The Day I Wanted to Become A Fly Fisherman

2020 was a year we’ll all remember.  It won’t necessarily be for all bad reasons but there were certainly many challenges due to the Covid-19.  But for me, hands down, I’ll always remember this year for losing my dad on January 26^th.  As I review this roller-coaster of a year, I thought it would be fun to share a story of how dad got me hooked on fly fishing at a very early age.

 

It was the spring of 1971 in Topsfield, Massachusetts and dad took me on my first opening day of trout season.  I’ll never forget the nostalgic day for a lot of reasons.  The day began in my sleeping bag in front of the fireplace.  I remember dad waking me up at 4 AM.  The fire was out and it was freezing cold in the house.  Mom was peeking over his shoulder because she was certain I’d roll over and go back to sleep and she was there to defend me.  Mom was wrong, I was so thrilled I bounced up.  I’d never woken up in the dark before.

 

After a quick snack I loaded into our gold station wagon and we drove to the Ipswich River with our Old Town Canoe fastened to the roof.  During our short drive I watched the day break for the first time in my life.  What made the most incredible impression were the birds.  As Dad launched the canoe I was hypnotized.  The red-winged blackbirds, robins, pheasants, mourning doves and geese made the most beautiful sound.

 

Dad organized me with a worm hung on the multi-barbed Eagle Claw snelled hook, the ones that still to this day have that cowboy holding the stringer of trout on the package.  By now I had my own spinning rod outfit with the famous Garcia Mitchell Reel of my own.  I casted and my line and bait dangled twenty-feet downstream of the canoe.  Dad watched me a minute and explained what to do if I got a bite.  Then he went on to do something completely different.  Dad tied on a Mickey Finn and fly fished.

 

Despite all the firsts that came my way that crisp morning, what I remember most was how many trout my dad caught.  This was a typical opening day and there were other boats and the shoreline was crawling with anglers.  But hardly anyone else caught a fish.  I only caught one and I think it was on a cast dad made for me!

 

It’s a wonder I didn’t toss my spinning outfit overboard as I watched dad work his magic.  Dad presented his Mickey Finn in a way the regular people hadn’t seen and that the trout couldn’t resist.  And by the time he was done we had a stringer of over a dozen trout.

 

I didn’t exactly become a fly fishing purist overnight (although I tied my first Mickey Finn shortly after), but I can promise you that day in 1971 a five year old made up his mind what he was going to do with his life.  I was going to be a fly fisherman.  And I had a goal to be as good at it as my dad.

 

There’s still time to order from my store or contact me to get my custom art on a Cliff Fly Box.  But don’t wait too long!

 

Also check out my decals from Pescador on the Fly.  The perfect stocking stuffers!  All the trout and bonefish, permit and tarpon both in 5” size and 10”.

Jeff Currier Global Fly Fishing