ANGLERS CORNER: Charles Mcilvaine

There are many reasons for picking up a pole and trying to outsmart a fish during the One Fly.  Perhaps it’s the time in nature; it may be due to nostalgia; some may do it for the competitive nature; others to pass time.  The following are three experiences which help form my own view.

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About 25 yards from the boat seat towards the left bank there was a bathtub-sized portion of the river noticeable by its darker green color and surrounded by water perhaps 10-12 inches deep with the river bottom visible.   The depression itself may have been 4 feet in depth and contained a sunken wood structure.  The sun was out in full force, the temp in the low 80s, and the guide was meticulously working to position the boat.  We anchored, got out, and with some instruction I began to pull line out of the reel.  After a couple of dry casts, I landed the foam dry fly about 6 feet up river from the bathtub-sized depression and deployed a reach cast to battle any potential drag.  The bug and the line floated in unison, and I strained my eyes on the fly, waiting for anything that may cause a reaction.  I detected movement, then an image of a head appeared, and finally a slow sip.  God save the queen…and I raised the rod to 12 noon, immediately feeling tension in the line.  The struggling fish was unclear of what just happened to it, and it frantically maneuvered downward to flee and find cover despite something snagging its mouth.  Raised high, the rod moved with rigor, and I could feel the fish’s weight in my wrist.  The give and the take of the line were repeated until the fish tired, indicated by the rod forcing the fish’s head to rise and stay above the water.  The guide beside me had a net waiting for that sly, swift underwater scoop.  Finally, the fish was in the net and the rod and line now relaxed, but tensions elsewhere mounted.  How large, how many points, will this help the team, will the fish flip out of the gutter before a measurement is secured? At last, the guide did his work and said: “18.25 inches. Do you want to count this on your card?  It didn’t take long to reply: “Hell yeah!”

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I remember pausing to think what “purple mountain majesty” even meant from that song we were all taught to sing in grade school.  Initially it was a memorized phrase that sounded distinctive.  When you float Deadmans to Moose, you find out quickly what this phrase means.  Or perhaps if you stay at the overnight glamping tents on the South Fork and watch the sun hit the cliffs on the opposing side of the river, you understand another dimension of majesty.  Most of the pictures that I’ve taken on the rivers are aimed at beauty – maybe it’s the scenery, the adipose fin, the way the teeth protrude from the hooked jaw of a large male brown, or the beautiful Spring colors of a South Fork cutthroat.  And most fly fishermen (especially of the catch and release variety) have a focused effort to keep nature natural, particularly in a world where there are competitive forces stretching our resolve to preserve.  There is a strange irony in the rising demand for rare earth minerals to support our world of bits and bytes; we have advanced greatly yet still rely on basic elements of mother earth.  It must be acknowledged, too, that most readers can remember a time when there were no boats visible on a river. There is an inherent challenge in preserving nature and making it egalitarian as Olmstead taught us.  Still, it’s our opportunity to find the balance and avoid being branded elitist.  As careful as we must be to keep nature natural, we must also remember the universal virtue of humility. 

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Eric Clapton has a song called “The Core”.  Its ongoing guitar riff creates a backdrop for a duet between Clapton and Macella Detroit.  This is going to sound silly…two One Fly team members – one a guitarist and the other a sheer pretender - in a rental car parked outside of a friend’s house in Jackson with the motor off, windows up, and the music playing at high levels just shy of speaker distortion.  To an onlooker it surely made the list of a repeatable story at some future dinner to get the table laughing.  It’s almost embarrassing, if it weren’t for the most important element, which is that two old white dudes were jamming in fellowship, happy to be together and share an experience.

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I’m struck by a repeated Coach K message: people want to be part of something bigger than themselves. As I reflect on the One Fly, it seems to me that this event allows for the convergence of having a distinctive experience, contributing to responsible preservation, and creating memorable fellowship.  All the while practicing humility - for the river, for the guides, for making a difference in our communities.  To those who spend innumerable hours and calories organizing the One Fly, to those who carve out the 3-4 days to participate, to those tirelessly working guides, and to those who apply the funding to conserve the Snake, we thank you.  May your card be filled!