Re: Midge Presentation
Chris, I would have bet money, that I would never care about bugs in the water.
Maybe in the air, or on the water, but not underneath, let alone the smallest of bugs a fisherman might fish!
Then, many years into fly-fishing, and denial, I realized that really big fish eat little bitty bugs (small is safe) and there were millions of them.
What's a guy to do? (Especially with "bigfly" as a nick name.)
Driven to try it, I've spent an inordinate amount of time "dues paying", and trying to think like a bug that I have trouble even seeing.
Then I moved to a snowy clime and fished nothing BUT midges for winter. A long... winter. (Now, many winters.)
Snowy peaks, snowy stream banks, shore ice, and and miracle of physics, liquid water. The quarry's, environment.
Spidery tippet, frosty fingers, and small flies are a great challenge by themselves. That is only part of the commitment.
Missing feet. You can see them, you know they are there. But you must learn the Frankenstein stroll too.
Dressed up like the Michelin man, you can smile, because you have miles of fishy water to yourself.
It's not a crack of dawn thing, mid morning will do. As the air reaches it's "warmest for the day", the Lil bugs come.
Bits of lint sized bugs swirling about just below frothed sections. gathered around eddies, and glides.
Millions, biomass, a life force, the bug that is the base of the whole bug menu, and therefor perhaps most important of all.
And then it comes together. Getting a longish, soft cast. Turning the 12+ ft leader over everytime. The drift is as close to perfect as an imperfect human can make.
If the cast is angled correctly to the seam, a following mend might be avoided. No false casts, just a side arm slide with a feather duster flair.
Thereby reducing rod movement and tipping sharp eyed fish.
The lies, the seams, the fish, the bugs. You can feel the rhythm of it.
The mass of food and low flows allow them to feed casually, the clear water allows me to see them.
Pick the fish, go for position, make it happen.
Then it's all a blur, and I cradle a finned wonder.
The fish has weight and thickness and is solid from cold. I can't get my thumb over it's back. Dazzling colors. Wide strong tail. Proud pointillism.
Adapted for millennia to an environment that would give me 3 minutes if I couldn't swim free of it's grasp.
Kept in the water it doesn't panic, we sort of stare at each other for a minute. The fly fell out in the net, so I take the net downwards and away.
They know you fooled them and are not thrilled, but it was fairly done, and seems to concede this round. Fully recovered, it hovers, "waiting".
It knows the drill, freedom is seconds away.
You can buy one that supposedly is the same fish, at the market for a few casual dollars.
From where I kneel, it is beyond price.
It swims calmly away, free again. Suddenly invisible. All that color, gone.
But, a little stays with you somehow.
I often feel, "satisfied" with things at that moment.
As if was all worth it.
Last edited by Bigfly; 02-20-2011 at 02:24 PM.