We were on our way to our family camp here in Maine when I stopped by the trout stream “just to take a look.” We were in travel mode, so we pressed onward to camp. All night my mind obsessed on the brook trout I saw in that crystal clear stream where some of my earliest fly fishing memories were forged. I was strategically planning every detail of the next morning fishing session in my head. That’s when I realized I was out of my favorite fly, The Black Ghost. Buying was not an option, so tying it must be.
Inspiration comes in many forms and need is the mother of all invention. So I put a hook in a kids starter vise and decided to create something unique instead of trying to perfectly replicate a traditional Black Ghost fly pattern. I can get impatient and frustrated with small, detailed things and tying this fly tested my patience. The bobbin that came with the kids starter kit was holding the spool of thread too tight and I kept breaking the thread so I decided to start over and just use my hands to tie the entire fly. I wrapped the hook from eye to bend several times with red thread, carefully selected, thinned, trimmed and combed just the right of white marabou feathers and tied them on the hook. I decided to build up the head of the fly with the same red thread to give it more of a profile I wanted. Tying the finishing knots was tricky without any tools, but I managed, or so I thought. Wow! I was quite proud of the simple hand-crafted creation I created with just a hook, red thread and white marabou.
I couldn’t wait to fish it. I hurried down to the river with a racing mind eager to cast my fly to the trout I had seen in the pool I wanted to fish. I grabbed my fly rod and sure enough another angler was standing exactly where I wanted to be. I looked upstream to see another angler fishing the second-best spot. I went downstream in solitude and began casting the fly. It looked incredible as I twitched and swung it through the gin clear water, until the inevitable happened. My mistakes and shortcuts caught up with me. The loose knots on the thread started to come undone. I could see one long piece of red thread intertwined with the marabou. I was disappointed and angry with myself and I was just about to break off the long single strand of red thread with my hands when I realized it actually looked really good. It added a very subtle touch of red color and the thread blended nicely with the marabou. I left the red thread and realized I only had a dozen or so casts remaining before all the thread unraveled and the fly fell apart.
I needed to choose my casts wisely. I looked upstream, past the two other anglers and saw the best looking spot on the river. That’s the problem with it though, it looks too good to be true and more often than not doesn’t hold fish. I made the journey upstream, quietly wading the river edge and snuck into perfect position. I stripped off the perfect amount of fly line, looked behind me to see any problematic trees, checked my fly to make sure it was ready to ride perfectly true through the water, made a cast and dropped the fly exactly where a trout might choose to hold. The fly hit the water and seconds later the biggest brook trout I have ever seen in that river smashed the fly. After a nerve-wracking battle that could have easily gone wrong at any moment, the beautiful trout came to my shaking hands with my fly in the corner of his mouth. I spent a moment in time with this beautiful fish, released and watched him swim back to his home in the river.
Fishing teaches me much about myself and many life lessons. Today I learned a paradoxical lesson. The importance of doing things right and the importance of making mistakes. The trick, I’m learning, is to see mistakes as part of the creative process and opportunities to arrive at a new place in the journey. I also created a new fly. I think I’ll name it “The Perfect Mistake.”