There is a joy in casting well that somehow transcends even its purpose. When everything is clicking, there is a state of grace that exists between you, your fly rod, the moving line above you and the winds of heaven. If you've had moments like this, you know exactly what I mean. If you haven't ... read on. This is a Midwest Fly Fishing Website opportunity to think seriously about how you'd like to cast and how you cast now. Of course, the best advice we can give you is to learn how to fly cast from a competent teacher.
There was a late evening several weeks ago on a trout stream near my home when my casting was as close to perfect as it will perhaps ever be. Brown trout and a few brook trout, most of them small, were taking tiny emerging midges on or just under the surface of the water along a bend in the stream. The feeding rhythm of each trout seemed extremely precise and purposeful. From the tail of the pool, I watched as many fish as I could see well and remembered where they were and how they were feeding in the slow and even flow of the stream. I was fishing with an 8-foot cane rod for a 4-weight line made by Mike Spittler of Minneapolis, both a friend and a very accomplished rod maker. My leader was about 14 feet long, tapered and ended in three and a half feet or so of 6X tippet. I had tied the leader myself, something I am very particular about. Just before I started casting I looked behind me. The sun was nudging down to the horizon. Reds, oranges and pinks grew increasingly intense near the edges of the light and spilled out over the farms and woodlands and smeared subtly the tiny stream I stood in. I took on the fish one by one, missing some, hooking others. The more casts I made to the fish, the more I enjoyed myself and the feel of the rod. Not all my casts were perfect, but most of them were, and the #20 and #22 flies I used landed upstream of each fish softly, then drifted right over its nose.