate of about 10 to 15 inches per second and is designed to swim to the bottom and then back up a bit. Darters, sculpins and suckers have this near-the-bottom action, but this fishing technique also works with shad and smelt patterns. I've used it to take bottom-hugging, freestone-stream and tailwater species such as trout, walleye, smallmouth bass, white bass, Catfish and others. In flowing waters, I prefer to fish the Deep Sheep Minnows with a floating line and a 9- to 16-foot leader. In most of the places I fish them, this combination allows the diving fly to reach the desired depth, yet gives me control over its action, position, and sensitivity while also avoiding most hang-ups on the bottom. I usually cast the fly up- and-across the current, let it sink to the bottom, then mend to slow the drag and let the fly swim past and below my position. To fish stillwaters with the Deep Sheep Minnow and a sinking line, I cast to the target area and let the fly sink. Then, using straight-line technique, I animate the fly along the bottom. Usually the slower and more erratic the fly swims or hops, the more productive it is. The Swimmer and Deep Sheep Minnows, in alewife, shad and smelt patterns are effective below dams that are releasing large amounts of water through flood gates or turbines. In these areas, school minnows are stunned or injured as they pass through the dam, and they are eaten by stripers, trout, landlocked salmon, and other gamefish. I usually dead-drift the fly downstream with the current as if was rendered helpless by the water turbulence. Fresh- and saltwater gamefish feed on a bewildering variety of live foods, but they all feed on small fish. If you use a minnow fly that is lifelike enough to imitate these baitfish, you'll have consistently good catches. My Sheep Minnow Series can put more and larger fish on the end of your fly line. What's
in the Name? I like it because it has never been sheared and has all the practical lengths in it from 1 to 8 inches. It is strong, fine, straight with little crinkles, and it has nice tips. It is flexible, feather-light hair that shines under the water like nylon or polar bear hair. It's also easy to use. It comes in an almost iridescent natural white that dyes well. Tom dyes it in a wide range of natural and fluorescent colors. Fish are really attracted to it!
Whitlock's Sheep Minnow Series: Three Minnows The three patterns I've designed work well at different depths, because they have different densities. Here's how they work. Waker Sheep. This surface fly has a buoyant, deer-hair head that is realistically shaped and causes the fly to make a wake at the surface, zigzag, dive and leave a chain of bubbles, then swim and return to the surface. It's just like crippled or feeding minnows that rest, struggle to swim, and then rest again. The hidden, down-riding hook and snag guard are more effective for hooking surface strikes than the up-riding hooks used in the sub-surface Swimming Sheep and Deep Sheep patterns. It's one of my favorite surface fly designs for bass, pickerel, snook, tarpon and large sunfish. Swimming Sheep. This is the original Sheep Minnow design. It was designed to cast easily, splash down like a small live minnow, and then slowly flutter and sink or swim like a disabled minnow. The action is fantastic and the profile realistic, especially when it's in the water. It's tied with an 'invisible' in-the-body' long-shank, bend-back style hook that's almost 100 percent snag-proof, while at the same time hooking fish well. Deep Sheep. The lead barbell eyes on this design make it dive directly to deep water, right down to the bottom where a lot of big fish feed, especially in clear or heavily-fished waters and during daylight hours. Its hidden, in-the-body, up-riding hook seldom snags as it hops and skips over rocks, vegetation, and sunken trees or roots. The hopping and jigging action you get when it's fished with a floating or intermediate (slow-sinking) fly line is one of the most consistently effective actions to trigger the appetites and territorial instincts of many gamefish. Note: To attach Sheep Minnows to my leader, I use the Duncan Loop (Uni-knot) and leave the loop slightly open because it allows the minnow to move more naturally in the water. Icelandic Sheep Hair is available from Wapsi, Umpqua Feather Merchant, or Hareline fly-tying material dealers. The Whitlock Sheep Minnow Series tied to Dave's specifications are available from most flyshops that are Umpqua Feather Merchants dealers. For shops in your area call 1-800-322-3218. Dave's Sheep Minnow tying instructions are available on video tape. Just go to Our Fly Fishing Store to order an autographed copy. The
Value of a Fly I vividly remember the fishing experience that led to my first fly-tying lesson. Dave had just begun to teach me to fly fish. I had mastered the Duncan loop, I knew about tippets and backing and I could cast 40 feet with some accuracy. I was feeling pretty good about things, and so was Dave. He invited me to one of his favorite trout streams, a tiny spring-fed creek which made its way through the limestone crevices of the Ozarks of southern Missouri. Dave said the fish were so big they hardly had room to turn around in the narrow stream. I was excited. I'll never
forget my first view of those big rainbows cruising from hole
to hole, accelerating through the crystal shallows to the
safety of the darker water. The images were coming off and
glowing in the shafts of sunlight. I was beginning to understand
some of the intangible benefits of fly fishing. I couldn't
wait to get a fly on the water, and then I saw them rising
up and around the stream, a beginner's nightmare...TREES!
Their branches were everywhere my backcast wanted to be. That evening, after the long drive back through the twilight, Dave took off his vest and looked into his fly box. It was almost empty, and I was the only one fishing that day! He said, "That's it. Come here and sit down." I figured he was going to tell me that at least we could still jog and bird watch together, since the fly fishing hadn't worked out. But instead he sat me down at his fly tying desk where I began to work with bits of fur, tiny feathers, spools of thread and Dave's patient instructions. Eventually several of the flies that I had left hung on branches, logs, rocks, and fish began to appear in front of me in the vise. The glue was barely dry on my last fly when Dave asked me to go fishing again. This time it was different. I noticed that after putting in the time and effort to tie my own flies, I had more respect for the value of each one. I was more careful with my backcast and more patient with my hook sets. I spent more time fishing and less time quarreling with the trees and re-rigging my tackle. My flies stayed on my line and I caught more fish! That's when I started to understand why Dave was so intent on teaching me both sides of this wonderful sport. What a rush to catch a wild fish on a fly you've tied yourself, to reel that gleaming jewel in, to be able to touch it, admire its beauty up close, thank it for the thrill and then set it free. Dave still ties more of our flies because he's so good at it. But I keep learning and enjoying what he calls "the other half of fly fishing." Fly
Tying, The Other Half of Fly Fishing Story
and Photography If we could offer you a way to at least double your time, pleasure and potential catches fly fishing, would you be interested? Okay... here's how. Learn to tie your own flies! Wait a minute, no excuses. You aren't too busy, too nervous or too clumsy. We've yet to see a person who fly fishes who cannot become skilled as a fly tyer. If you can tie your shoe strings or sign your name, you have the right equipment. If you read, ride public transportation, watch TV, or fly fish, you have time. You can tie flies to relax and entertain yourself on planes and in airline terminals, in motels and lodges and even at times on the banks of a river. If you want to ...there's always time. Fly tying
is very relaxing, engrossing and extremely practical. But
the best thing is that you can catch fish on a fly that you've
made yourself. Be it the first one you tie or that special
one you create that is like no other ever tied or a copy of
a classic design, using your own flies can really add to the
satisfaction of fly fishing. Your flies can make great gifts! Not just given as flies for fishing, but also framed in shadow boxes or mounted for use as broaches and earrings and other jewelry forms. The possibilities are many and you'll be appreciated for your efforts. Some folks get so enthralled with fly tying that they make a business out of it, selling flies to fly shops, distributors and guides and fishermen. This is an especially good way for young people to build part-time income while they are in school. Before you purchase a tying kit, we'd advise you to seek instructions and materials from your local fly-fishing pro shops, tying friends or area fly-fishing clubs. If these "live-and-in-person" teaching aids aren't handy, then purchase one or more good beginner level fly-tying videos and books; some are even available at your local library. We are
so convinced that every fly fisher should tie at least a few
of their own flies that we teach a short course in fly tying
during all our three-day fly-fishing schools here in Arkansas.
In just a couple of hours our students learn enough to tie
several flies, and then most of them catch fish on their own
flies before the school is over. Daylong fly-tying classes
are also available at our school for those who want to get
serious about their tying. Southwest
Airlines Spirit Damie, a female black Labrador, sallies up the driveway to meet me as I park the car at Dave and Emily Whitlocks' country house in the Ozark Mountains in north-central Arkansas. I have come to attend their three day fly-fishing school, modeled on the one Dave Whitlock started for L.L. Bean in the mid-'70s. In the cool of the morning, I walk around the house to look at the pond ringed by flycasting platforms. There are practice casting rings anchored twenty-five or thirty feet from shore, and for a second I imagine myself struggling to cast into the wind. I am a backsliding fly fisher, having learned the basics of fly casting some years ago, but then having regressed to spinning reel. This is my chance for redemption. Fly-fishing instructors, Dave and Emily, tanned and fit in shorts and cotton shirts, greet their students. They started the school together after they were married eight years ago and still look and act like newlyweds. The walls of the classroom are adorned with Dave's illustrations, along with fish charts for trout, salmon, and bass; hook clamps for tying flies; a library of books on fly fishing; photos of trophy trout he and Emily have caught. Dave is the author and illustrator of the best-selling L.L. Bean Fly fishing Handbook, which has sold 380,000 copies. Our class of ten hail from California, Alabama, Mississippi, Iowa, New York City, Chicago, and New Jersey, ranging in age from thirteen to sixty. James, the youngest, is a high-school student who wants to be a fly fishing guide when he grows up. His mother drove him 500 miles to attend class. It turns out that Robert Redford's movie A River Runs Through It got several of the students interested in fly fishing. Emily confirms that the film was a watershed event, giving the sport a major boost. Fish stories surface, making rings in the conversation. "A carp snapped the line ... steelhead wore me out ... did a lot of saltwater fishing when I was young ... ever catch a cutthroat?" None of us, however, are here because we want to put trout in the freezer. True fly fishing is a catch-and-release affair, and we have come to Arkansas to learn this challenging sport and to get closer to nature. "The purpose of this course," Dave begins, "is to teach you to teach yourself." It doesn't take long to realize we are in the presence of two master fly fishers. Dave is wiry and athletic, with a shock of snow-white hair. A mix of English, Czech, and Cherokee, he was a research chemist who left a successful career to pursue his favorite sport. Emily was working on a PhD in botany when she met Dave. He persuaded her to leave academia and go fly fishing. Whitlock grew up in Oklahoma, which he calls "the Sahara of fly fishing." Given an old, used bamboo fly-fishing rod by his dad, he went fishing at a nearby pond but discovered he could not tie a fly to the end of the thick flyline. "My grandmother tied black-braided fishing line on the end so I could put a fly on it, and I was in business," he recalls. In teaching himself to fly cast, Dave first related it to spin casting, where the weight is on the end, not in the line itself. The class listens alertly. Having paid a tuition fee of $150 a day, they are serious. "The fly line," Dave tells us, "is the most important component of fly casting." There are a dazzling number of lines and weights, numbered and color-coded to indicate degree of coating and whether it floats or sinks. There's double taper, weight forward, weight-forward-floating or -sinking; there's backing and tapered leader and tippet, too. We quickly see that fly fishing, like using a computer or playing piano, has its own language and symbols. To help us understand, Dave demonstrates the different types of lines with oversize models made of Fiberglas tubing. He uses a small rod with green yarn to teach us to create a loop, to let the rod and the line do the work. He kneels on the floor and calls for volunteers. Nobody comes forward. We're too self-conscious. Dave taps Sheila, a magazine executive, to be the first to cast the yarn, showing us it's not as bad as we think. "That's good. Excellent," Dave encourages Sheila. "Give me a tight loop now. Excellent. Okay, next!" The students gradually relax. The consensus is that we're all in this together. We're mostly neophytes, though a few have had some fly casting experience. We are shown the "Four-Part Cast": pickup, upcast, downcast, and presentation of fly. We are taught to "stroke" the rod up and then down; stopping at 12 o'clock going back, and 10 o'clock going forward. The British invented fly fishing, and in the beginning all were made of bamboo; the old cane rods were slow or medium action. "Like playing tennis with a wooden racket?" one of the students asks. Now most rods are made of graphite, the most popular being of medium to medium-fast action. The stiffer or faster action rods are for bigger game fish. "The tip of your rod is a shock absorber," says Dave. "The rod transfers energy from the fisherman to the line, leader, and fly." There are two-, three-, and four-piece rods; he shows us how to fit the ferrules together. "You want a rod to feel responsive to touch and stress. The four-piece is easier to carry ... because the sections are shorter," he says, "but the three-piece has a better action." We all go outside to the pond. The property formerly was a catfish farm, and ten-pound catfish lazily rise to the surface. "They think it's feeding time," Dave says. The catfish, bass, bream and trout in the pond are like household pets. Hundreds of students have caught and released them at the fly fishing school. Dave demonstrates the four-part cast, then he and Emily assist our awkward efforts with hands-on instruction. The secret, Emily tells us, is keeping the slack out of the line on the pickup, so that the line is taut as it comes out of the water and snaps back into the air behind us. One simple bit of advice is usually all it takes. Dave notices that I'm whipping the rod too far forward. If I stop its forward movement at 10 o'clock sharp, it unfurls with a crisper, tighter loop, taking less effort and achieving greater distance. "Casting is a case of hand-to-eye coordination, not physical strength," he tells us. Dave turns on a fan, and we practice casting yarn-line. The trick is to keep the line low and the loop tight, and to cast down, into the wind. "The wind bothers more fly casters than cottonmouths, no-trespassing signs, and barbed wire put together," says Dave, showing us how to use the energy of the wind on our upcast, to straighten the line and deliver more power for the downstroke and presentation of the fly. Each of us is a supplicant at the Whitlocks' pond, each seeking a tight loop and soft delivery. Bream drift by the casting platform enticingly. (One is tempted to try catching them, but the practice flies are hookless.) Each of us is learning at his own speed, building confidence, getting the rhythm. It's very quiet at the pond, ten lines arcing back and forth, snaking out over the green water. On the second day of class Dave demonstrates at a huge aquarium filled with fish, hovering over it and "puppeteering" the fly. The "area of deception" is a narrow band on the surface within the fish's vision. The bream in the tank will sample an artificial bait, then spit it out in approximately one second. "That's how long you have to feel the strike and set the hook," he says. We crowd around the aquarium, fascinated by the fish and by Dave's ability. It is as if he knows what the fish are thinking before they do. We watch a slide show presented by Emily of original drawings and photos of trout and their natural foods: nymphs and larvae, dragonflies, midges, mayflies, damselflies. Dave routinely will harmlessly syphon a wild fish's stomach to see what it is eating. "It's almost like talking to the fish," he says with a grin. It is obligatory in fly fishing to learn to tie the "Duncan loop," which is my nemesis. By the second attempt, as the line samples get thinner (monofilament leader), I surreptitiously reach for reading glasses. Nearly all the students except James have to use them. Emily teaches us to tie the knots and then to smooth them over with a waterproof glue. Rick, an orthopedic surgeon, jokes that these knots are harder to tie than closing after an operation. Then it's on to tying the fly. "If I can get a student to tie one fly," says Dave, "he'll understand a lot more of what fly fishing is all about." He examines the Woolie Buggers we have laboriously wrapped onto hooks and observes of one, "I wouldn't say that fly is ugly, but would you eat the fish that thought it looked good?" Like all fly fishermen, Dave is a perfectionist. Everything must be exact - knots, leader, tippet, changing the flies to get the right one - everything according to form. This is his dogma, his litany, his fly fishing gospel. Emily sits by the pond holding the end of the line with a gloved hand, and we take turns learning to set the hook against her firm resistance. Tom, the accountant, pulls so hard he breaks the line. "Guides have begged me to teach my students how to set the hook," Dave tells us as we sit on the grass under a shade tree. "They put their clients on fish and show them where to cast and which flies to use; but once the fish hits, you have one second to set the hook or you lose it." It's graduation day, and we're at the White River to test our new knowledge. As we load our gear into several small skiffs, there are big trout swimming under the dock. When Bull Shoals Dam was constructed, the lake water made the river below it twenty degrees cooler and drove the bass far downstream. In the 1940s, the Arkansas Game and Fish Commission began stocking the White and other area rivers with rainbow and brown trout; now the White River offers some of the best trout fishing in the country. We boat over to Rim Shoals Island and take a picnic lunch for a day of fishing and practicing. Dave and Emily anchor targets in the water for us to cast at. As we wade in the current, we also are taught how to "mend" the line by flipping it upstream. As morning fog drifts over the water, a dozen or so fly casters on the far side of the river are like ghosts waving at each other in the hazy light. The water is clear and the bottom is covered with grapefruit-size brown and white rocks. Emily teaches us to shuffle our feet when wading, to improve balance in a fast-moving stream. The riffles roar behind us, and a belted kingfisher circles overhead. We all look a bit awkward in our green waders, with belts to keep them secure if we slip and fall. "Call us the 'belted fly caster,' a new species," says fellow student Leo, from Ames, Iowa. The sunshine is warm, but the water temperature is about fifty degrees. "I can't feel my feet," Leo remarks. Dave is at his best in the water, standing in midstream and teaching us how to make the fly drift naturally and look like food to a waiting trout. When he casts, the fly settles down as if with a life of its own. After lunch, Dave and Emily seine for fish foods, to show us what natural flies and larvae the trout are feeding on. This section of the White River has been designated a catch-and-release area, but the Whitlocks are hoping that new regulations will protect trout all the way to the dam. "The irony is that the White could be a great natural trout environment," Dave tells us. Bait fishermen turn out en masse for the weekly restocking, when three million seven-month-old rainbow are released into the White River. "They use power bait and every kind of bait you can think of," Dave says, preaching on the rocky shore, "and in three weeks, most of the fish are gone." His sermon is about conservation, stream etiquette and the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Now it's time for some real fishing. We are all using barbless hooks, as the law requires, to keep from hurting trout. In no time at all, I tangle my line, but Emily cuts it off and gives me a new fly, "Dave's Woolie Bugger." It's a weighted fly to offset my linemending, which she tactfully observes may improve with practice. With her expert assistance, I manage to hook two medium-size rainbows. The joy of catching and releasing them makes all this effort worthwhile. At the end of the day, we rendezvous at the Whitlocks' home, tired and happy, peeling off the rubber waders, joking about who has passed the course and who hasn't. We all have gained confidence and learned new skills. As Leo puts it, "There were a lot facts thrown at us, probably too many to absorb right away, but I learned enough to know what I'm doing wrong." As each student goes forward, Emily and Dave give out certificates and hugs. It reminds me of an old-fashioned revival meeting. Something of lasting value has been given and received. I return to my seat with pride and humility, reading my diploma: "Certificate of Achievement for the successful completion of the Three-Day Fly Fishing School. This is the first step to a lifetime of enjoyment. Congratulations." Born again. For more information, write The Dave & Emily Whitlock Fly Fishing School, PO Box 319, Midway, Arkansas 72651, or call 888-962-4576. The
First Steps to Fly Fishing The most frequently asked question I receive from non-fly-fishing audiences is: "How do I get started fly fishing and how much will it cost me to get going?" Here's my answer and advice. First, save up about $500 to $1,000. Take half of that sum and enroll in a fly fishing school. When you complete the school, use your new knowledge to purchase your tackle, flies, and accessories from a fly-fishing specialty shop. If you use a specialty shop rather than a discount store, you will, first, usually get higher quality equipment, but just as important, you will have the valuable advice and experience of the fly-fishing staff who can help guide you to exactly what you need to get started. They will also be able to answer all the questions that will invariably come up as you progress in this wonderful sport. I'd also suggest that you save $25 back to join a local fly-fishing/fly-tying club. That will be another incredible source of help and information as you are learning. Now, practice daily on your fly-fishing skills of knot tying, tackle assembly, casting and fly presentation. Also, read and watch fly fishing whenever you can and soon you will be experiencing great results toward a lifetime of fly-fishing fun, fish and friendships. What
is Fly Fishing? If I had understood what fly fishing is when I was 9 or even 19, I would have advanced so much faster. So, now, the first thing I do when I instruct any level of fly fishing is to define to my students, friends or audiences what this sport is. I often tell such school groups: "In the next three days you will learn as much about fly fishing as it took me 20 years to understand." I like to first describe fly fishing by contrasting it with the other four main ways that most people learn how to fish: pole, line and baited hook, baitcasting, spincasting and spinning. These four methods utilize a weighted lure that is attached at the end of a more or less weightless line. With the rod, this 'concentrated weight' of a bait or lure is set into a forward motion and the lure pulls the line out with it to the fishing target area. (The lure is weighted, the line is not.) Fly fishing is 180 degrees opposite of this procedure. An almost weightless 'fly' lure is attached to a line that has weight. With a long fly rod, the weighted line is moved first up and back and down and forward and the line pulls the fly along and propels the 'fly' to fishing target areas. (The line is weighted, the lure is not.) The genius of this system is that it does not require the cast object to have any tangible weight, as in the other four systems. Therefore any size of 'fly' lure from the tiniest insect of 1/32" long to 8-to-12" baitfish imitation can be cast and presented in a most lifelike way. What's
Out There to Fly Fish For? As I was growing up in Oklahoma's warm waters, all I had to fly fish for was bass and sunfish. Nothing had spots except an occasional accidental channel catfish! There were no trout, no grayling, no salmon... poor Okie from Muskogee, I used to think. My young brain had been tattooed from reading magazines, books, and catalogs that fly fishing wasn't fly fishing unless I was wading a cold, clear stream where colorful, spotted torpedoes broke the surface for graceful, sail-winged, blue dun colored, floating mayflies. Oh, to be among the privileged trout and salmon fly-fishing elite! Well,
I got an education, a job, vacation time and joined the 'real'
world of fly fishing back east, up north and out west! It
was fantastic! Then when I was about 30, I started to change
my thinking. Why? Well, for several reasons. First, two or
three weeks of 'real' fly fishing a year was just not enough.
It was also becoming harder to find and more expensive, plus
my wife and kids were learning to fly fish and needed more
of my time. At that point, I had also begun considering an
occupation change from petroleum research to ...fly fishing! So, do yourself a favor this season. If you haven't already discovered the other, more abundant fun part of fly fishing, those warm and cool water, fresh and salt water fish that'll gobble your fly, try them out in your 'home' waters. Chances are, you'll find more elbow room, have more success and perhaps even more fun fly fishing...and definitely more often. |
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