On Saturday, Oct. 17, I made my debut as a casting instructor at the Autumn at the Town Farm event in Falls Village.
Over the decades I have coached various people, usually newcomers, and once in a while it results in a trout in the net.
More frequently it concludes with gales of helpless laughter.
But this is the first time I have ever been presented to the public as some sort of expert.
The initial idea was that I would stand in the Hollenbeck River, which winds through the Town Farm property, and catch fish expertly while throngs of spectators gasped in awe.
I pointed out that a) I have never fished that stretch of the river b) the likelihood of catching anything with people watching from the bank and scaring the fish was low and c) there is nothing on earth as boring as watching someone else fish.
You don’t believe me on that last item? There’s an easy test.
Wait for a stream to be stocked, grab a camera, go to the stream, find someone fishing, and hang around, ready to capture the action.
It will be a long wait.
I suggested casting demonstration and instruction instead, so that’s what we did.
The Town Farm is also known as the Recreation Center. The main feature is the swimming pool.
It is quite possibly the windiest location in Falls Village.
The refreshing breeze is just dandy when it is 90 degrees in August.
On this day it was more along the lines of an Arctic blast.
I set up a rickety card table to the north of the pool, next to the playground equipment. The idea here was to be at some distance from the general revelry since we would be slinging pointy things around.
I also removed the hooks completely from half a dozen bass poppers, reasoning nobody can get hooked if there are no hooks.
I also had Lakeville Journal swag, which promptly blew off the card table. Thinking fast, I secured the t-shirts and caps with a set of wading boots that still had some river muck on the soles.
In the fashion world an intentionally ripped garment is referred to as “distressed.” I am proud to announce that Tangled Lines and The Lakeville Journal have now pioneered the similar concept of “slightly muddy.” If we add any or all of the terms “small batch,” “heritage,” “vintage,” “sustainable,” and “artisanal” we will clean up.
Anyway, it was cold and windy and I had about eight customers, starting with Greer Sallick, who was doing a fly-tying demo in the poolhouse and helped me set up.
He was very interested in one of my late father’s old Orvis bamboo rods, an eight-foot three-piece Battenkill that can accommodate lines from #4 to #6 without difficulty.
On this occasion I had a #6 double tapered line on it. Sallick took a few introductory swipes and made noises indicative of joy and merriment.
Courtesy of the D.M. Hunt Library, there were brightly colored hula hoops set up at 20-foot intervals. In no time Sallick was dropping the fly into the 40 foot hoop.
Dan Carr of Falls Village said he owns a fly rod but hasn’t used it much. I gave him an Echo Base nine-foot rod with a #6 weight forward line on it. It’s a much better tool for teaching a newbie than a heavy antique like the Battenkill.
We got the basic motion down in short order, and spent some time on deploying the off hand and false casting for distance.
He too was hitting the 40 foot mark soon enough.
I had a couple more adults and a few youngsters too, and I told them all the same thing. In five decades of fly-fishing, I have caught thousands of fish, and 90% of them were within 40 feet of me.
Bombing out hero casts of 60-plus feet can be fun and looks nice from the bank, but as a practical matter the long cast is usually a waste of effort.
Consistent, controlled casting in short to medium distances puts more fish in the net.
It was all good clean fun, if a bit nippy. At about 3:15 p.m. interest in casting had died down. I made a beeline for a cup of hot coffee from the eighth graders at Lee H. Kellogg School and joined what seemed like almost everyone else in huddling around the fire pit.
