I am the… Complete Tangler

By August 24, it had been seven weeks since I took a fly rod to a trout stream. This sad fact was caused more or less in equal parts by drenching downpours, visiting bands of children and grandchildren and frequently high and discolored stream flows. Possibly because of this, I once again found myself locked in the jaws of the black dog of depression.

Tuesday morning, August 24, found me sitting at the breakfast table, head in hands, trying to hold back tears. The girl who loves me put an arm around me and said softly, “You need to go fishing.” I just did not feel up to it. But she planted a seed by mentioning that after shopping at Peck’s she had noticed the Callicoon Creek running high but clear.

That evening, I parked the van alongside the creek, hoping to find some solace in its sweet currents. The outing did not start auspiciously. I pulled on my stocking foot waders and then found that I only had one wading sock with me. Hmmm, how could this be? Ah, after I chain sawed my big left toe, for some time my foot was so swollen I could not get it into the wading shoe while wearing the sock over the waders. The missing sock was undoubtedly back somewhere at the cabin.

I pulled on the one sock and then the wading boots and laced them up. I then stood up in order to pull the suspenders up over my shoulders. I discovered that the suspenders were completely tangled at the point of the rear fasteners. Try as I might, I could not straighten the mess out. There was only one solution: sit down, untie and remove the wading boots, remove the one blue sock and take off the waders.

After straightening out my suspenders, I proceeded to put on the wading gear again. I had only a short time to fish before dark and I had now frittered away 15 minutes of that time. I seized the fly rod and wading staff and hurried across the flood plain to where Callicoon Creek was singing its song.

After stepping into the water, I selected a fly, a pale colored Elk Hair Caddis. This was a fly that would float well and be quite visible on the water. Now, I happen to use a curious knot to put my fly on the leader. It’s called a surgeon’s knot. This knot requires two pieces of leader material. In order to tie it, I normally carry seven or eight spare spools of leader material on a homemade lanyard, which I hang around my neck. I slipped the end of the leader through the eye of the fly and reached for the lanyard.

There was one little problem. I had left the lanyard and spare spools of leader material lying on the rear seat of the van. Unbelievable! With clenched teeth and smoke coming out of my ears, I strode back across the flood plain to the van and retrieved the forgotten lanyard.

With the fly finally secured to the leader, I at last began to fish. Lady Luck may be a fickle gal, but sooner or later, after a period of shunning you, she eventually smiles. Up by the “Big Rocks” there is one pool in this stretch of stream that almost shouts, “trout live here.” The light was fading fast when I reached this spot. On my first cast, the fly had barely touched the surface of the water when a trout ate it. Whooee! This was one hot fish. It flashed across the pool so quickly that the leader sent up a little rooster tail as it sliced across the current.

Oh no, the trout did a little shake and bake move and the hook lost its hold. Not yet realizing it was free, the fish did a back flip completely out of the water. Dang, a nice trout about a foot long.

Ah well, better to have loved and lost than never loved at all. In quick succession, in the twilight, a brown and then a Rainbow came to hand, both about 10 inches long. What began as a disaster had a very pleasant ending. The black dog slinked away, snarling and threatening to return. For this moment, the healing waters of Callicoon Creek have sent him on his way.

I was blissfully at peace as I left the stream. An angler, temporarily untangled.

“He who harms a hair on yon gray head, dies like a dog, march on,” he said, quoting words supposedly spoken by Stonewall Jackson as he passed through Maryland.