Rocks Ahead

Rocks Ahead

I have a friend. We have been buddies for 20 years. At first blush, we have little in common. He is good natured, always with a smile. Then there is me. Life has been good, but some mornings it takes awhile to remind my brain just how spoiled I am.  My buddy has passions where I have hobbies. I am tall and thin compared to his shorter more muscular frame.  Spiritually, he is a believer. I on the other hand am the classic questioner, logical to a fault.  He is the better athlete.

We fish together five or six times a year. He fishes alone or with someone else another 100 times or so each year, a passion. We play tennis together every week. Just like Grasshopper grew to his mentor’s abilities, my game has risen to his level. My arm has strengthened. Today, arguably, we are evenly matched.

“Arguably”, is the key word. This is where we are too much the same.  We are competitive. He thinks his tennis line calls are always correct, just ask me. I believe I see the lines much better than he does, just ask him. Of course he is wrong and I am right. I suspect it will always be that way. Happily, we are middle aged guys, we don’t carry the macho grudges of youth. We can go to lunch after tennis and mostly forget the occasional awkwardness. I just wish he would get his eyes checked again.

I am relieved he is the better fisherman, although I do remind him that if I did anything as much as he fished, I would be the worlds’ best at that thing. As long as he is the better fisherman, there is little risk of turning our occasional outings into a competition.  I draw the line at fly fishing. It just should not be a competitive sport.  When we go, I get the benefit of having an expert who knows every riffle, every rock and exactly the best fly.  Other hobbyists pay big bucks for professional guides.  I have my buddy.  He tells me patiently how I am casting to the wrong spot and that I am not getting a drag free float.  I enjoy it when I can respond by saying, “Thank you, I will try again right after I land this rainbow.”

Rowing the drift boat is a big part of fly fishing. I am reminded of this not more than a dozen times each outing. Being parallel to and just the right distance from the bank is key to catching the biggest and most fish. Rowing well is a learned skill. I am learning at my own pace. There is an advantage to not being the best rower; you get to fish more.  Fortunately for me, many fly fishermen believe their rowing ability directly relates to their overall coolness as outdoorsmen.  Of course, I need to take my turn or I don’t get invited back. I don’t let on that it is easier than I make it appear, for I do prefer fishing to rowing. When my good buddy is fishing off of the front of the drift boat, deftly casting under the snags and to within a foot of the bank, he patiently barks out rowing orders. “Hard on your right oar,” or “Rock directly ahead,” he says as he hooks a riser.

I am still learning. Last summer, I dug deep and hard with my strengthening right arm when he called out, “Hard left oar”. All of those tennis matches paid off as the boat veered right with a jerk and my best good buddy completed a near perfect swan dive over the bow. I grinned in awe as he made hardly a splash. The dive would have scored a perfect 10, but he held his right arm high. The only part of him that didn’t get wet was his $600 fly rod.

I suspect now I am going to have to learn the Swan Dive.