"Prologue" - South Platte Chronicles
By Carl Pudlo, Colorado
"Fly fishing, like Mathematics, should be pursued and
studied solely for its intrinsic beauty." - The Gentleman
of the South Platte
He appeared from nowhere and slowly walked to the bank of
the South Platte River. For several minutes, he calmly
surveyed the water both upstream and downstream. When
he finally crossed the river, I could see the water never
went above the knee of his brown neoprene waders. There
seemed to be an air of nobility about the man as he quietly
moved downstream and stopped across from a backwash behind
some large rocks, and beached trees. I carefully watched
as he stripped out fly-line from what appeared to be a
nine-foot graphite rod. I was too far away to identify
the fly he was using. With the dexterity of a world-class
gymnast, he dropped the first cast in a pool just behind a
large granite rock. His casts were smooth and accurate. I
could see he worked every inch of backwash behind the rock
with each cast. After five minutes, he hooked a trout and
artfully played the fish. He cautiously knelt on one knee
in ten inches of water and delicately unhooked the trout,
returning it to the water, never once allowing the fish
to be completely out of the water. I watched for the next
fifteen minutes as he thoroughly fished the backwash. Each
time he caught a trout, he released the played-out fish as
methodically as the first time, slowly bending to one knee,
and painstakingly removing the hook with minimum disturbance
to the fish. I surmised the man I watched was someone with
a singular expertise of fly-fishing, acquired through years
of experiences. I wondered to myself about his curious
mannerisms and definitive actions. Were they just a quirk
of his character, or was there a reason for every movement?
Did he have a knowledge and perception of this river that
eluded the most experienced fly-fishing enthusiast? Was
there a divine providence directing this South Platte angler
in every undertaking? I soon would find out. The mysterious
man motioned for me to join him!
I was surprised that he even knew I was there. With the
excitement of a child at Christmas, I jumped from my perch
and scrambled to the opposite bank from the gentleman. He
started a conversation about how the weather was ideal for
fishing today, not rainy, but cloudy, to block the intense
sunlight. As he talked, I tried to discern the fly he was
using with such success. He wore an old brown fedora, much
like that of the Indiana Jones character. There were no flies
cluttering the band of the fedora. His brown waders covered
a flannel shirt, and an old tan fishing vest, not the cut-off,
store-bought vest, with pockets everywhere, but a simple one
of a fabric that I could not recognize. He had an unlit,
half-smoked, cigar clenched between his teeth and occasionally
he would remove the cigar, hold it between his index and middle
fingers, to spit accumulated saliva. Brown boots and gravel
guards covered the stocking feet of the brown waders. Hundreds
of questions crossed my mind about the man who stood across
the stream from me. Finally, I got the nerve to interrupt
the man and ask, "Why have you motioned for me to join you?"
"I watched you fish the South Platte for some time before you
sat down for a rest. Would you like to learn the inner secrets
of the river?" In my wildest dreams, I could not resist this
ingratiating offer from the gentleman. My experiences on the
South Platte were mostly unsuccessful, yet in thirty minutes
of fishing, this man caught and released more trout from one
hole than I had been able to catch in twenty days of fishing.
For the next hour, the gentleman spun tales of fishing
experiences as I absorbed his every word, tales not just of
fishing, but also of companionship and amusement. So it was
that I first met this gentleman of the South Platte River,
the man who taught me fishing is more than catching fish.
So I began to chronicle fishing the South Platte River of
Colorado.
To be continued. ~ Carl Pudlo, Colorado
|
