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 chance meeting
• A wish for Jack

• Column archive
• Talk fly-fishing

Friday morning around 9:30 Cathy and I wended our way up the trail and across the walkway above Bridal Veil Falls. We decided the day before to fish this upper section of the Homestead’s Cascades above all the falls and weirs down below. There’s no stocking up there so what you catch is native rainbows and small ones at that. But these are wily little fish and half the fun is stalking them before the darting shadows escape. The fly of the morning was a #16 Copper John, which attracted a multitude of strikes and finally four beautifully marked small rainbows. In years past this stretch of the stream was brook trout habitat, but these days it’s extremely rare to hook a native.

Later in the day we fished the lower section below the footbridge where a multitude of giant rainbows flaunt themselves in the clear pools. These are fish which have seen every combination of thread and feathers known to fly-casters. If fish had thumbs they would have been thumbing their noses at everything Cathy and I offered them. Rummaging through my fly box for something different, I came across an odd-looking scrap of something on a hook that didn’t seem to belong there. Then I remembered where it came from.

A couple of months ago I received a letter from John Bass, one of the most dedicated fly-fishermen of my acquaintance. The envelope had an odd bulge in it that aroused my curiosity. When I opened it a strange-looking piece of leather, or something like it, attached to a hook fell out. John’s letter informed me that this was a “chamois fly” and despite its appearance it was a serious attractor of trout.

I examined it more closely and saw nothing but a 2-inch strip of chamois skin a quarter of inch wide stitched to a long-shanked #8 hook. I thought to myself, “That John has quite a sense of humor” but went ahead and stuck the queer-looking thing into my fly box.

I didn’t give the chamois fly any further thought until Saturday on the Cascades. I told Cathy I was going to tie it on and give it a toss just to have something to write about. She allowed that sometimes I was more interested in prose than in serious piscatorial pursuit. But I went ahead and dropped it into a plunge pool, and instantly the water boiled as big trout shouldered on another aside to hit my chamois fly, if you could call it a fly. I was astounded as a big rainbow took it and streaked around the pool, threatening to once again break my #2 rod. As I released him I thought that had to be a fluke.

Casting into another pool, I watched the thing wiggle and gyrate through the water, looking for all the world like an anemic leech. I decided on the spot to re-name it the Bleached Leech. Moments later I had the pleasure of seeing one of these lethargic giants come alive and take that simple fly. This one was in the 20-inch class -- and of course broke off my tippet and along with the only Bleached Leech I owned. I sat on the bank and thought about it for a while.

That stupid fly was an affront to all the purists who strain to come up with hundreds of different patterns and frequently don’t catch a single fish on their Rat Faced McDougals or Parmachene Beaus. But John’s Bleached Leech, wobbling through the water, was irresistible to the big Cascades rainbows. Why?

One answer occurred to me. These fish were constantly fished over and had become jaded eyeing the conventional fly and streamer patterns dragged past them each day. But here was an odd entry unlike any thing they had ever seen. And not only that, it looked pretty appetizing. Trout, like cats, being plagued with acute curiosity, wish to investigate a thing lthat piques their curiosity, and maybe sample a taste of it.

I resolved to test that theory by casting a Bleached Leech in waters not so frequently fished. During these hot summer days it’s difficult to find such a stream because of elevated water temperatures. A fisherman on the Cascades informed me that the upper Jackson had warmed to a marginal level, making the trout lethargic and indifferent to almost anything he had offered them. The Cascades, fed by numerous springs and flowing through a heavily wooded gorge, measured a comfortable 58 degrees on Saturday.

To fish the Cascades, drive to the Homestead resort on U.S. 220 and go to the Alleghany Outfitters on Cottage Row. There you can obtain a daily permit there for $40, and $25 if you’re a Trout Unlimited member. It’s one of the few real bargains left these days.