Fly Fisher: An Octogenarian knows stuff

Thom Glace, Featured Artist at the original Virginia Fly Fishing & Wine Festival, held at Meadow Event Park, just 15 miles north of Richmond, Virginia, on the Virginia State Fairgrounds.

The older man’s mind had yet to yield to his age, even though his body plotted against him in the rudest ways: losing his balance but not falling; pain arriving unannounced; exhaustion coming on like a child’s, full of life one minute, spent the next.

None of it surprised him anymore

Henry Clement, Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, August 2023. Photo by Captain Andrew Derr.

He had learned not to wear waders. They were like hauling around a tire, and they leaked even after moderate use. He kept warm from his crotch to head. A pocketed shirt held the tube flies; another pocket kept the hooks in their original package. Both were instantly available and took minutes to install. He wore light boots with felt soles. Rubber soles were too slippery, but better for ground hikes—no iron studs. He learned they announced his arrival like wearing a boombox.

He had reinvented casting by adding a small cork fighting butt below the reel seat, letting him cast short or long with a roll cast, accurately, using the lever two-handed casting produced. One hand on the handle, the other on the fighting butt. It required far less energy. No false casting, no hauls, or hooked flora behind him. He wondered why it wasn’t a standard replacement for the conventional overhead cast.

His old hands still knew the language of the river and streams he regularly fished in the foothills of the Appalachians. This fall day was no different, except the trout were getting more stupid by the day, needing to fatten for winter.å

No additional reels needed

He had long ago chosen a large 7-weight-rated reel, easily capable of handling his 6-weight double-taper (DT) line and backing, and a spool for his 5-weight forward (WF) line. The large reel didn’t compromise casting. He learned to prefer it. Its benefit beyond liking it was allowing added spare spools to replace the need for additional reels. It saved a lot of money.

As he made his first mend adjustment to the double-taper (DT) line, he felt a tail nibble. It caught the lip of his black Woolly Bugger tube fly. The huge brown showed itself and bolted for cover. Would the flattened hook barb two sizes smaller than the fly hold? He couldn’t worry about that now.

Illustration by Thom Glace – rainbow trout, brown trout, and brook trout. Used with permission.

It was all about keeping contact

The fly jumped up the leader on the first aerial leap. At least the leverage advantage was now on his side. Only the hook now. He had no net and no intention of keeping the Salmo trutta.

He never touched the fish

It stayed wet. He only grabbed the bare hook and released the brown trout.

He smiled and said, “Goodbye, my friend.”

He liked the idea that it would pass on its great genes and grow into a new tale of its enormity.

It was a grand day, and a cool, sweet iced tea, warm wool socks, and a ten-dollar Churchill Maduro would give the fish size a chance to catch up with the story’s retelling.