Stories

You’re in too Far Now

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January 10, 2017

That large tail waved goodbye, and a sturdy wild brown trout slid back into the flow. It was a good fish for this river, and I texted a couple pictures to Burke — just to remind him that I was fishing and he wasn’t. This is what we do to each other.

I must’ve been a little too gleeful and gloating — chuckled with a little too much gusto when I hit send, maybe — because on the next cast, instant karma sent my leader and flies into the sycamores. And so began the twenty minutes of foolishness that followed.

I looked up through leafless limbs. They refused to block the direct sunlight. Straight into my eyes, no matter the angle I took. The sun was right there, blinding me as I looked up to find the flies.

I tugged on the line until one of the branches cracked but then recoiled, leaving a worse mess of monofilament and my two flies still buried somewhere in the tree. I pulled again, and one of the flies dangled a half-foot below the thieving branch. My hand-tied fly reached for the river and teased me, still well beyond access but now visible.

Just break it off, I thought. Really, it’s the only thing that makes any sense. Break it off and move on.

It’s hard to let go, isn’t it? My line and my flies lay woven through multiple branches, suspended over a deep section of fast water, and there wasn’t any real hope of getting the rig back. But just before busting it off, I was granted a spark of optimism. A mid-stream rock the size of a small garbage can lay just under the greedy branch. It was an invitation to save my leader and flies, so I took it.

Enthusiastically, I waded into the run and climbed aboard the rock. But the platform wasn’t as flat as I’d hoped, and with water rushing through my legs, the balancing act was more difficult. I eventually found my center of gravity atop the precarious perch, and I stabilized a bit (though I certainly still looked like a fool). I peered up through the scattered rays of my worn out sunglasses and pulled hard on the line.

Sometimes the limbs hanging over a river are dead and brittle, so they break off easily. This one didn’t. Other times, the tree limbs over a river are thin and flexible, so they bow graciously and offer back the flies they’ve captured. This one didn’t.

Son-of-a-bitch.

I looked around at the rushing water, up at the tree and down at my rock. I tried to scrutinize the situation from a new perspective. Was this worth it? For a moment I thought about climbing down and breaking it all off, but I couldn’t do it.

You’re in too far now, I thought. No sense giving up.

So I took it to the next level.

I turned my rod upside down and grabbed it about four feet into the butt section. Then I lifted the rod and used the reel seat to seize the limb and pull with just enough force to overcome the cantilever, yet not pull the four sections of my rod apart. This dangerous trick has worked for me a hundred times (and I’ve also broken a fly rod this way). I eased the limb down into my second hand, releasing the grip of the reel seat on the limb so I could invert the rod and tuck it under my arm again. This was going quite well now, so I boldly grabbed at the dangling flies until . . .

My rod slipped and the branch sprung back, using all the stored energy in the flexed limb to drive the #12 hook into the base of my finger. The 6 lb tippet snapped and disconnected. I now had an upside down fly rod in one hand, part of my leader in the other, and a Beadhead Walt’s Worm nymph in my finger.

There’s an upside, I thought. At least I have one of my flies back.

It was the first time in a while that I’d seen a hook mounted that firmly into one of my body parts, and I didn’t like it. Not wanting to think about it too much, I flipped the rod around and stashed it under my arm, grabbed my hemostats and (still perched on the rock) quickly backed the hook out of my flesh. It went surprisingly well. (There’s another good argument for going barbless.)

“And so began the twenty minutes of foolishness that followed.”

I looked back to the rest of my rig, still in the timber. Defeated, I climbed down from the rock and sloshed over to the bank, pulling the line along like a kite string still attached to the branches. With one final straight-line pull, I expected to hear the rifle-shot snap of my strong monofilament butt section breaking. Instead I heard the cracking of dry branches, and I turned to watch a large section of sycamore limbs plop into the river — my attached rig floated downstream.

I was so far committed at this point that I couldn’t help myself. I ran downstream through skinny bank-water until I overtook the floating branch. Like a summer pool lifeguard I waded out into the flow and rescued the branch, my leader and the remaining fly stuck somewhere within.

I found a streamside log suitable for a good ten-minute bank-sit, and I unthreaded the tangled line. No way I was clipping it off and starting over. You’re in too far now, I thought.

 

Enjoy the day.
Domenick Swentosky
T R O U T B I T T E N
domenick@troutbitten.com

 

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Alex Argyros

This would be funny if it weren’t so real. Last time I went fishing I broke two rods, one twice. Don’t ask. But thanks for making me feel slightly less like the only one with such terminal klutziness.

I thought sure you were going to fall in……I would have. I have learned that looking straight up while standing in rushing water is an almost certain way to loose my balance. These days, I do not hesitate to “break ’em off” !

Alex

Don’t leave me Hanging! That story can’t end……Yet. I loved it.

Since I catch a high number of trees, I could really relate. I’ve been lucky to have never had a hook embedded under those circumstances but I’ve had some whack me in the head. Beadheads hurt.

I can totally relate to this post.

I blame working the night shift but it was probably more out of stupidity. I had a slow day on the water and my line wrapped around a small sapling near the side of the river. Instead of calmly untangling the fly out of the sapling I just grabbed at it and tried to rip the line and flies from it. I felt a sharp pain like something stung me and sure enough I had a sz18 pheasant tail in my thumb. I left it in there until I got to the car and sure enough a guy wants to… Read more »

Bill Ferguson

Great story Dom. Like several others who commented,the description was so accurate, I could feel myself standing on that rock. Have definitely been in similar situations; although I’ve managed to avoid the hook in the thumb to this point.

Don mariott

Your ability to educate, and entertain are Emmy award winning. My passion and strong appetite to digest central Pennsylvania fly fishing encounters is never ending. … Looking for some help. My ability to find lodging while on fly fishing trips to the little juniata and pine Creek are very easy. When I fish spring creek I’m stumped on true fish camp lodging. The area has some good camping options I expierence but I haven’t found a fishing lodge atmosphere in the area . It’s either a holiday inn on a 4 lane highway or a campus hotel. If u have… Read more »

Colby Jones

I live a couple of miles from a really popular small stream. The access is very easy so it gets tons of pressure from all grades of anglers. On days when the fishing is slow and its warm enough to wet wade I will work the spots that have overhanging branches and collect flies. Its a fun challenge as long as it isn’t too cold to wade or swim.

Jim Wilkie

Schadenfreude LOL. Come on now. You hijacked this story from watching me fish, didn’t you? Sounds like one of my escapades, almost verbatim. Perched precariously on the wobbly rock out in the flow, looking like a drunk on on roller skates. Part of the rod in the dangling in the tree, the reel and butt sections speedily taking off downstream, line and tippet digging into my hand … Cause you can never, ever, tie another fly don’t ya know. Sheez. Only saving grace I’ve found is that so far I’ve been the only one around to observe such spastic antics.

michael maynard

It isn’t really relevant but your adventure made me think of Little Feat’s ‘Time Loves a Hero’; …something about admiring courageous ways. I’ve had those adventures, too. Maddening, aren’t they. My wife would tell you what she tells me when I relate these moments to her: “Look up the definition of a Pyrrhic victory, you’ll see your face alongside it.”

Karl Frank Winneker

A great before sunrise belly laugh; with you not at you. The fixation on rescuing a rig is such a tunnel vision moment. Although I carry multiple pre-tied rigs, I will go to great lengths to salvage a hangup which is typically a nymph on the bottom of the stream. This scenario consists of aggressively probing the stream with my rod from various angles, wading a bit to deep, etc. So, the actual hang up of the rig in the stream pales in comparison to my mental hang up about retrieving it. Damn, a lost set up is not a… Read more »

Its always a sycamore (and its large leaves) and over a deep section of water usually inaccessable. The situation is made worse by the inherent casting inaccuracy with the mono leader.
The nice trout like the deep, inaccessable holes and the overhanging branches provide additional security.

Lou Grobmyer

Oh my. I’d have to say I’ve been there many times in my 67 years. Thanks for the smile.

Neil Reck

Domenick- for a second there I thought you were describing one of my outings…. Sometimes you eat the bear, sometimes the bear eats you!

Marty Tannahill

This is a laughing out loud read. Truly enjoyable. It speaks to a personality trait that I think we share; determination! My wife would rather call it just being stubborn.

James Kelso

“Too real” as the kids say these days. How many times I’ve done this and decided to “blow the hole” in order to avoid breaking off is truly embarrassing. It almost never saves time, so why?!

YESSSSS! I am not alone ha ha ha…. Confessions of a newbie…Fly in the lip recently…Thank god I crimped the barb!

greg

95% of the flies in my box are “guide flies” that i can tie in under 3 minutes, for me it makes it much psychologically easier to just break them off rather than try to rescue the rig…although i think something should be said for trying to “leave no trace” on a stream. seriously the worst: when you spend 20 min trying to rescue flies/rig and either finally untangle (or end up tying on a new rig with dropper tippet added in as well, trying to tie triple surgeons in with freezing numb fingers) and then the VERY NEXT cast… Read more »

Andrew Blackmun

There’s a tree hanging over the inlet to a favorite Wyoming lake that looks like a Christmas tree with all of the flies and rigging dangling from it. I’m going to shimmy up that tree someday and pad my retirement account. Not sure why it’s more aggravating to lose a rig and be able to see it hanging somewhere than to lose one completely in heavy brush or high branches. I almost went in reaching my arm shoulder-deep from a bank for a hopper I could see in the flow down below. Good column. I always appreciate the mix of… Read more »

Larry Ragan

Hi Dom, I thoroughly enjoy your work here! Just a few quick thoughts. I (like others) have done the exact same maneuver EXCEPT I failed to employ the barbless hook version. A trip to the docs office and a terrific PA (whose father is a great fly guy) actually needed to cut the fly out of my thumb. Upon doing so she asked “do you want the fly back?” “Do I want the fly back”, I asked, “Of course I want the fly back, why do you think I came to see you?”

Domenick Swentosky
BELLEFONTE, PA

Hi. I'm a father of two young boys, a husband, author, fly fishing guide and a musician. I fish for wild brown trout in the cool limestone waters of Central Pennsylvania year round. This is my home, and I love it. Friends. Family. And the river.

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