WWelcome to Week CXXIX of 'Fishing Parkland Shorelines'. Like most of us I am a novice fisherman, loving to fish, but far from an expert. In the following weeks I'll attempt to give those anglers who love to fish but just don't have access to a boat, a look at some of the options in the Yorkton area where you can fish from shore, and hopefully catch some fish.
It's Halloween Eve in Saskatchewan and that means there was frost on the old pumpkins. In fact I can attest to it being a fine chilly morning thanks to a Prairie wind, since I was among a hardy foursome chucking discs at Patrick Park Disc Golf Course in the city at 7:45 a.m. that morning.
Fishing was not really on my radar for the day.
I had gone as far as to invite bud Patrick Thomson to a game of backgammon over coffee at one of the local establishments, since I was on a too rare day free of writing, and Thursdays are generally his free day as well.
Backgammon, while not on the same level of board game love for me as crokinole, cribbage, dameo and arimaa, is still a good option to pass some time, and Patrick, who has played with a master of the game in Turkey where the game is hugely popular, was likely to teach me a lot in whooping me kindly at a few games.
But, his son had an afternoon free, so Patrick was suddenly tied up with family, which of course is understandable.
So I am lounging at home when I get a message on Facebook, Patrick and his son are headed to the Water Treatment Plant Pond, (again we need the spot named), for some fly fishing, and invited me to meet him there.
I grab my fly rod and suddenly recall the last time I was out with the unit, as dusk was falling, I had wrapped the line around the rod tip.
I had meant to get around to untangling the mess the day after the incident, but being male I do have selective memory lapses, and I had not gotten within a dozen feet of the rod since I put it away that day.
So the line was tangled, knotted, twisted, twirled and well frankly a blasted bad mess.
Flash forward half an hour and with some help, all right a lot of help, from the better half, the mess is fixed and I am headed to the pond.
Arriving I find myself on one side the pond, Patrick and his son on the other.
I start to cast, all right in reality it was a feeble flailing of the rod, but on a few tries the line actually hit the water 20, or so feet out.
I was feeling sort half good until I realized, to my embarrassment, the fly was gone. It was likely lost to a branch on the back swing.
Now being something less than a rookie fly fisherman, I did not bring extra flies along. Shhh folks, don't spread that tidbit around too much.
So Patrick, being the fine teacher, walks around the pond and sets me up with a leech-looking fly he has tied out of black rabbit fur and fly tying vise wizardry.
I go to cast, and Patrick suggests a few things I am doing wrong. It is a dissertation on my fly fishing flaws which took I would say 45-minutes. It seems other than having a fly rod and being beside a body of water where trout resided, I was doing absolutely nothing right.
Now Patrick is a kind man by nature, so he doesn't just fall on the ground and roll around laughing at my efforts, although I think I caught him grabbing a tree branch once to save falling over in the throes of jocularity.
Apparently my main issue was breaking my wrist, which in turn had me waving the fly rod "like a flag" which is not a good thing.
I also had a tendency to bundle the line on the water, something Patrick suggested was much like "a chicken flopping around with its head chopped off." Apparently I decapitated several imaginary chickens in rather short order.
Patrick then stands behind me, grabs my arm with the fly rod in it, and starts to show me the motion of the cast.
Now it's my turn to want to fall to the ground laughing. I am struck by the visual of Patrick and I, both rather large men, joined by a fly rod in some weird dance on Halloween Eve. It would have made a scene in the television show 'Supernatural'
And there was my better half standing nearby with access to my camera. For the record I wrote this 24 hours later and have still not mustered the courage to look at the photos she may have taken.
Now I am nowhere near a professional in terms of any fishing techniques, but I have been tossing hooks since I was a pre-teen to some level of success.
However, with a fly rod in-hand I feel like I've never fished at all. It is like being thrust into the middle of China and suddenly everything known of language is useless, and you are left floundering to understand something completely foreign.
Yes, I caught a trout at the pond on my fly rod earlier this fall, but that was either a case of the 'even a blind squirrel finds a nut on occasion', or that the stupidest trout on the planet happened by my fly that night.
To fly fish I have tonnes to learn, and the question is truly whether my patience will last long enough to achieve some level or success, or whether I turn back to the spincast reel, and go after the trout with gear I better understand.
Only time will tell, and that time will be in spring when once again I ask Patrick to guide my feeble skills toward the bright light of successful fly fishing.
