Susan Cocking's Outdoors

Fly fishing, not catching

I headed up to one of my favorite places in the world to go fly fishing last weekend-- Mosquito Lagoon near Titusville.  Guide Nick Sassic had warned me that the south wind wasn't the best for locating redfish, indicative as it is of impending low pressure and also recognized for clouding up the east-central Florida skies.  Also, he couldn't stay out the whole day because he had a family commitment.  But I would not be deterred.

We departed from Beacon 42 boat ramp in the Merritt Island National Wildlife Refuge in his skiff, my 9-weight rigged with a small tan and white Clouser.

Of course the moment he started poling across the flats, the south wind began to puff up, along with the clouds.  We startled a hidden school of reds, which promptly vanished off the face of the earth, and later we drifted too close to a few barely-visible singles.

But then, the Grail....a tailing redfish with the telltale electric-periwinkle spot near its butt that marks it as a REALLY hungry fish.  Although nosing around no more than 20 feet from the skiff, the fish miraculously did not spook as I made my backcast.

The fly landed right next to the redfish, but instead of acting frightened, the fish turned frantically back and forth, looking for the fly.  What a miracle.  See how many times that happens to you!

At Sassic's urging, I made a couple of strips, and felt a bump -- woo-wee! I made a quick strip-strike and......nothing.  The fish swam off.

Huh?

I stripped the line in and examined the fly only to find -- with great disappointment -- that a wind knot had wrapped the tippet around the hook, greatly interfering with its appearance and presentation.

"The fly was probably swimming backwards," Sassic offered.

As I sputtered and fumed, he added, "That's fly fishing."

We didn't see too many more reds after that.  I did manage to bean one of a pair on the head with the fly, something I could NEVER accomplish if I were actually aiming for it.  Of course, both fish fled in terror.

The winds and clouds increased, and too soon, it was time to go back to the boat ramp.

What sets fly fishing apart from bait fishing is that you appreciate every single encounter, no matter how disappointing or infrequent, that involves trying to convey a silly little concoction of fur and feathers to a fish.  When you actually manage to catch a fish, you never, ever forget it and you savor it like other Big Firsts in your life.

If it were easy, I think most of us would lose interest.  Since it's not, it often becomes a lifelong pursuit.

If you are ever up in central Florida and want to take a shot at the big reds, call Sassic -- 386-479-3429.

Smashing stereotypes and discomfitude

As much as I would like to present myself as enlightened and altruistic, I sometimes experience a level of discomfort and unease when in the company of disabled people.  I have always enjoyed near-perfect health and have stuck to a rigorous fitness program  -- running a distance of five miles four times per week -- for more than 20 years.  When I encounter someone who can't possibly do anything like that, a tinge of pity and sadness creeps in. 

Without falling too deeply into psycho-babble, I think my discomfort arises from shame at taking my physical abilities (clumsy as they are) for granted.  In other words, you feel pretty stupid when you complain about how your feet hurt to someone who has no feet, or who can't use them.

On top of that, I worry about being insensitive when interacting with the disabled person:  should I pretend not to notice that he or she is in a wheelchair?  Will the person be upset if I ask how he/she got there? 

I discovered that the best remedy for my discomfiture is to have a chat with the disabled sailors who hang out at Shake-A-Leg Miami.   I recently got to meet the best of the best -- sailors from numerous countries who will compete in the Paralympics this summer in China.  They were participating in the 2008 Rolex Miami Olympic (and Paralympic) Classes Regatta on Biscayne Bay.

While hanging out with them, their wheelchair/cane/leg braces/missing limbs actually manage to slip out of my consciousness.  Not at first, of course.   Determined to try to deal with my own prejudicial demons, I asked these sailors up front how they got that way.

They treated the question as if I had just asked them the time of day.   They answered me matter-of-factly, then began talking very animatedly about what they're REALLY interested in -- sailing.  The conversation was very much like those I've had with able-bodied Olympic sailors Paul Cayard or Mark Reynolds or Magnus Liljedahl.  After a while, my discomfort simply dissipated and I forgot where it went.

Walking away after these interviews, I wondered if I could deal with a life reversal the way these Paralympic sailors have done.  I hope I never have to find out.  But if it ever came to that, at least I know I'd be in really, really good company.