FLY TYING AT THE CATSKILL FLY FISHING MUSEUM
By John Robbins
Newton, New Jersey. 1951. I was just a kid, ready to learn to fish.
It all began with a green cotton drop line, a small worm hook, a pebble for weight, and dough balls for bait. At seven, with a drop line wrapped around a 6” stick in hand, I first fished at Camp Wasigan in Hope, NJ. There I cut my teeth on bluegills and bullhead catfish.
By age 12, I started spin fishing after being frustrated with baitcasting backlashes. At this time, I began traveling the county roads around Newton on my bicycle in search of small lakes and ponds where I could pursue sunfish, bass and pickerel. I became skilled at catching bass on night crawlers, Jitter Bugs, and Johnson Silver Minnows with pork rind.
In the summer of 1958, at age 15, I caught a 6.5 lb. 23-inch largemouth bass at a farm lake. This was a big fish at the time for NJ, and my dad took my picture with the fish and put it in our local weekly newspaper. The next Saturday every bass fisherman in northwestern NJ wanted to get on that lake. But the owner locked the gate and turned all of them away.
He would still let me fish it because he was my dad’s friend, and I would always bring him the bluegills I caught, which he and his wife loved to eat. There was only one bad incident relating to my extra-large largemouth. Instead of having it mounted, we ate it. Do you have any idea how bad a big summer largemouth bass tastes? It’s almost as bad as eating Merganser!
My dad’s friend, Clint Wilson, said now that I was a real fisherman, I needed to learn how to fly fish. So, I went to Sears-Roebuck and bought my first fly fishing outfit. That was March of ‘59, about a month before trout season started.
The outfit was an 8-foot, 6-weight JC Higgins solid fiberglass rod, a click and pawl reel, 2 Berkley knotless leaders, a Scientific Angler Air Cel level floating line, and a box of Japanese flies that didn’t resemble anything in nature. I was sure these wouldn’t attract any wary trout but would probably catch some stupid blue gills. The whole outfit cost about $30. Allowing for inflation, you could purchase a much better outfit from Bass Pro Shops today for about $150, and it would be a graphite rod, with weight-forward line, leader, some good flies, and a decent reel with a modest drag system.
I taught myself how to fly cast by reading the pamphlet Scientific Angler had included in their fly line box. I practiced casting in my back yard for a few weeks. The pamphlet also included instructions on how to tie an improved Clinch knot for attaching flies to the leader.
About two days before trout season, I rode my bike to Dave’s Sporting Goods Shop outside of Newton. Dave sold me a little glass bottle of Mucilin fly floatant which I still have, and two Hornberg wet flies, which he told me to fish as dry flies.
On Saturday, April 11, my mother drove me to the Big Flat Brook near Layton, NJ at 11 in the morning. I hiked ½ mile downstream to Werner’s Pool, which I didn’t know existed, but realized that it must be a great spot, because its banks were lined with about 30 shoulder-to-shoulder fishermen, which was very typical in NJ on the opening day of trout season.
As I walked down the steep hill to the pool, I knew I was in trouble. One man, outfitted in a tweed hat and jacket, full chest waders, and holding a bamboo rod, was in the middle of the pool casting up stream to two large breeder trout. He looked like something out of an Abercrombie and Fitch catalog. The problem was that he and all the other men were very unhappy because they were getting skunked. Nobody was catching anything!
I approached a man near the head of the pool who was standing on the bank. I said, “Excuse me sir, can you help me? I’ve never fly fished before, nor ever caught trout. What do I need to do.” To which he replied to no one in particular, “Oh we got a beginner, a newbie! Come here kid, I’ll show you what to do. See that rock close to the bank upstream, stand on it and cast your fly toward the white water. What kind of fly do you have?” I said, “A Hornberg with dry fly floatant, but how can I cast with all these trees behind me?” He asked, “Dontcha know how to roll cast kid?” I said no, so he gave me a very fast lesson. I tried this new technique a few times and then began roll casting toward the white water away from the other fishermen, and the Hornberg floated beautifully downstream drag-free. After about 12 or 13 casts, the water exploded, and I caught a 12-inch rainbow. The man shouted, “Hey look, the kid caught his first trout! Way to go, kid!”
After I landed the trout, I asked, “What do I do now?” He said, “Hit the fish on the head with a rock and kill it, cut open its belly, pull out the guts and throw them up on the bank, then put the fish in your creel with some wet grass.”
I did what he instructed, and then asked, “What do I do now?” And he said, “Now you get back on the rock,” which I did.
After about 12 or 13 more roll casts, I hooked another 12-inch rainbow and hollered with excitement. I glanced around and still nobody else was catching anything. The man who was helping me said in a very gruff voice, “Never did this before, huh, kid?” All the other men were looking at me with scowls on their faces like they wouldn’t take prisoners. I said to the man next to me, “Honest mister, I’ve never fly fished before, and I’ve never even caught a trout. But I know how to fish. I’m 16 and I’ve been fishing since I was 7, and last year I caught a 6 ½ lb. 23-inch largemouth bass.”
This seemed to anger the men even more, so I packed up my stuff and got the hell out of there.
I walked back to the bridge and sat down, ate my PB&J sandwich and drank the 7 oz. bottle of Coke my mother had packed for me, and waited for her to pick me up. When she arrived around 2 0’clock she said, “What are you doing here, Johnny? I thought you’d be fishing.” I said, “I thought the men were going to beat me up.” She asked, “Why? Were you throwing rocks in the water?” I said, “No, mom, I was the only one catching fish, and they were pissed off, so I got the hell out of there. But we have two nice rainbow trout for dinner!” My mom smiled and seemed very pleased.
That was my fly fishing baptism under fire, and I look back on that day 67 years ago as if it were yesterday, and I must smile. Those were truly halcyon days, compared to what has happened to trout fishing today, what with Triploid Frankenfish genetically engineered in trout hatcheries, and much of the useless paraphernalia that is supposed to make us better fly fishers. Sometimes I think less is more.
I’ve been going back to the Flat Brook and Werner’s Pool for the last 25 years on my journey to Roscoe, NY where I go for the annual Catskill Fly Fishing Center and Museum banquet. I’ll be there this year, God willing and “if the river don’t rise,” on June 6.
The fishing is still good on the Flat Brook, but the fish are all rainbows, and they are all sterile, just like our hatchery fish in North Carolina, which in my estimation is a waste of taxpayer money. Also, most of the Flat Brook is now catch and release year-round which is probably okay, because hatchery trout, raised on Purina Trout Chow, taste lousy, compared to wild, stream-born fish. That’s what happens when government gets to heavily involved in conservation.
Just some of my random thoughts, but I think I may be preaching to the choir.
Tight Lines!
FISHING ON THE NORTH FORK OF
THE FRENCH BROAD, ROSMAN, NC
John E. Robbins
About the author
Dr. John Robbins is a retired professor of marketing at Winthrop University. He’s currently a member of the Catskill Fly Fishing Center and Museum, The Catskill Fly Tyers Guild, the Carolina Fly Fishing Club, FFI, Trout Unlimited along with numerous other fishing and hunting organizations. He has also served as a fly tying instructor and fishing guide for Project Healing Waters in North Carolina.
