I can’t remember how old I was when I started fishing, but I was young. Like, needing my dad to walk me to the river so I didn’t fall in and drown young. My dad never fished, but I grew up next to a river and loved the outdoors, so he bought me a cheap kiddo button-push spin caster rod as a gift. As soon as I caught my first fish (a 6” smallmouth caught drifting a spinnerbait under a bobber) the addiction started.
Fast forward 8 or so years of stillwater spin fishing for warm water species and bait fishing for stripers, I eventually experienced my first trout in a small mountain stream- a small, native, beautiful brook trout. “Holy shit” I thought, “this is the most beautiful fish I’ve ever seen. I didn’t know Maine even had fish this colorful.” I then thought “trout fishing in a mountain stream… isn’t this what fly fishing is for? I should probably try that.”
Some short time later, around 6th grade age, I was gifted a cheap Okuma fly rod outfit with a how-to manual. I read the manual, and was overwhelmed. I tried tying a nail knot, not happening. I tried false casting in the backyard, nope. “This is impossible. I can’t do this, I’m sticking to the spin rod.” The rod collected dust over the next few years, only being used a handful of times to harass chase my friends around the yard, using it as a whip.
At around 8th grade age, I became interested in fly fishing again, but I knew I needed help that wasn’t in the form of a written manual. L.L.Bean was offering free half-day fly fishing lessons with the purchase of a fly rod outfit. So, my dad generously bought me their entry-level fly rod outfit, and I took the lesson. They taught me basic knots and casting, which was all I needed. From there, I started spending time in the yard casting, and fishing whenever my dad would take me. I spent a LOT of time fishing in places where there were no fish, but that was a motivator.
During these earlier years of freshwater fly fishing, I gradually became more comfortable with it, and converted entirely to fly fishing. I had zero interest in any other type of fishing, but I was still using the spin rod for stripers. I wanted to learn how to fly fish in the salt, so I bought another inexpensive L.L.Bean 8wt outfit. I would go to my regular striper spot with fly rod and spin rod in hand. The fish were biting, but not on the fly, so I would get frustrated and switch back to the spin rod. Eventually, this changed over the years, and I learned how to catch stripers on the fly. By this time, I was in high school. Now, at age 30, I have been dedicated and committed to fly fishing only in both fresh and saltwater for about 12 years now, apart from my annual Cape Cod vacations when I go tuna fishing with a college friend, but eventually I’ll get one of those on the fly as well.
Over those 12 years of fly fishing, I never stop learning, I never stop exploring, and I never stop evolving as an angler. I set goals every year. Sometimes I achieve them, and other times I don’t. I have friends who I look up to and learn much from, and I’m sure I have friends, maybe even strangers, who learn from me as well. I made friends in college who didn’t fly fish, but wanted to learn, so I taught them, and it’s how we have remained close friends to this day. I used to let them borrow my flies, and now I don’t enjoy fly tying as much (I still do, but at a bare minimum). Now I borrow flies from those friends who used to borrow mine. Fly fishing creates a profoundly strong bond between people, that those who don’t fly fish will never understand.
One goal that I have been struggling to achieve for years, is landing a 40”+ inch striper on the fly. It hasn’t been for lack of effort, but striper fishing can just be an absolute grind, and extremely frustrating at times. The fish are constantly on the move, and sometimes they’re just not eating, or eating everything except what you’re throwing at them. You could fish the same spot with the same fly for days getting skunked, and then one random day your luck will change, and there will be a willing fish or two in that spot. The past couple years I’ve been even more stubbornly trying to achieve this goal, because I’ve been at it for 8 or so years now. Each season I’ve had to sacrifice time with family and my girlfriend, sacrificing other hobbies like mountain biking, and especially, sacrificing sleep. It’s selfish, but it’s my passion.
Recently, I’ve been competing in a fly fishing only striped bass tournament, which gives me further motivation to fish the salt every second I get for that 2 week tournament period. This year, I’ve made another goal of exploring more- trying new spots that I’ve never heard about, getting out of my habits of returning to the same spot every day. So far, it’s been paying off. I’ve started using new methods, fishing a sinking line with crab flies instead of my usual intermediate line with huge hollow flies. Both are effective, but weather, surf conditions, structure and tides usually dictate which method will work better for the time and location.
Okay, enough about my fly fishing career, and on to the fish story-
Last weekend, the tides and surf conditions were damn-near perfect for fishing with crab flies. But I don’t believe in perfection, which is why mother nature handed me a couple inches of rain. This muddied up the waters, making it almost impossible for fish to see. That wasn’t going to stop me from fishing. I went out for the Sunday evening tide to a spot I had a lot of confidence in. I parked, got out of my truck and looked out at the water. It was beautiful- no wind, sunny, no waves, and 2 hours before low tide. I geared up and walked out to the water. Upon arrival, I realized the water looked like dark roast coffee, and was thick with clumps of sea weed. No way was a fish going to see my fly in that water. I walked back to the truck and pondered my options for a minute. I decided to drive to another nearby spot, but didn’t even get out of the truck when I pulled up. This spot had even more seaweed and stained water. Now I was getting really concerned that I had no options. I felt defeated, and started to drive back inland toward home, but I knew I would pass one more spot on the way that I didn’t fish as frequently, but I knew that big fish lived there.
Much to my surprise, the water looked clear as could be, so I decided that was where I was fishing tonight. The surf was calm, and it was perfect for dragging a crab through the sand. I parked, walked up to the water, and waded up to my waist. I was feeling confident, in the zone, and fished for about an hour, which felt like 5 minutes. I bombed another cast out as far as I could, and waited several seconds for the line and fly to hit bottom. I made a couple “pop and stops” where I do a quick but short strip, followed by a pause. I felt a tug, and set the hook. I figured it was a schoolie, until the fish immediately splashed on the surface, which large fish usually do. A second or two later, the line was being rapidly ripped through my hand, and it didn’t stop until I was well into my backing, my fly line completely out of sight. The fish may have been 100 yards out or 150 yards out, but it was far. I was shaking, I was just waiting for it to break off or spit the hook. I slowly started walking backward out of the water as the fish continued to rip farther into the backing. I would reel in any chance the fish stopped, without putting too much pressure on the fish, especially because that mistake cost me another huge fish braking off the previous day.
Eventually, the fish stopped running, and pretty much gave up entirely. I don’t know if I had been fighting it for 2 minutes or 20. There’s no concept of time when fighting the fish of a lifetime, just pure adrenaline. I reeled quickly, and then I saw the fish. I backed up farther onto the sand until a small wave gently carried the fish into a shallow spot where I could grab it. I did it, I caught a big one. I fist bumped the air and yelled “FUCK YES! FINALLY!” I can’t put into words what I was feeling in that moment, and I don’t need to, because that moment and feeling is permanently recorded in my body, which I will replay forever.
I took a measurement of the fish for the tournament, thinking it was at least 40”. Surprisingly, it measured out at 39”. I didn’t give a shit in that moment, it was still my biggest striper on fly by far, and I made it happen against the odds. I almost gave up for the night, but I persevered and was rewarded for it. I’ve worked years for that moment.
I drove home fulfilled and grateful, while also motivated and optimistic to achieve my goal of finding a 40”+.