Tributary Nine
One Yuppie, Two Yuppie, Three Yuppie Fishermen
By Carl Pudlo, Colorado
"The proud and arrogant man "Mocker" is his name; he
behaves with overweening pride." Proverbs 21:24
Often times I had hoped the man I became friends with, the
South Platte story-teller, would be my own personal mentor
on fishing the famous river. Some of his stories included
descriptions of fisherman for which he had nothing but pure
disdain. Although he never expounded on any incidents that
caused the contempt he had for certain fishermen, he was able
to accurately describe the type of fisherman for which he had
no respect. He also described incidents where the fishermen
he disrespected were given their come-uppance. On one occasion
when I ran into the man I wanted as a mentor, he detailed
fly-fisherman he described as 'yuppie' fishermen, and then
went on to explain the lessons he had learned from them...
"Every now and then, I run into a fisherman who really rubs me
the wrong way. The first indication I get of this type is the
way the fisherman is dressed and by the accompanying utilities
adorning his attire. The typical 'yuppie' fly fisherman comes
well prepared with every imaginable fly in several silver metal
fly boxes. The flies are neatly arranged by size and type, each
type in a separate box. One box will contain all the dry flies,
a second box all the nymphs, a third has all the wet flies, and
a fourth filled with streamers. This overkill of flies is
supplemented with a tackle box containing even more flies and
the basic accouterments of a fly tying kit to create perfect 'match
the hatch' flies able to catch everything that swims within ten
feet of the fisherman, including the kitchen sink. I half expect
the yuppie fisherman to carry a size two weighted treble hook to
snag the kitchen sink and creel it for the indoor plumbing he wants
in his yuppie cabin in the mountains.
The typical yuppie fisherman has the thousand dollar graphite rod,
and the custom case. A special cloth is used to wipe down with
custom made graphite rod with polishing oil after every use to
hide any flaw. The yuppie fisherman has the typical baseball
cap advertising where he bought the cap and, no doubt, where
he bought everything else he carries. The waders are the most
expensive money can buy, usually heavy for warmth, stocking
feet, with custom wading shoes. Trailing behind the yuppie
fisherman is the five dollar net he uses for catching several
six or seven inch trout he takes home and proudly proclaims "supper."
The most despicable piece of apparel sported by these yuppie
aficionados is the fifty dollar half length fly vest, the one
with thirty or forty pockets, the dyed sheepskin patch for
loose flies, and the attached pocket in the back for fish.
Dangling from the top front pocket is a finger nail clipper
suspended from a retractable string. It probably cost in
the neighborhood of 5 dollars at a custom fly shop, but can
be obtained at a nearby Wal-Mart for fifty cents. I can just
imagine what the yuppie is carrying in the pockets, 3 extra
reels with three different lines, level, double taper, and
weight forward. Other pockets might contain dry fly solution;
fly line cleaner, extra leaders, tippet material, and the 4
different fly boxes. Tightly wrapped around the yuppie is a
belt just below the pectoral muscles to keep any water from
filling in the waders in case the yuppie swims instead of
fishes. If the yuppie takes a tumble in the faster currents
of the South Platte, the weight of all the junk in his vest
pockets will probably carry him straight to the bottom anyhow.
If he drowns...no real loss, and the loss will probably make
the resulting collective gene pool more intelligent.
The first of the "yuppie" fisherman I have encountered is now
a regular fishing companion of mine. I remember the first time
I went fishing with him. He was adorned with the typical yuppie
dress, the vest, the clippers, the baseball hat, the fly boxes,
a chain stringer, and, most laughable, the net dangling six feet
behind him. I knew the place I would take him for his first
fishing trip with me, a place packed with tag alders, scrub
oak, and every other conceivable entanglement. I really am
not fond of yuppie fisherman. I knew this person would want
to fish with me again, so I wanted to break him of every
intolerable habit as quickly as possible, thus I chose a
place where he would get entwined in every possible way
with that useless net. I figured a net dragged behind and
tied to his wader suspenders would trap him everywhere we
traveled along the river. I was right, much to my scheming
amusement!
As he fished, I watched (and giggled) as the net captured
several tag alder branches, and not one fish. We climbed
over a beaver dam to get to a pool. I chuckled with delight
as the net got wrapped in some chewed up aspen of the dam
and pulled my yuppie companion down the dam, and onto his
rump. I laughed heartily as I watched him sitting in six
inches of water, countless weeds, and eight inches of black
muck. I don't know how much muck and water were washed into
his waders, but I knew it would soon reek of a rotting methane
smell. I made sure I was always downwind after the amusing
tumble.
Since it was his first real adventure in fly fishing, I tried
to be helpful by showing him that the back cast had to be high
to avoid any snags with tag alder and scrub oak around the many
beaver ponds. I showed him how to gather fly line and lay it
at your feet as you retrieved the line for the next cast. I
showed him to stand along the shore and shallow parts of the
water in places where you could make effective casts to
promising holes, and to stand away from any ground clutter
that would snag the fly line as it gathered by your feet.
It was amusing to see my companion get his fly line tangled
in small bushes. The amusement continued, at least for me,
as I watched his dragging net get stuck on rocks, sticks,
bushes, and even twisted around his leg as he tried to move
from one beaver pond to the next. Several times when he got
his feet tangled in his fly line, and his leader snagged on
brush, he had to break off the tippet and tie on a new one.
All the times he was getting tangled and entwined in all the
hazards I purposely placed before him, I was laughing with
delight to myself. The slapstick action was at times more
than I could bear!
With all the mirth I had been enjoying at the expense of
my novice companion, he was still able to get in some good
casts and occasionally miss a fish. Near the end of the day,
he was at a nice hole above a beaver dam near the truck. I
could see he had been broken of some annoying novice habits.
The net was now neatly tucked in the back of his waders where
he could easily reach it. He was not letting out an abundance
of fly line to get tangled in the bushes near him. He was
choosing places to stand where he could cast to the holes
and not get his back cast tangled in the bushes behind him.
It was a tough day for the rookie, but he came through with
flying colors. His first encounter could have been a bitter
experience, but that last hole he fished charmed the rookie
into a deeper understanding of the hunt for fish. With one
of the last casts of the day, my companion hooked and creeled
a fat fourteen inch brown trout. It was the catch of the day,
and that one fish brought an ear to ear smile to my companion
that is permanently etched in my mind. One reward of fishing
with rookies is to see the twinkle in their eyes that expresses
the magical feeling of being hooked on fishing, and not catching
fish.
I encountered another yuppie fisherman on the South Platte
while fishing with my companion Zac who was only fourteen at
the time. It was the fall of the year when catching fish is
difficult because of the clarity and shallow depth of the water.
Zac wanted to fish his favorite spot, a place were referred to
as Zac's rock. When we got there, Zac was disappointed because
the hole was occupied by a yuppie. Zac and I went downstream
about 200 yards and decided to fish together moving upstream.
By the time we finished fishing the 200 yards, we figured the
yuppie would be gone. Alas, he wasn't. So we sat by the bank
for twenty minutes until the unsuccessful yuppie moved away
from Zac's rock.
Zac wasted no time in going to his favorite rock and started
fishing a streamer. After a couple dozen casts and no apparent
luck, I watched Zac reel in, change flies, and add something
to the tippet. The upstream yuppie also watched intently as
Zac adjusted his tackle. After a couple more unsuccessful
casts, I saw Zac set the hook, and so did the yuppie. Zac
caught and released a 12 inch brown. Déjà vu, just three
casts later, Zac caught and released another nice brown,
much to my amusement and the chagrin of the yuppie. It
was so ironic to see a yuppie fisherman with his five
hundred dollar rod, expensive waders, custom vest, and
countless dozens of flies upstaged by a teenager with a
forty dollar rod, Goodwill waders, and homemade flies.
After the second fish, Zac came back to me sitting and
watching from shore. I asked him what fly he changed
to and why he had quit after the two fish he caught.
"I had no luck with the streamer I had on because it was
too close to the surface. I put on a weighted streamer
and added a split shot sinker so I could get it to the
bottom."
"Why did you quit?"
"That guy upstream from me started giving me dirty looks
after I caught the second trout.
Enough said about that yuppie fisherman, but it left a
feeling of pride in my spirit to see one of my young
companions out-perform a 'seasoned yuppie.'
Many times I have encountered the typical yuppie fisherman
on the trout stream, and I felt compelled to involve myself
in a game of one-upmanship. It is really no fun to get in
that type of game unless it comes in a purely innocent,
unintended, and most fortunate way. I recall fishing a
stretch of water downstream from a yuppie, but still close
enough to see his success. He was fishing a dry fly and I
could readily see he was having no success. I watched as
he frequently switched to another fly. I patiently waited
for the yuppie to move upstream because he was walking right
through the best part of a bend in the river that held nice
fish. After he passed the productive bend with nary a look
from any feeding fish, I waited for the water to settle and
clear from his whip-like fly casting and bottom-muddying
wading. I moved into position to cast across and upstream
to the valued bend.
While the yuppie was still able to see me, I made sure that
every fish I caught was played and released with the most
exuberance and joy I could muster. I remember him turning
and observing me as I caught and released four brown trout
on four successive casts. Every time I moved upstream I was
careful to walk with a minimum of disturbance to the water
around me. The muddy bottom barely added any discoloration
to the water as I moved upstream with stealth. Each move
upstream consisted of only three to four baby steps. Then
I would cast 35 feet upstream and allow my streamer to pass
through the water with the most action I could twitch into
the end of the twelve feet of leader and tippet. Each time
I stopped I would catch and release two or three fish, and
each time the fish would break the surface of the water with
as much volatility I could get the fish to muster. Each time
the fish broke water the yuppie would turn back and view my
success.
I expected the yuppie to walk the shore downstream to me to
soak in the techniques I was using to be so successful. I
was almost embarrassed at my success over the yuppie, but
then I remembered it was I who followed him through the best
bend of the river where he disturbed the water in every
conceivable manner any rookie could. I remembered he was
the yuppie, and I was the one who found success after he
had the first opportunity. I remembered I was the one who
had the right to despise the yuppie who couldn't convince
even the most inexperienced of fish to present itself to
his dry fly.
But with the right to follow a yuppie fisherman and fish
after his mistakes it is also my responsibility to allow
anyone the access to the areas I fish. I do not have the
right to judge another fisherman. I do not have the right
to coerce other fishermen into doing things in a way I
approve. I do not have the right get others to flee the
area I want to fish through intimidation. Every fisherman
has as much right to the river as I do. It is by the justice
of God that I realized my arrogant and prideful manner of
one-upmanship has no room on a fishing stream. I am only
using the property of God for the short time I am here on
earth, and I need to be the best steward of God's gifts as
I can. I am a successful and fortunate fisherman only by
the grace of God, and I have a responsibility to share his
creation with other fishermen, inept though they may be.
To be continued... ~ Carl Pudlo, Colorado
The South Platte Chronicles Archive
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