Recreation : Tying One On : A Reverence Runs Through Fly-Fishermen

At the start of “A River Runs Through It”--Robert Redford’s two-hour instructional film for fly-fishermen--one of the main characters defines the essence of the sport: “In our family,” says the eldest son of a Presbyterian minister, “there was no clear line between religion and fly-fishing.”

Freshwater fly-fishermen are the high priests of fishing. Monkish in their devotion, spiritual in their appreciation for their prey, fly-fishermen, unlike the common angler, regard the hunt as a sacred quest, measuring success not by how many fish they kill but by the number they catch and release.

“I don’t have the heart to kill a wild trout,” said Bob Johns, who owns a fly-fishing shop in Ventura, “and neither do other fly-fishermen. That’s what makes the sport so unique.”

Armed only with rod, reel and an astonishingly accurate facsimile of a fly--it could fool Mother Nature--fly-fishermen are purists. No sonar for them. No live bait. No treble hooks or trotlines.

“There’s something about being able to fool these fish with a piece of fur or feather,” Johns said.

But fly-fishermen rely on more than trickery to snare river trout. Part hawk--fly-fishermen need to read the water and understand the rhythms of their quarry--they also have to be entomologists.

Trout feed on various species of fly, devouring them in all stages of a fly’s biological development, from larva to adult. Fly-fishermen use artificial adult flies and flies in the pupa, or nymph stage. While it might take years before a larva pupates into a nymph, nymphs can wriggle to the surface in minutes and rest on their newly exposed wings for only a few seconds before taking flight.

Flies are everywhere along the length of a river--no-fly zones seldom exist--so it is mandatory that fly-fishermen identify indigenous species. In the movie, a character bitten by what appears to be a stone fly knows to select the same breed from his tackle box. In real life, Johns checks the underside of leaves in the morning, before the sun wakes the flies. Other fly-fishermen strain river water through a net to determine the local flies.

“Learning about flies is really no great mystery,” Johns says, adding: “But the size of the fly has nothing to do with the size of the fish.”

A knowledge of trout dining habits is also essential for the fly-fisherman.

“In a river, most trout remain stationary behind a rock or in a riffle and let the flow of the river bring food to them,” Johns says. “Trout are much easier to fool in broken water than in slower-moving stretches. In slow water, they can tell you who tied the fly and what size hook is in it. They become very selective. It’s truly a challenge to take these fish.”

To deduce whether the trout have a yen for tender nymphs or piquant adults, Johns says he watches for rings in the water. If the trout takes an adult fly, he says, the ring will have a bubble in it.

Selecting the right fly is easy, however, compared to the next step in the fly-fishing process: delivering the fly at the right time in the right place while mimicking the movements of a real fly. This is called presentation, “which is 90% of catching fish,” Johns says.

In “A River Runs Through It,” a character turns presentation into an art, complete with music and slow motion. Although the average cast doesn’t have to be that transcendent, accuracy is still required. Some fly-fishermen rely on a technique in which they cast upstream and let the fly float down to the fish, but there are occasions when “you have to be able (to cast) a fly on a 12-inch dinner plate at 50 feet,” Johns says.

Bob Brownie, president of the Sespe Fly-Fishers club, agrees with Johns. “Casting is probably the most difficult physical part (of fly-fishing),” Brownie says. “A lot of times you’re fishing to a specific fish.”

Fly-fishing entails so much knowledge that novices are advised to learn at the hip boots of masters. First-timers should hire a guide or go with an expert to avoid being skunked and losing interest in the sport. Brownie suggests lessons, saying beginners “can become reasonably confident with three or four days of instruction.”

Johns, who teaches fly-fishing and fly-tying, insists the sport is not beyond the ken of most anglers. “There’s nothing magical about it,” he says. “It’s just good common sense. You’ve got to be observant and pay attention.”

To get started in freshwater fly-fishing, a beginner will spend a minimum of $250 for “a decent rod, reasonable reel and a damn good fly-line,” Johns says, recommending all-purpose graphite rods for beginners. Add $70 to $235 for waders or $55 for hip boots. Those addicted to the sport can easily spend as much as $2,000 for equipment, several experts say.

Commercial flies with names like “Royal Wulffs” and “Humpies” cost less than $20 a dozen, but many fly-fishermen learn to create their own. Johns ties his own flies, an avocation “that’s even more addictive than fly-fishing,” he says. “I know men who lost their jobs because they got so into fly-tying they took it to work.”

Johns, who holds copyrights on several fly patterns, takes his “bag of furs and feathers” on fishing expeditions. The evening after his first day of fishing, “you have a very good idea of what flies the fish are interested in, and you produce those flies to support your next day’s activities,” he says.

Los Angeles-area fly-fishermen certainly can’t get very much satisfaction in the L.A. area. Small rainbows can be taken in Ventura County’s Sespe, Matilija and Piru creeks, but fly-fishermen have to travel to central and Northern California to catch the prized brown trout, cutthroat and steelhead.

And then let them go.

“That way I can catch him again and you can catch him again,” Johns says, explaining why he never keeps a trout. “Every fall, I go to British Columbia for steelhead, which come back up the (Babine) River after four years at sea. I’ve caught them with net burns, with gaff wounds, with eagle and osprey marks on their back. After you manage to fool this fish and he gives you a magnificent battle and he looks you in the eye, after all he’s been through, I don’t see how you could think of killing him.”

Fly-fishermen the world over generally share Johns’ respect for the fish, but Italians and the French apparently aren’t as reverential or merciful. For the last six years, Johns has captained the five-member U.S. fly-fishing team in an annual event that draws participants from 18 to 26 countries. According to Johns, the U.S. team agreed to participate only if the teams from Italy and France promised to let the tournament fish live.

“But they killed four or five trout (before the competition) and served them to us at dinner, just to make a point,” Johns says.

The Americans had their best finish last year, placing ninth in Italy. “We go for the good fellowship,” he says. “If we catch fish, it’s great, but if we don’t, that’s OK too. We get criticized for not being more competitive.”

Johns says the participants “learn from one another . . . the Poles are deadly nymph fly-fishermen. The Belgians are the world’s finest dry-fly-fishermen. And the English are the team to beat in lake or reservoir fishing.”

Johns, 60, has been fly-fishing for more than 50 years, but he doesn’t stop learning. “I still feel like a beginner,” he says. “The fish will send you home talking to yourself no matter how experienced you are. A man hasn’t lived until he’s been humbled by a brown trout.”