Back to our story at Fishing Flies – Uncle Bob Part 2.
Uncle Bob had a gentle, quiet nature to him, although from what others have told me, he could be tough as nails when he needed to be. This may have come from working his way up to being a captain in the San Bernardino fire department. He loved fly fishing — he would fish whenever he got a chance. He was never one to spend a lot of money on his equipment or his fly-tying materials, but what he spent his money on always got the job done. After he died, dad gave me one of my uncle’s favorite fly rod and reels.
The rod was a 9’ fiberglass handmade Saber by California Tackle Company out of Bell, California. The reel is an old reliable Pflueger 1494 ½ made around 1972. Nothing special, but well maintained. We are a fishing family — it has set our course in life many times. I have learned one thing: treat your equipment well and you will have a catch of fish for dinner.
One of the things that amazed me about this fisherman was the way he fished after he retired. He and his wife traveled the United States by travel trailer from state to state. To reduce the cost of his fishing he would get his local license and talk with the local sporting goods owner to find out where to go fly fishing and what the local fish liked.
They would set up camp nearby and he would set out for the stream, river, or lake. He would skim the tributary for the local insects, then take his samples back to the camp and start tying flies that looked like them. He would tie flies until he had enough for the next day. My aunt and her friends would say that most days he would return to camp with one or more bass or trout in his creel. For the next twenty years following his retirement, when a new profession did not interfere, they would travel and fly fish.
Most of the record fish he caught were for dinner. He was not a man prone to keeping records. The past was dinner and he was always moving forward to the next catch.
He taught us much: That fly-fishing truly is an enjoyable sport. That grace was not in the line suspended in the air above you, but in the nature around you. That the sounds of the water around you were only broken with the sound of birds in the air, or the rustle of the bushes when an animal would suddenly break and run. That nothing was better than feeling the cold of the rivers that surrounded you as you fished for the ever-elusive one.
Finally, that fly fishing was a quiet honest sport; one where well-maintained equipment, good research, proper fly tying, skill, and a well-placed fly brought forth fish.
Fishing Flies – Michael
Here's the first article on Uncle Bob Part 1