If I’m going to babysit Little M, I figure I might as well babysit her on a stream – where there exists the faint possibility of a little casting practice, if not moments of outright fly fishing.

On Friday, I initiated Phase 1.

Due to the high snowpack, the nearby streams had been too high to fly fish – especially given the very real constraints of fly fishing with nearly 35 very tippy pounds on your back.

Small stream

After months of high flows, the small streams are finally looking good.

Now – with levels falling to fishable and the first half of Friday at our disposal, it was time Little M and I went fishing (and playing, and splashing, and throwing rocks into the waters, and…)

I wet waded (yes, it’s still very cold), but given my status as Hugely Overprotective New Dad, I didn’t wade much at all, preferring the very sure grip of the Patagonia sticky rubber soles on the dry rocks.

Meski – always game for anything having to do with the outdoors – was puzzled when we didn’t hike more than 100 yards to a stream, where I unlimbered the long, silly stick I’d been carrying.

Two casts later, I landed the first trout of the day.

Which she didn’t really notice.

I quickly hooked two more (landed one), and you could say they got her attention.

Finally, The Moment: I landed a little rainbow trout, and Meski – now peering intently over my shoulder directly at the run – clapped her hands and shrieked like an air raid siren.

Bingo.

Small stream rainbow trout

Sometimes the light hits 'em just right; Meski's first close-up trout.

Little M’s at the stage where there’s clearly a dialog going on, but to the rest of us, it’s just not clear what that dialog is. Some words (hat, eye, airplane, hike) are fairly clear to those of us outside the bubble.

Others words and phrases are not so apparent.

Which is what I witnessed when I held the trout a few inches from her face, and she leaned in to look it in the eye, babbled away, touched it on the nose with her finger, and then shrieked again.

There is no more delightful noise on the planet than a small child’s happy shriek, and I’ve come to realize it’s the sound every fly fishermen would make each and every time they caught a trout if the process of becoming an adult hadn’t civilized much of the joy right out of us.

In other words, maybe trout streams should be noisier – but happier – places.

Fishing An Old Friend

I fished an old 7.5′ Fenwick 5wt glass rod – the factory counterpart to the first real fly rod I ever owned. That original Fenwick 7.5 5wt – which I built from a blank in my early teens – met an unfortunate end in a Santa Clara garage a good 15 years ago, and while I dabbled in graphite for a while (then bamboo, then back to fiberglass), I kept my eyes peeled and snatched up another old 7.5′ Fenwick – purely for nostalgia’s sake – when I had the chance.

Fenwick 7.5 fiberglass fly rod

This used to be the label you *wanted* on a fly rod

At this point, I’d love to retroactively wrap my choice of rod and Little M’s first fly fishing trip into one giant symbolic heap – the kind of thing writers often do after the fact.

But I won’t.

In truth, I chose the rod because I wanted something capable of taking a beating – a near certainty when a small stream, trees, a backpack and a 20 month-old are involved.

Only later did it occur to me that I’d artfully combined two eras in one trip.

A nice moment, perhaps, but in truth, the battered, cracking old Fenwick fished beautifully at close and medium range, and if it had one flaw (for this trip), it’s that it has a bit too much power in the butt.

I very quickly remembered that fishing for small fish on a 5wt meant sideways hook sets, which give the little trout a fighting chance of actually staying submerged.

When I go back, I’ll probably arm myself with a 7′ 3wt Diamondglass or a timeless Winston 8.5′ 3wt glass rod (a gift), but either way, I won’t go without a couple more Beetle Bugs (basically a red Adams), which not only catch trout left and right, but do so without a hint of unneeded sophistication (what we fly fishermen characterize as “technical”).

Beetle Bug dry fly

Ahh, the Beetle Bug - the Official Bright Red Fly of the Trout Underground

No matter what fly rod or fly is involved, one truth remains inviolate; there is only one first time, and while I doubt Little M will specifically remember this trip, I know I’ll never forget it, mostly for the shriek – and the picture you’ll find at the end of this report.

See you on a small stream (getting all geeky and proud-daddyish), Tom Chandler.

Partners in crime

Newly Minted Partners in Fly Fishing Crime...

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