ARKANSAS SPORTSMAN

Fly fishing holds dear spot in writer's heart

I'd like to write more about fly fishing.

The greatest thing about covering outdoors for a newspaper is doing cool things with cool and interesting people.

The downside is that you can't specialize. You have to satisfy as many interests as possible in a limited space. Fly fishing doesn't often cameo in this space, but it's always on my mind.

It was a pleasure to share these musings last Monday while speaking at the Arkansas Fly Fishers monthly meeting at the Whole Hog Cafe on Cantrell Road. If you're a fly fisherman - expert, novice or beginner - you should join that group. The members of the group are crazy about fishing, they are amiable and very approachable, and they are very helpful with any questions you have about fishing, tying flies and selecting equipment.

Fly fishing saved my life, and it's a big part of why I do what I do and how I came to be here.

In June 1977, I was 13 years old. My mother died in September 1976, about two weeks before my 13th birthday. My grandfather, who I adored, died nine months later. In a blink I lost two of my great pillars. My dad remarried quickly, and I got swept away in the turmoil that often accompanies those kinds of situations.

An elderly uncle Demp Ramsey owned a ramshackle houseboat on Brodie Lake at Wright. I spent the summer of '77 with him and my uncle Bill on that boat.

Demp was an avid hunter and angler. I accompanied him on his morning trotline runs, and we spent nights catching crappie from his lighted dock. As a fishery, the McClellan-Kerr Navigation System was at its peak in the 1970s, and it teemed with fish.

After one of our trotline forays, Demp taught me to fly fish. The equipment was spartan, a generic rod and a reel that had no drag or pawling. It was spooled with a waxed, fine-braid fly line that was probably ancient. Demp taught me to cast popping bugs, and we spent several mornings fishing for bass and bream which gathered to eat catalpa worms that dropped into the water from streamside bushes.

He also taught me how to scull a flatbottom boat with a paddle. It's an art that has been lost to electric trolling motors, but I am still a world-class sculler.

One morning Demp and I motored to the gas dock at Wright. He filled the tank and said, "That's all the gas you get for the summer. Don't waste it."

With that, Demp turned me over to Brodie Lake.

I spent the entire summer sculling up and down the bank casting popping bugs beneath catalpa bushes. I caught untold numbers of bluegills, as well as some redears and an occasional bass. I immersed myself in those waters, and I became very proficient with popping bugs.

Uncle Demp's outward patina was that of a crusty, highly critical old man with a dry, cutting wit. He was not generous with compliments. Once, while I tapped salt from a shaker onto my eggs, he said I salted eggs like a girl. He grabbed the shaker and thrashed a torrent of salt onto his own eggs.

The best I got were slight nods of approval accompanied by thin wisps of a smile. They were as thundrous as standing ovations.

Not surprising, I got addicted to that kind of freedom. I've always been a bit of a loner, and I've always followed my own muses. The Hendricks side of the family is noted for attorneys, gamblers and hustlers. The Ramseys were the creative side. My great-grandfather William Ramsey was a major hymnist in his time and was inducted into the Gospel Music Hall of Fame in 1991 as one of the fathers of Southern Gospel music. I must have gotten a good mix of those genes to hustle and gamble my way into a career writing about the outdoors.

Many anglers start out bait fishing and then advance to cast reel fishing and eventually to fly fishing. I'm different in that I started out fly fishing and branched out to other methods, but some of my most memorable experiences have been with fly rod in hand.

Fly fishing means the most to me, though, because it reminds me of how deeply an angling mentor can influence a person by simply taking him or her under wing and into world that serves many purposes. Fishing can be a creative studio and it can be a safe space. It can be meditative or stimulating. It is analagous to life.

If you're truly bitten, it can be a life unto its own.

Sports on 02/25/2018

Upcoming Events