My Special Friendship through Fly Fishing
“Gary’s given me more than I could ever repay him for – the knowledge of how to fly fish, the locations of where to fly fish and the confidence to go out and do it well – and all I’ve given him in repayment is camaraderie.”
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Fly fishing is fantastic fun. Well, once you get the hang of it.
Which, if you’ve tried, you know isn’t necessarily the easiest thing to do.
As a lifelong angler, I know my way around fishing holes. Growing up in Denver as part of a blue collar family, our vacations consisted of a weekend trip to the Rocky Mountains, for camping, football-tossing, fire-making and fishing.
What I didn’t realize until recently was the basic nature of the fishing we did and how little skill it took to catch stocked rainbow trout using a bobber and worm or power bait.
If you consider sitting in one spot and drinking beer while waiting for a fish to find your hook fishing, well, have fun; personally I find it a bit boring.
Last year, I made a concerted effort to learn how to fish with lures and at the same time, how to fish a river. The Cache La Poudre River became my playground, and I fished the dirty waters some 50-plus times in 2012. Following the High Park Fire in June, the waters were brown and even black at times, with tons of debris floating down stream and through Fort Collins. But the fish fought for life; there were many to catch and release back into the water.
All summer and fall I had fun, sneaking away from the hustle and bustle of the city while still actually being in the city, and all year I saw something interesting; fly fishermen.
“Who are these guys?” I thought, “Why are they standing in the river?” and “How the hell are they catching fish?”
The more I watched the gear-clad fishing nerds – with their vests, waders, nets and of course specialized rods and reels – those thoughts turned to, “Boy, that looks like fun.”
But where to start?
Just by happenstance I found a rod and reel combo at a local pawn shop, and loaded up with leaders, tippet, a knot tying book, flies and a box from a local fly shop.
With that, I set out for some fly fishing in November. The water was incredibly low, temperatures were barely breaking 50 degrees, my fingers were numb after minutes; but I had to try out my new toy. Those first few times were nothing more than proving to myself I could cast the damned thing, and then the winter came.
While the snow fell in Northern Colorado, my thoughts remained on fishing and luckily I found a like-minded friend at work.
Gary is a special man, born and raised in the big city of the Bronx, New York, he came to Colorado to start a family and enjoy the natural splendor the Centennial State has to offer. A family man he is, devoted to providing a great life for his wife and daughter, and by all impressions, he’s done just that. He’s a friendly man, but for one reason or another, people don’t often enough give him the time of day.
I always enjoy talking with Gary though, and as winter turned into spring, I started sharing fly fishing stories with him.
In late March, I took a drive down to the Big Thompson River in Loveland, and accidentally stumbled into a space where other anglers already were. Luckily, they were leaving for the day and told me a spot to aim for. After an hour of frustration, one in which tippet got tied into knots and flies were caught in trees behind me – I somehow finally landed a fish on the fly rod. It was a little 8” brown trout, but my adrenaline pumped, my heart beat hard and a smile broke through my lips.
He saw how excited I was just re-telling that story, and we talked of going fishing together for months until we eventually found time to go in late June.
Gary, My Graceful Fly Fishing Guide
Fly fishing is a skill, it’s something that must be taught, handed down from one angler to another through painstaking practice and hours of missing out on fish.
It’s like an ancient Asian martial art; basics can be picked up, but the fine details can only be learned with an astute teacher taking you through it all. Gary is the master, me, the apprentice.
To this point, I had gone fly fishing some 5-10 times by myself, seemingly improving over time and catching three total fish along the way. There was no doubt I was still a complete novice, needing the tutelage of an experienced angler to teach me the basics and beyond; Gary did much more than that.
That morning, I got to Gary’s around 7 a.m. and we took off for Rocky Mountain National Park, stopping off in Loveland at the Kirkland Fly Shop for some flies he knew would work.
After little over an hour of driving, we got to the park and found Glacier Creek. It was picturesque, pristine – it seemed too good to be true – like a scene out of a movie or a painting hanging on someone’s wall. But we were there, in person, gearing-up to fish.
Gary was pumped – I saw it in his body language as he clapped his hands and rubbed his chin while deciding on what fly to start with – and he got me excited, too.
When we got down to the small stream, it was magnificent. This wasn’t right, I shouldn’t have been there, on these epic fishing grounds that seemed untouched by mankind. It was like a 10-year old kid throwing around the football on Mile High Stadium’s hallowed grounds; and yet he shared this special spot with me.
Patience is a virtue, something learned and gained from fishing that can be carried over into other parts of our lives; Gary is a very patient teacher.
The first concept he taught me was simple; ready the pole in an upright position and snap your forearm forward with force. It took me a few attempts to get the hang of it, “More force, more force” he insisted, and once I had it right he encouraged with “Yes, I like that.”
After casting, he showed me how to follow the line with my rod as to keep “tight lines”, and once the fly passes to bring the pole up and to a ready position, lifting the fly to the top of the water for easier casting.
Within minutes, my confidence soared as I got the hang of casting and felt one with nature, standing in that shallow creek with my new-found friend.
Also within minutes, he caught a fish, and insisted it was my turn. As we walked up the creek, he pointed out perfect spots where the fish should be, allowing me to take those spots. I intently watched his style to pick up little pointers as we continued on, it was quickly clear he was seasoned. Gary caught another and then another before the lightning rolled in and ended our trip to RMNP early and we took off for the Fall River. We stopped for a bit, but it was moving too fast and we had no luck, so onto the Big Thompson it was for one last stop of the day.
It was another phenomenal location that he showed me, but I came up unlucky and didn’t catch a fish in some six hours all told. I guess that’s why they call it fishin’ and not catchin’.
Still, the knowledge gained that day gave me the confidence to attack the sport and I couldn’t wait to get in the river again.
A week later we went back to the Big Thompson, armed with Gary’s knowledge, I felt good about my chances. We stopped at three different spots, with the last one being the most fruitful. Again, he shared these special locations with me, ones that took him 10 years to find; it’s priceless information I’ll cherish for seasons to come.
At the third spot, the fishing was hot as the browns rose to the surface near sundown. So, at Gary’s beckon, we changed to dries and each caught multiple fish. He continued to watch me cast and I kept hearing him say, “Perfect!” and “You’re a natural.” which really helped boost my confidence. Like with any sport, the mental is just as important as the physical; getting them to work in unison is the ultimate goal of any athlete.
Just before we left, I caught my biggest on the fly rod to date, around a 12-incher, to which we both celebrated over and he said, “You made my day.” I responded, “No, you made mine.” We jumped into my truck and, still enthused, I pumped my fist a couple of times and let out a few “woos.” The smile couldn’t be wiped off my face, even if I was wiped physically from working eight hours and fishing another 4-5.
Two weeks later, we met again and got out for some afternoon fishing on the Big T. This time, we stopped at the mouth of the canyon, seeing a spot with promise. Though it was middle of the afternoon and near the hottest time of day, the fish were feisty, and Gary caught one within minutes of getting his waders wet. The man is magnificent, there’s not much more to say. After his first fish, he again deferred the great spots to me, pointing with excitement to where I should be casting. Near this sheer rock face, there were sure to be some fish nestled, waiting for bugs to float on by. I casted, two, three, and on the fourth time, caught a fish! After pulling the poor guy out of the water – learning how to set the hook without jerking the rod is still something to work on – I pulled the fly out of the side of his head and celebrated catching a little brown trout. “Now we can fish,” Gary said, and we continued in that spot for an hour.
We then moved up stream a bit, and convinced a store owner to allow us to fish his private property. This was seemingly perfect water, and even though we had a few bites and I was able to see the fish chase the blue winged olive, we missed out on catching anything before having to leave.
And though it seems like a lot of time used to catch such few fish, I’ve never had more fun fishing than with Gary.
Gary, My Special Friend
What makes Gary really special, isn’t that he’s the best fly fisherman I’ve ever met, it’s that he’s accomplished everything in life all while being hearing impaired.
He taught me how to roll cast, how to cast with precision and explained the concept of line management, all without being able to truly speak. It seems simple to keep your fly line out of the water when using a dry, but I didn’t realize until he said to do so. He gave me the tools to be a fly fisherman, the confidence to know I can do this highly specific art, he passed on the ability to go out and have fun. Yet, I don’t speak a word of sign language. At least not past “fly fishing.”
Gary got me hooked on fly fishing and told me he wants to be a guide, that he could be the first deaf fly fishing guide in the world, possibly. I told him he should do it, quit his day job and go after something that would make him truly happy, teaching others how to fly fish.
But, like in so many other areas of life, he’s been discriminated against due to his handicap. It’s just not right.
He’s asked fly shops to work for them as a guide, and felt like they thought he was joking. He wasn’t taken serious because people automatically assume Gary can’t communicate with hearing people, which is just not true.
Does communicating with Gary take patience? Sure, as it does with any other person, whether they can hear or not. Communication is a two-way process, one in which we can never get perfectly right. Imagine explaining to another person exactly how you feel. Words may get you close, but how close can you accurately describe to someone your mental, physical, emotional and spiritual state at any given time? It’s impossible. Yet, we still strive to do these type of things every day.
All Gary wants to do is be able to become a fly fishing guide – to both deaf and hearing people alike – and to simply communicate with others as we all do. He wants to live the American Dream, and live out a personal dream of his own, all while getting paid and supporting his family.
He wants to be known as a great guy, one worthy of friendship, companionship; one with the ability to teach others the skill he’s learned with such artistry.
Still, he’s looked past, looked over and looked through as most people simply cannot be bothered with taking the time to understand what he’s trying to tell them. I see it every day, at work, in the way both fellow employees and customers treat him. Some talk to him like he’s a child, using “baby language” to tell him the next task or check in with his progress. Others talk to him as if he’s able to hear them, speeding through a sentence or running their mouth when he’s not looking. Still others are just straight-up rude, getting frustrated with him and storming away to find another employee. How dare he not hear their petty demands and inconvenience these people; so caught up in the rat race they couldn’t tell you what a rose smells like because they’ve never stopped to take in one’s beauty.
When we’re out fishing, I have to act as his translator at times, and I wonder what others think of me as Gary mouths the words, using his voice and I’m able to get the message. It’s not that difficult, and with a bit of practice – much like fly fishing – it becomes second nature. It may sound weird, but after spending hours on end with my new friend, I feel like I can hear his voice, what he would sound like if he wasn’t hearing impaired. That’s how I know we’ve connected, and I only hope he feels the same way about me.
Gary’s given me more than I could ever repay him for – the knowledge of how to fly fish, the locations of where to fly fish and the confidence to go out and do it well – and all I’ve given him in repayment is camaraderie.
Beyond the fishing, he’s a friend of mine, now and forever, and nothing would make me happier than seeing Gary live out his dream and become a fly fishing guide.
Rich Kurtzman is a freelance journalist. You can follow Rich on twitter or facebook for all your Colorado sports news and opinion.
