To go fishing "is the chance to wash one's soul with pure air, with the rush of the brook, or with the shimmer of the sun on blue water.
It brings meekness and inspiration from the decency of nature, charity toward tackle-makers, patience toward fish, a mockery of profits and egos, a quieting of hate, a rejoicing that you do not have to decide a darned thing until next week. And it is a discipline in the equality of men, for all men are equal before fish."Herbert Hoover
From my earliest memories, the above quotation has hung in the den of my parents' home. It's all framed and rustic looking. My dad was walking by ZCMI on Main Street in Salt Lake City years ago and noticed the framed inscription in a window display for fishing clothing and tackle. It caught his fancy so much that he overcame his timidity and walked into the store to ask the clerk where he could buy one just like it.
Things have obviously changed a lot over the years because the clerk told him it just so happened the display was coming down and he (my dad) could have it, free, no charge.
Needless to say, Dad has had a soft spot in his heart and wallet for ZCMI since then.
Herbert Hoover's framed dictum has hung in a place of honor in our home from that day to this, which just goes to prove that ours is a fishing family. We've always fished. I've never been to Alaska or anything like that. Our trips were always to Yellowstone Country, to the Madison, the Big Hole, the Yellowstone, the Snake, Salt Creek near Afton, Wyo., and Henry's Fork of the Snake.
These were trips we always looked forward to and a time we knew for sure "we were equal before fish."
My Dad's method of fishing was always very basic and a lot of fun. Start with a nice spinning rod and reel, find the right bait, usually nightcrawlers or salmon eggs, read the river and put on the proper weight. We always caught fish and learned to thread a nightcrawler with the best of them.
I thought that was all there was to it until last fall's trip to the Green River for a first experience at real fishing - with a fly.
My cousin, Stuart, has been a guide on the Green River for more than five years for Western Rivers Flyfisher and gave dad a gift certificate for Christmas.
A year or so ago dad took my brother Mark on the same trip. He'd moved past the worm stage into the era of fly fishing, but this time it was my turn. We met at 8 o'clock one Saturday morning at the base of Flaming Gorge Dam.
There he was in a flurry of activity, along with other guides and private parties. The weather was crisp and clear and the river was definitely green. Stuart's 15-foot dory was ready for action, loaded with coolers, rods, reels and tackle.
Guided fishing trips on the Green River (there are 10 licensed guiding or outfitting companies) can run from $125 to $275 a day for a boat and a guide. This includes equipment, baiting, line untangling, expert guiding and, of course, lunch. In my cousin's words, "You get what you pay for." He said the seven-mile trip to Little Hole would take most of the day, depending on what we got into. Stuart's life on the Green River has been good the past five years. He said that in good times, a fisherman could catch 40 to 50 nice-sized browns and rainbows in a day. In 1991, because of the wet spring, the number of fish caught was down, but the quality was up.
"The numbers may not be what they used to be, but the quality of fish will hold up making the Green one of the world's great trout rivers," he said.
Traditionally, the best time to fish the Green is the end of May through June because of the cicada hatch. Stuart said the bank fisherman is at a disadvantage because he can't really get to where the fish are. Some of the best holes are at the base of steep cliffs.
As we pushed out, the thrill and exhilaration of the day was upon us. "There's more to fishing than catching them," said Stuart. And he was right. The canyon is nothing short of spectacular. Man's impact is evident, but even before the boat makes the first bend it's mostly forgotten. The feeling of isolation and primitiveness grabs and holds you in awe. What must the early trappers and mountain men have thought in the early 1800s as they made this same trip?
The river today receives tremendous pressure, and guides are limited to 2,440 user days, with the Forest Service getting 3 percent of the fees generated. When asked about the conflict between the professional guides and the general fishing public, Stuart said that the average fisherman thinks the guides own the river. "That's not true," he said. "Everyone who comes here has to treat the other guy with respect."
The Green River, from the Colorado state line in Brown's Park to Flaming Gorge Dam, may be fished with artificial lures and flies only. The limit for licensed anglers is three trout per day; two must be under 13 inches and one must be over 20 inches. All other trout must be immediately returned to the river.
The Green contains rainbow, brown, brook and cutthroat trout. Flyfishing for trout up to 12 pounds has added to its world-class reputation.
Flyfishing is a lot different from using worms or salmon eggs. There's more skill involved, and it didn't take but a few casts to realize that everyone was watching. Talk about intimidation.
I admit it, the talk that first day about loop sizes, acceleration, straight forearms, a non-bent wrist, back casts, quick stops, double hauling, approach and presentation was a little nerve wracking.
It was like learning to ride a bicycle all over again. This was real work, and for a moment or two I longed for the manageable stress and pressure of the workplace. No one there ever says anything to me about a straight forearm. I thought fishing was supposed to be relaxing. What were all those platitudes extolled by Hoover anyway? Did he know what he was talking about?
My cousin wasn't fishing, and my dad was getting along just fine. He's very adaptable. My performance improved with practice and after a few hours I was getting the fly out pretty well . . . and I was catching fish.
There are supposedly around 10,000 fish per mile on the Green, and I believe it. They were everywhere, and were they ever beautiful. They're smart, too. I reminded myself that most of them had probably been caught and released many times. As we drifted along and the river opened up a little, the number of bank fishermen increased along with a well-used trail from Little Hole. Now I really was able to compare techniques. I observed some very impressive double hauling, an interesting but effective side cast and definitely several "wannabe flyfishermen." Two women were in the river as well. Their equipment and clothing were right out of L.L. Bean. They obviously knew what they were doing. Someone said, or should have, that flyfishing is poetry in motion, and it is.
The day ended too soon. As we neared the docking area, Stuart said that even though he has been floating the river almost every day for five years he never gets tired of it. "There's no end to nature's resources, and we need to respect what we've got," he said.
As for me, I've thrown away all the bait boxes and have been looking seriously at buying my own equipment. No longer a bait fisherman, I'm out to prove that just because there's a whole lot more skill involved, men are still equal before fish.