# Fresh life for a tired old man



## pezvela (Nov 3, 2007)

It's been a long week. I'm old and worn out. It seems as though only fishing keeps me going. I was sitting in my garage this morning lamenting the fact that my boat is in the shop and will be for at least 2 weeks.

I got up from my cold coffee and walked slowly across the concrete to the north wall that is adorned with rack after rack of rods. I removed two long rods from their brackets and carefully looked them over. Not misuse, but dust and dirt covered them. They had rested here for at least ten years, perhaps more. These were rods I had used so long ago for trout on local waters.

Carefully I cleaned the dust from them and wiped both of them dry. Leaders were attached and then I gathered my other gear-vest-waders and boots. I doubled checked to see that everything I might need was there. An hour had pasted before I was satisfied everything was in order. I loaded the truck and backed into the road. Boat or no boat, I was going fishing.

As I drove into the mountains I reached back of the seat and touched the rods as if seeking reassurance. The predecessors to these two were what started me on a long road that I, as an angler, have been compelled to follow as if I have no will of my own.

My thoughts were of the great rivers I have fished in the last 50 years; the Babine and Frasier for giant winter runs of steelhead, the Suisitna, Chuitna, Ugashik for giant salmon. The NakNak for salmon and unbelievable rainbow. Those and a hundred others stretching from California through the northwest and on to Alaska and across the bering straight to Siberia.

But it was not a great river that I sought out today. My legs have lost their strength and the current of even the Provo might be too much for me. I sought out a smaller water, a trout creek from my boyhood.

I was born during the last days of the great war at my grandfather's ranch at the mouth of Diamond fork. It was here that I learned to fish with a grasshopper or a worm. But even this water might be too much for me so I drove on.
[attachment=5:14wc2tgg]thistle stream 2.jpg[/attachment:14wc2tgg]

It was approaching noon when I arrived and already hot. It had been at least 10 years since I had been here and I feared that all of it might be posted. Relieved, I found none of the insidious signs on the fences.

The valley's air was flush with the fragrance of the stream, the willows and the wild grasses that adorned her shore. Camp-robbers, swallows and a wild canary welcomed me back after the long absence.

The water was only slightly chilled like a bottle of wine from a short stay in a ice bucket. It felt good on my legs as I climbed carefully through the barbed wire fence that crossed the stream.

Of the pair of rods I had chosen an 8 and one half foot, six weight rod with a nondescript reel. Unless the reel is designed to do battle with fish of untethered ferocity there is no need to go to the expense of a good reel. For trout fishing the reels only purpose is to hold the line. No need to waste money or be pretentious.

The first casts were clumsy like a beginner and that is what I was....only beginning to learn again. A size 16 black bodied humpy was on the leader when I loaded the rod and reel so I left it there. It slapped at the water and scared any trout that might have been there as I started out.

As I moved upstream the rhythm of the little creek overtook me and the long rod, the stream and I became one. For most of the time the dark dry flie landed where I wished and rode the currents back to me with little drag. I studied the river as one is expected to should he or she expect to take a fish.

The first take was lightning quick and my slowed reflexes almost missed the strike. A diminutive brown trout took to the air at the sting of the hook with its crushed barb. The fish was tiny barely 6 inches. I took a quick picture and then gently released the trout admonishing it to demonstrate more wariness in the future.
[attachment=6:14wc2tgg]tb 1.jpg[/attachment:14wc2tgg]

I was flush with excitement. Although the fish was small...I had caught one and the promise of more was there. I tied on a trude coachman so that I might see its float and moved slowly upstream.

Fish darted away at my approach in the martini clear water. One, two then another brown trout rose to the fly but I missed them. I cursed silently, but it didn't really matter a strike was nearly as good as a take, I rationalized. A check to see if the barb was broken and fresh dope applied I continued my quest.

The second fish was much bigger than the first. I though of killing him for dinner then quickly dismissed the thought. How could I kill such rare beauty? The fish was photographed and released.
[attachment=3:14wc2tgg]tb 4.jpg[/attachment:14wc2tgg]

Fish lie in virtually every pool and trail water, but all were not catchable. In the clear water they spooked at my approach or rose with the fly only to dismiss it as a counterfeit.

As I moved along the creek I continued to search for signs of a hatch, but found none. Regardless of what was happening on the stream there were grasshoppers in the valley below so I attached a small elk hair hopper that I had tied long ago when my eyes were still capable of completing such tasks.

Each time I opened the fly boxes I moved to shore not wanting the precious treasure to spill on the water and be washed away. I realized with a almost frightening certainty that the treasure of hook and hair would have to last me the rest of my life as I could no longer see good enough to tie.
[attachment=2:14wc2tgg]tb 5.jpg[/attachment:14wc2tgg]

The midday sun was baking me. I sat on the grassy bank and reflected on the last three hours. Six magnificent brown trout had fallen to an old mans skills, however rusty they might be. All were returned to continue their live's in the little river just as their presence helped restore life to me. I breathed deep of the rivers scent, caressed the long rod and began the long treck back to the truck fulfilled as only the angler can be.
[attachment=1:14wc2tgg]tb 6.jpg[/attachment:14wc2tgg]
[attachment=0:14wc2tgg]flower 1.jpg[/attachment:14wc2tgg]

If you haven't figured out where this magical little stream is, the picture above should tell you.


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## scientificangler (Aug 13, 2008)

Great post. Thanks for taking the time to write it out so beautifully. That is one of my favorite places to fish. Willing fish and relative solace on a weekday. Thanks again.


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## GaryFish (Sep 7, 2007)

Very nice. Thanks for taking us along.


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## truemule (Sep 12, 2007)

Pezvela,
I don't have words. Thank you for that in the middle of my day.


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## FishMogul (Sep 8, 2007)

thanks for the poetic report... that was some smooth reading. I love that little creek also


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## LOAH (Sep 29, 2007)

Thanks, Pez.

Your reports have always been my favorite to read.

I'm glad you got a chance to revisit that chapter of your life.


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## Riverrat77 (Sep 7, 2007)

Great report... that was a good read. Nice pictures as well... from the little time I've spent on that water, it is a good place to go. 8)


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## pkred (Jul 9, 2009)

What an epic and moving tail of one man and his reverance for our mother. Elexent post and great read. thank you Sir. 8)


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## orvis1 (Sep 7, 2007)

Good to dust off the ol noodle sticks and have some fun while the boat is in for repairs...


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## hunterfisher (Sep 14, 2007)

Great story and great fish! Glad you could get out with the long pole.


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## Bassman (Oct 3, 2007)

I actually enjoy a day on a small stream like that more than any day on the boat  Glad you got to dust off the old fly stick and make it happen. Thanks for sharing.


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## Artoxx (Nov 12, 2008)

Man, that was _*B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L!!!*_

Thank you so much for that. That is one of the most eloqent and well written stories I have ever read. (I was going to put an emoticon here, but for the life of me I can't find one that expresses what I feel about that post.)

You should submit that to one or more of the outdoor magazines. I seriously think that they would publish it for the rest of the world to experience.

SERIOUSLY! Outdoor Life and Field and Stream have both been known to publish reader submitted essays, when they are up to par, and THAT my friend was BEYOND par, if _anything_ I have ever read _anywhere_ is. 
It is even possible that they would pay you for it, and you could use that to take some of the sting out of the boat bill. :wink:
I am not kidding even a little bit, that was of publishable quality. 
But if you do, then I would recommend that you edit the last little bit so hordes of psuedo sportsmen don't invade that beautiful little stream. No sense being TOO generous. :mrgreen: 
Again, thank you for that. I feel honored by your choice to share that with us.


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## stillhunterman (Feb 15, 2009)

Beautifully written, thank you so much for taking us along on your little trip! Kinda reminded me of dad back when.....so the following is dedicated to you...and dad. Wish I had your eloquence!

THE OLD FISHERMAN



THE OLD FISHERMAN 


THE

....old man slowly pulled the waders over his feet, struggling just a 
bit as he lifted them past his waist, cinching the straps over his 
shoulders. They were covered in battle wounds, some of the patches
nearly as old as the waders. He wore them now more out of a sense of 
loyalty than to wade the rivers deep. He hadn't tread through waters much 
passed his knees in a few years now. He donned his vest, gently patting 
the upper left pocket, where the small wooden box of hand tied flies 
safely waited. Reaching for his bamboo fly rod, the old man set off for the 
Provo River just below the road.

It was nearly sunset, and the long shadows inched their way across the 
river. The tall pines swayed gently in the cool evening breeze.
The first dusting of gold on the aspens assured fall was in the 
air. A variety of insects buzzed the water’s surface, but the old man 
didn't take notice, or even seem to care.

Cradling his rod in the nook of his bent arm, he pulled the old wooden fly
box from his pocket. As he opened it, he noticed how black the brass 
hinges were and gently ran his withered and worn finger across the 
small pieces of metal, feeling the tiny rust pits from years of mist off the 
waters. 

Without hesitation, he pulled a no. 18 Royal Coachman from the last row 
of flies, neatly arranged by patterns. His eyes followed a shaking 
hand, as it carefully replaced the box in the upper left pocket of 
his fishing vest. Slowly, he pushed the leader through the tiny eye of the hook, 
then carefully tied it, wetting the monofilement between his lips before 
cinching the line tight. He pulled a pair of nail clippers from his 
vest and trimmed the excess piece of line near the eye of the fly.

Holding his rod firmly in hand, the old man skirted the waters edge, 
making his way upstream a few yards, where an old friend waited. As he 
rounded the large boulder, he saw the slow moving riffle of water he had 
fished hundreds of times, and smiled as his feet felt the cool water 
through the rubber of his waders.

The sun had set, and the breeze settled into a dead calm, as he lifted 
his rod to the sky, and began a motion that had been perfected over 
many decades and many rivers. His wrist became a part of the rod, and the 
two moved with a graceful fluid rhythm, forward then backward, like a 
perfectly tuned metronome. The line curled forward several yards as he 
released the line held in his left hand, the tip of his rod halting at 
the 10 o’clock position. The tiny fly settled on the waters surface as 
gently as a dandelions parachute of cotton. The slow moving current 
carried the fly downstream slowly, as the old man stripped back line to 
keep the slack out.

Through tired old eyes, the fisherman strained to see the colorful fly as it
danced upon the water. His senses, honed over time with the touch of 
a thousand strikes, took over with unconcious effort. In a single sinuous
movement, he raised his rodtip high, pullinig sharply backwards as he held
the line firmly in his left hand.

His reward was a fat rainbow trout, propelling itself upstream the second
the fish felt the hook set in its jaw. The old mans laugh echoed across
the river, filling the silent forest with the sounds of youthful exuberance. For
the next few moments, the withered body standing at waters edge melted back in time to that of a young boy, jeans rolled up above the knees, his bare feet 
cradeling slippery moss covered rocks as he hooked his first trout in unknown
waters on a cool autumn evening...


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## quakeycrazy (Sep 18, 2007)

Great report with pics! Good job old man, you still got it!


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## Nor-tah (Dec 16, 2007)

You dont even know how excited I was to read this when I saw it!!! You should sell your stories. I have emailed your reports for close friends to enjoy. That was a treat!! As I was finishing the read I saw the purple flower and smiled... I thought it might be Bennie Creek (Sp?). Here is another one of my favorites from you!
http://www.bigfishtackle.com/cgi-bin/gf ... ds;#455036


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## stevo1 (Sep 13, 2007)

Old man, Well said, fish on and be well.


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## Nueces (Jul 22, 2008)

Excellent photos and stories. I felt like I was there.


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## .45 (Sep 21, 2007)

pezvela.......why do you spend your time fishing? You could be a famous novelist !!

What an easy and enjoyable article to read....thanks !!


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## tap (Jun 27, 2008)

Very McGuanish. I like it.


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## wyogoob (Sep 7, 2007)

Well done.


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## 1BandMan (Nov 2, 2007)

NICE!!!!!!

Thanks much for sharing!


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## Size Matters (Dec 22, 2007)

That was a awesome report and photos thanks for sharing.


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## TIMBO (Dec 18, 2007)

Sweet read thanks man!


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## netresult (Aug 22, 2008)

WOWWWW!!! One of the best post I've read on any forum! Thank you for the experience sir.I don't think I can wait till September to return to Utah.


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## JERRY (Sep 30, 2007)

My rods are dusty.


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## Utahgreenhead (Apr 28, 2009)

Pez, 

I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. But from reading that and experiencing it with you through your words, I would share a stream bank with you any day. In fact, I’m sure any of us could learn a lot from spending a day with you on the river. Thanks for sharing, I know everyone has said that already, but you made my morning to read your report. Thanks.


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## pezvela (Nov 3, 2007)

Thanks to all of you for your kind words. Your thoughts have reaffirmed my belief that those of us who have chosen to be called "angler" truly are blessed with each experience we can have on the water. It fulfills a deep spiritual emptiness that overwhelmes us when we are removed from the river for too long. Thank you, one and all, my brothers of the river.


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## whiteknuckler (Apr 1, 2009)

"Thanks to a very talented writer and fisherman.


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## mike m (Mar 26, 2010)

Great Read, I can see we have a lot in common. I fished the lil creek yesterday although it was muddy from early run off. I thought about returning to my Jeep as I looked at the muddy water but then decided to give it a try seeing how I drove this far so I tied on a black A P to offset the color of the muddy water, As I stepped into the Lil creek a Brown rushed from the little shallow riffle and ran into my ankle. I chuckled and thought either it was in such a hurry to get away or the muddy water had it blinded. I flipped the nymph upstream and worked to the deepest run along the east side and my indicator stopped, I lifted my rod tip and to my surprise hooked a 12" Brown. I managed to hook and release 2 more before deciding to call it a day in the mudd. I drove back to Orem and decided to try the Provos best kept secret where I got into a awsome BWO hatch. Great day. I have a feeling we are going to enjoy our time we plan on spending together.As you know I just returned from Calif. where I was borne and lived for 50 years. I managed to get 4 days fishing in on the American the last week of February. Out of 4 days on the River I landed 5 Steelhead. Great for so late in the run. Largest, 12 lbs. That is the only thing I miss of Calif.


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## brookieguy1 (Oct 14, 2008)

I havent been on this forum alot due to computer issues, so I missed this post early on. But after reading it, I think you might just be all right, Pez! I would share an alpine gem with you anytime.


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## BIG-TNT (Oct 19, 2007)

Thank,s for sharing. It made me feel like I was there. Sure did brighten my day. Thanks again


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## Old Fudd (Nov 24, 2007)

Your post hit me in the heart!Back when I was a young man. My Grand Dad and Grand Ma lived in Sanpete County > Spring City is where all my family is from. On trips down to visit. my father would pile me, my two brothers and Mom and Sis into a 1948 Black Buick (my dads pride and joy) We would either stop on the Diamond Fork or go down thru Thistle for a picnic lunch. My brother, who just turnned 71 this week.we would take off with glass jars gathering up hoppers. Then race each other to the best hole. then it was look out Browns! and Cutts! we had are old glass fly rod and my favorite, a 5 piece Bamboo automatic reels. we were the stuff! After a bunch of trout! it was back to the blanket sitting next to that old buick for lunch. cream soda, and liverwurst sandwich. topped off with home made oatmeal cookies. Then it was back to the river, this time with are father,What a fisherman he was! guys would ask him< Where did you catch that basket of fish?With a smile he'd say.. in the mouth! Their all gone now. My mother, my Father my Grand Dad and Grand MA I'am getting ready to turn 65 . But that River Still Runs Through it! along with the blood in my veins.Summer is coming. I will hit the waters again. just a bit slower. Still with a jar of hoppers or some my son ties for me. Thank you so much for the memories.


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## cantnotfish (Jan 3, 2010)

ABSOLUTLY INCREDIBLE! You put into words the way most of us feel about the waters we fish. I wish I could express the way I feel about the passion that is fishing like you have. Thank you so very much for that! Fish on, my fellow angler, fish on.


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## hungry3lmb (Mar 19, 2010)

That was extremely poignant and powerful. It does make me think that one day I also will not be able to go to all the places I've been and I've been to many places which are rather extreme to travel to. Makes one think how short life is and that it needs to be treasured and enjoyed to the fullest extent. I hope you will have the energy to fish for years to come. When I chased grasshoppers this past fall, I thought about one of your previous stories detailing how hard it was for you to get them in your old age. I remembered how I loved chasing grasshoppers as a kid just for the fun of it. They're still fairly easy to catch now, but I can see a point in the future when that won't be the case anymore.


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## Grumpy Granny (Mar 5, 2008)

What a wonderful tale. You took my mind with you and I too, was fishing that water. And enjoying it!! 8)


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## JERRY (Sep 30, 2007)

Man does that story make me want to get out and fish! It has been a while for me also, and it's good to see you still get the enjoyment out of one of my favorite pastimes. I hope to enjoy fishing for a long time, and I hope you see many more days like the one you had.

Congrats!!!!!!


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## ajwildcat (Mar 27, 2008)

Thank you soooo much for this story, it sure helped to make my work day much better.


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