Richard Formato

Richard Formato is an avid catch-and-release fly-fisherman from Wytheville, Va. When not on the water, he operates a small business there. Formato loves to fly-fish in his native Southwest Virginia because of the great water and wonderful people. He also loves to fish the flats and shallows of the Gulf of Mexico and Atlantic whenever work and weather permit. He is on the Department of Conservation and Recreation's board of directors and is a trustee of the Shenandoah National Forest and Skyline Drive.

Recent columns

• What about Bob?
• Notes from the Charlotte Fly Show
• A wish for Jack
• Not so Rusty

• Column archive
• Talk fly-fishing

This week, I jetted out for a quick afternoon. Still basking in these warm temperatures, I knew this was a window that wouldn't stay open much longer.

I went to the Jackson , and started fishing upstream on a private area I had been given permission by an out-of-town landowner, under the strict provision that I would I report any trespassers or poachers.

After catching this nice fat Rainbow trout, I ran into a young man cruising down the river bank.

Clad in rubber hip waders, trucker hat and carrying a spinning rod, I asked who he was.

He stopped and said, “Do you own this property?

“That's not the question,” I replied.

As shocked at seeing me as I was him, he said, “I am related to the owner on the other side. I don't fish here much, but I have permission from my uncle who owns the other side.”

When he dropped the right name, I was relieved and sorry I had assumed he was on private property without authority.

It was an awkward moment that was soon broken when I asked him the following question.

“Is that a fly rod with a spinning reel on it?”

“Yeah,” he said smiling. “I have a reel for it at home, but I don't know how to fly fish.”

“Oh man! You want me to show you how to cast a fly rod?”

“Sure!”

This confirms my theory about 99 percent of spin fisherman: Every angler I know who spin fishes is at least a little interested in fly-fishing.

I know I was. Back when, I just didn't think I could fly fish. I didn't think I could afford it. I thought it was too technical, too “out of my league.”

A while back, fly fishing was a mystery to me. It looked so beautiful.

Like everyone, I had seen “A River Runs Through It” and that movie planted within me the desire to be a fly fisherman. I learned that same year.

Standing in the slough near a pass of rushing water, I said, “This is the easiest thing you will ever do.”

I let out some line and let it drift down river.

I was using a tungsten head prince nymph, with a pinch of soft weight, and strike indicator half-way up the leader.

Drifting about 15 feet of line, I pushed my rod tip downstream, lifted my rod and rolled the line upstream. Just using a basic roll cast, I said, “This is all you have to do. Just flick it upstream and watch your indicator.”

I told him to try it. The young man threw some roll casts. He was tentative, but I said, “Just go slow, use the weight of the line and it will get it out there.” A few tries later, he was rolling the line right upstream.

I could see his face, almost confused at how easy this was.

I picked up the fly and explained that I was using a basic grub imitation that was the younger version of a mayfly. I compared it to a small caterpillar, and when it sheds its skin, it becomes a mayfly … the same way a butterfly does.

I said what he was using. He showed me his black buck tail. I clipped off my prince nymph, and tied on a black woolly bugger. “This is our version of the same thing you are using,” I said. “And we use it in almost the exact same way.”

I tossed it downstream, and stripped it back. Giving him the rod again, he made a longer cast, and I showed him how to retrieve, and he was amazed.

I then tied back on the nymph and I started flicking the line upstream and we were basically just chatting about fly fishing, and he was now asking me question and after question.

As we were conversing, he saw my strike indicator stop. “That was a fish,” I said.

“Hang on,” this time, I paid a little more attention to the water. A few quick drifts later, we released this nice little Rainbow.

“I knew I should have brought my fly reel today,” he said.

He talked about how much he loved the outdoors, how much he loved to bow hunt. “When I have a day off this is what I like to do,” he said.

“I never keep any fish. I release everything I catch,” I told him.

He asked me what flies he would need. I gave him a few nymphs, a wad of strike indicator and some wooly buggers, so when he hits the fly shop, he would know what to get.

He thanked me profusely and genuinely, and I told him I had to run.

“I am going to get my reel right now,” he said as he started walking up the bank

As I looked at my watch, I realized my meeting had cost me some precious time on a limited day, but I felt so good about at least helping a young angler get his start on a new skill.

As fly anglers, we must always be open to teaching and promoting a fly-fishing lesson like we wish we could have had. Because chances are pretty darn good, we were once this kid, wanting to fly fish, knowing why, but not really knowing how.

Tight Lines,
Richard