Fishing from a drift boat is a lot different than wading, particularly when casting.  There’s not a single guide out there who hasn’t been jarred awake in the middle of the night, muttering “downstream and 45, downstream and 45….”  Well, why is that so important, and why is it so hard to perfect?  If you’re used to fishing from a drift boat, then don’t click on this link on Orvis.news for great information provided by Tim Linehan at Linehan Outfitting Company.  If you’re not, then what I’m writing about is the result of not reading that link, so on second thought, just click on that link anyways cause Tim’s a great guy and he’s got a great article about mending, and it’s not just a city in China.

In an undramatic re-enactment, represented in the photograph below, you’ll see first hand the result of looking upstream while in the front of the drift boat, and making a roll cast into the trees.  What’s unique about this predicament is the miraculous positioning of the yellow “bobber” (for all the purists like me it’s an “indicator”).  For on this occasion, the actual on-water errant cast resulted in the line, leader, flies, and “bobber” neatly trapped between the two forks of a fallen log.  You are looking at a photo that I took days after the event, due to the trauma I’m still dealing with.  Even as I sit here today, recalling the chest deep wading in the raging Yakima River, struggling upstream to reach said conflaguration, I still cannot bear to recall the events as they actually took place, so you’ll have to believe me when I say that it was a cluster.

You see, I was positioning the boat at a close distance to the tree-lined banks for a reason; the wind was howling, the river was high, and that’s where the fish are right now.  And as Tim alluded to, line management means mending (not the city in China) and it’s very important.  It’s what I teach on the river – tight line nymphing as described by Bill Carnazzo.  Take note that he’s describing wading technique – but it applies to drifting, with one important variance – cast downstream and 45, not upstream.  I add one other element- making frequent “micro” mends using the tip of the rod, and (only when necessary) mending the right section of line to keep the indicator bobber from moving, along with jarring the flies out of position.  You’ll hear me stating “mend that belly” or “just the tip” when teaching someone this technique.  When you’ve got it mastered, it will dramatically improve your catch rates – subtle takes are very easy to detect because you’ve got the rod tip in the right position, the line is “tight” and not dragging, and the time from “take” to “set” is very short.

If I haven’t already lost you, or if you’ve skipped ahead, then you’ve missed a bit of the story, so hang in there.  After the line, leader, bobber, and flies became “stuck” in the tree, and about the time that the boat was close to 150 feet downstream from the whole mess (envision a screaming line, a puzzled client, a raging river, a hot under the UV-collar guide) I was able to get the Salmonfly to the bank.  Hey, that’s a clever bit of predictive entendre isn’t it?

Anchor dropped, looking upstream, I calmly state “just keep the tip where it’s at….”

Then “snap” like the worst snap you’ve ever heard, there it went.  My favorite Helios of all, the 10′ 5wt Tip Flex.  Trying to keep a hold of the rod and reel, my client inadvertently moved the rod, under extreme stress, too far in the wrong direction.

It is was the perfect nymph stick and I don’t mind sharing it with my clients, in fact, they quite enjoy it.  “It’s ok” I assured my client, “it happens.”  What I wanted to say was “remember downstream and 45 to keep your flies out of the trees, to see the best water coming, to keep the best drift possible…” to somehow impart that this whole thing was preventable….to not break my $800 fly rod.  But in the end, it is all ok.  Orvis guarantees their rods for 25 years from purchase, and will repair/replace it if needed.  I’ll send it to the fine folks in Manchester, VT for repair.  Soon, it will be back in the stable, ready for another day on the river.

The moral of the story, my dear (8) readers, is that sometimes even when you’re enjoying yourself on the river, things happen, and it feels like you’re getting the shaft.  Sometimes, it’s just the tip.  Which, by the way, I didn’t take to the bank.

I was inspired on a float down the river yesterday, when arriving at the confluence of my focusing thought and the humming of one of my favorite drinking songs – start a beer when the first guitar plucks start, what is that note – sounds like a warm E, but my guitar lessons are long overdue anyways and I’m looking forward to some instruction from a potential client. You’re supposed to finish your drink before the song ends, but somehow I seem to forget where I am, and end up, well, I digress. Led Zeppelin seems to be good river music, along with the whispering trees and the slurping fish, so that’s what got me thinking about the workhorse cast, the Roll Cast.

The truth is, you got to do those things the best you can. The Roll Cast is a work horse cast because it’s so commonly used, especially on a drift boat. It’s one of the basics; when times are tight, the seam is calling; you’ve got to get those double-bead flies and indicator over that faster water and the wind is blowing at you, and the overhead cast just won’t work, because at this point you’ve already fouled two new leaders and eight flies, and your patience is as thin as that 6x tippet – whew, it’s time for the roll cast.

The key to the roll cast is the anchor – being patient enough to slowly build that loop of line, hanging below your rod tip and laying on the water, and be purposeful with your motions. Too often, anglers try to roll cast with too much line on the water, and unless the end of your line is moving, those flies aren’t going anywhere. On a side note, see Steelheading.

When I’m guiding clients on the Clackacraft, it’s easy to tell who really likes to cast, and who doesn’t. Often, the people who love to cast will do it so frequently, that there is no way they’re going to catch fish. In a previous blog, I discussed presentation, and how that’s key to catching fish. Keeping those flies in the water gives them a chance to “fish” the water you’re in, and guides specialize in instructing you on the where, when, how long, and why – but there comes a time “and it’s whispered that soon, if we all call the tune, then the piper will lead us to reason” to cast and a time to drift. Experienced anglers understand the delicacies of overhand casting with nymph rigs, and often adapt their casting technique over time to counter for the difficulties; I tend to side-arm my roll casts, or across my chest sometimes, but in time, what holds true is the anchor. Prepare for it, move with purpose, be patient, then watch how those heavily-beaded “truck and trailer” rigs that your guide so artfully tied up for you arc through the air, landing at the top of that prime water, a quick mend, strike, play, and release.

Take those steps, and you’re on the Stairway to Heaven.