The first time I went fishing with a 6-piece fly rod was quite an eye-opener for me. It was a Cabela's 7'6" Stowaway and it collapsed down to just 15 inches including the case. The idea was to have a rod I could easily pack into one of my motorcycle's saddlebags along with a couple of reels and fishing gear.
What I purchased was a starter kit, but it was the reel I was after. Being a kit, it came with nearly everything a budding fly fisherman would need: rod and reel of course, but also accessories like leader, tippet, floatant, a small fly box, a leader straightener, forceps and nippers, all of which fit into a small chest pack. Since I was only after the reel, I put the rod on the rack, stored the chest pack somewhere in a drawer (more on that in a bit), and stuffed the extra gear into my already bulging fly vest.
The first couple of outings went fairly well. I stowed the 6-piece rod in its case into one of the saddlebags along with a collapsible net, reel case and overstuffed vest, which I rolled as best as such a lumpy thing can be rolled. I rode/hiked to the river, caught fish, came home. Good deal.
This system lasted for a couple of trips until one particularly bright day in mid-June. I had ridden the bike to a remote spot, and parked it at the end of a 5-mile dirt road. After unpacking the gear from the saddlebag, I donned the ceremonial garb of the fly fisherman. Boonie hat, vest, waders and polarized glasses. I then hiked another 2 miles through the woods to my starting point on the river.
Once out on the water, I discovered to my great chagrin that I was without my flybox. I know I had put it in one of the big front pockets of my vest. But had I zipped it? I could picture it in my mind, not zippered. So there I was, all dressed up and ready to go, but with no flies- wait, not no flies. At a quick glance I saw I had six or seven flies that were still clinging to the drying patch on my vest!
A few moments of alternate cursing and pondering led me to conclude that it was better to fish with the flies that I had rather than to walk a 4 mile-round trip to get my fly box. After a final curse, I took a closer look at the flies I had: a parachute Adams, a large gnat, a small, dark woolly bugger, gold-ribbed hare’s ear and pheasant tail nymphs, an elk-hair caddis, a warden’s worry, and a small grasshopper (it was midsummer).
As it turned out, it proved to be one of the most enjoyable and productive day’s fly fishing I have ever had. It was surprising and perplexing at the time, but looking back, it makes perfect sense.
Knowing I had only these few flies, I fished much more slowly, deliberately, selectively than I ever had before. I hoarded my casts, waiting and debating, and when deciding to cast to (or not) a spot, casting with much more deliberation and care. Once I had a fish on, I played it with much more focused attention than I ever did when I knew I had flies by the dozen waiting if I broke one off.
I also realized that although I was (as at the time I thought) under-stocked in the fly department, I was quite over-stocked in every other area. For instance, I have read my stream thermometer exactly twice, and one of those times only because I happened to have dropped it by accident into the stream.
By the time the sun had gone down, I had caught nearly twenty beautiful brook trout ranging from 5” to 17”, and had all but two flies still remaining; my woolly bugger having been snagged and lost on a rock or log, and the Adams broken off on what would have been the largest brookie of the day.
Next morning, I took a careful look at my gear- nearly all of it, spread out on the kitchen table. Based on the previous day’s success, I divided my gear into three groups.
In the first, the absolute essentials: fly rod, reel, leader, two sizes of tippet, and fly box (to be sorted later). I debated putting my landing net in this group, but concluded that for brook trout fishing at least, I didn’t need it, as I almost always released the fish without ever removing them from the water.
In the second, important gear: waders, boots, hat, several sizes and types of leaders, fly floatant, forceps, water bottle, and landing net.
In the third, nice-to-haves: multiple (6+ sizes) of tippet, two boxes of nymphs and streamers (totalling over 120 flies between them), and a box of miscellaneous files, including terrestrials, worms, and other oddities. Other items also made it into this group, like the fly vest itself, bug spray, creel and minimal streamside cooking gear (I do get hungry on occasion).
By this point I could see that the “fly fishing vest” was nothing more than part of a fly fisherman Halloween costume. I set it aside and picked up the small starter-kit chest pack. It’s only about 6” on a side, but the items from the essentials group fit into it easily, minus the rod. Then, taking the small starter-kit fly box, chose 12-pair of what I consider to be essential trout flies. I would later add three more ‘essential’ boxes, one each for panfish, bass, and carp. For those curious about what my trout box contains, just google ‘top trout flies’, and you’ll get more suggestions than you could imagine.
Over the last three seasons, I have honed down the list to be even more compact. I no longer bring waders, unless the water is cold, using my motorcycle boots and discreetly changing into swim shorts I kept in the saddlebags in the bushes. The boots would be dry within five miles of my departure to home at the end of the day.
It is a very liberating way to fish, both spiritually and economically. It is quite a contrast to when I go out on my 16’ Old Town, which is so equipped to be very nearly a floating Orvis dealer.
Feb. 27, 2022
Saco, Maine
