Sunday, June 28, 2009
Getting a lesson in fly fishing
Mark Taylor
Mark Taylor's Outdoors column and notebook appears regularly in The Roanoke Times.
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MARION -- The small nymph is bouncing through the shaded run when suddenly it stops.
At the sting of the hook, the fish darts to the head of the pool and you think, "This feels like a pretty good one."
And then the fish turns and darts downstream, a 2-foot-plus blur rushing past you just 15 feet away, and you think something else.
You think, "That is a monster."
But you don't say it.
You want to play it cool, so you yell, "I've got one on, and I think it's a pretty good one."
Your host, who is fishing the next pool downstream, stops and looks.
Your fish is soon in that pool and rushing downstream past your host, who is not shy with his evaluation when he gets a glimpse at the angry torpedo.
"That's a monster," he shouts.
He would know.
He's Richard Formato, an avid fly angler from Wytheville who's had his hands on some monster trout, including some big ones pulled from this stream.
This stream is the South Fork of the Holston River, a gorgeous little spring-fed creek that courses through the rolling hills of Washington County.
Its trout are mostly wild rainbows. Most are small, but a few will top 20 inches.
But it has some browns, too.
One of those browns is the Virginia state record, a 14-pound, 12-ounce beast that grew fat gorging on stocked trout in one of the river's public put-and-take sections.
And there are some who think there are bigger browns in here.
In fact, a friend caught and released -- knowing it could be a state record -- one of those monster browns a few years ago.
And so, with the fish parked on the bottom of a pool and not budging, you start to wonder just how big this fish is.
The biggest trout you've ever hooked, that's for certain.
Five pounds?
Easy.
Seven pounds?
Maybe.
Ten pounds?
Why not?
And then the absurdity of your situation hits you.
In your hand is a 3-weight fly rod.
This is the fly-fishing equivalent of ultralight tackle, designed for delicately casting small flies and getting the most fun from the fight of a 12-inch trout.
It is not for landing monsters.
"What tippet did you put on this thing?" Formato shouts to Danny Marino.
Marino, a 16-year-old fly fishing prodigy from Connecticut, is here fishing with his friend and Formato protege Matt Rose as the two practice for the upcoming junior world fly fishing championships in the Czech Republic.
You are here to do a story on Rose, an 18-year-old Floridian who has honed his skills on this river and others like it in Southwest Virginia while spending summers with his grandmother in Wytheville.
Marino, a better angler than you ever hope to be, had generously fixed you up with the kind of rig he fishes after you'd finished taking pages of notes and dozens of photos of the experts.
"It's 4x," he says.
That's probably about 8-pound test, which isn't too scary. The rod is the scary part.
"Don't break your rod," Formato says, looking nervously at the acutely bent noodle.
The fish takes off again, reaching another deep pool downstream as you stumble after it.
It parks on the bottom again, lodging itself among some boulders.
You are now 15 minutes into this.
"Get in there and try to net the fish," Formato says to Rose.
Rose wades in, the water lapping his armpits.
He grabs the line and pulls.
"It's still on there," he says.
The fish bolts from its spot, and Rose gets a decent look at it.
"I think it's a carp," he says.
And you think, "You know, that kind of makes sense."
Its power has been incredible, but it hasn't had the head shakes of a trout.
When you got your best look at it, the fish seemed to be four inches wide across the shoulders. The tail might have been forked.
But there is still doubt.
And, even if it is a carp, there's no shame in landing a 10-pound carp on a 3-weight fly rod.
So you don't want to give up.
The fish has found another stronghold on the bottom so Rose, who is almost swimming now, plucks the line again.
Out it comes, and heads for the tangled root wad of a streamside tree.
"Put the wood to it!" Marino shouts.
And you do, but it doesn't matter.
The fish reaches the sanctuary and the line snaps.
And you smile, shake your head and think, "Man, I hope that was a carp."
