Practicing Spring

One night last week I went out onto the lawn to practice casting, my first "outing" of the season.
Come springtime, I keep a rod strung up and ready so I can go out my office door pretty much any time I want, though I tend to wait till the end of the day. Tonight it was especially pretty, so I brought along my camera and went out through the side door instead, just to look at the light.
I'm fond of target casting -- picking a small object or fleck of light on the grass and aiming the cast so my glo-bug yarn/fly hits that spot. When you live on a farm --even a non-working place like ours -- there are a million places to hit. Our yard is pretty expansive and includes a few outbuildings, so I just saunter around anointing random objects with my yarn-fly: the lock to the fuel shed, the handle of a barn door, the lower tip of the moon-shaped window of the outhouse.
I use Mason, our dog, as a moving object and he doesn't care for it, though that doesn't stop him from following me around. And though he's good company, I know that too much practice can be a bad thing.


First time anyone ever really looked at my cast and gave me feedback was at the Great Waters Flyfishing Show in Minneapolis back in 2006. John Breslin, of Flyfish Ireland was sitting around with one or two other guys and a bottle of single malt something-or-other in the casting demo area after the show. I was on my way up to my hotel room when they lassoed me into taking a "free lesson."
I was pretty embarrassed and self-conscious. I'd only been flyfishing for about 15 years. Still, I'd never had anyone look at my cast after those beginning episodes of snarls-and-swearwords.
Someone nodded at a particular rod leaning against a table, so I took it in hand and walked to the casting zone. Those guys were well relaxed, but my throat was tight and my forehead damp. I'd never even seen a casting lesson. I started whipping out some line and put a length on the floor in front of me, waiting for some kind of signal. Silence.
I went to Catholic school, worked 15 years on Wall Street, and then taught college English; I knew what was coming. It wouldn't be laughter. It would be stiffled laughter.
What the hell had I agreed to? Not only had these guys the advantage of several decades of casting expertise, they'd had several rounds before I arrived. Well, never mind, I said to myself. It's not going to kill you. I reminded myself that at least I knew John Breslin, though not well. I'd seen him at a lot of the same flyfishing shows that I did. He was funny and kind and professional. Maybe I would get out of this alive.
"Just cast!" someone said with mock (I hoped) annoyance. So I did.
I can't remember what happened after that except that I got what was coming: a real casting lesson. Without stiffled laughter. They considered my backcast and forward cast, and considered each again. Turns out I suffered from "creep" (or at least that's the term I remember). I was bringing my backcast forward before starting my forward cast. As soon as they said it, and drew on the floor a diagram of its cause and effect, I understood completely and knew they were right because I could feel that I'd been doing that all along. For almost 15 years, probably. It had become, in the terms we used when we were learning how to swing dance, part of my muscle memory.
So whenever I get a chance, I try to get a lesson in somehow, just to counteract the bad influence of too much solo casting. For instance, once a year I get to join the Flygirls at a casting clinic that takes place near me. Those Saturdays are usually about 37 degrees with winds gusting to 20 mph, and I'm always at my worst - or am I? The instructor is patient with me and I'm grateful but I come away feeling I've not gotten one smidgeon better during that past year, despite all those hours on the lawn with the dog.
Another method is to beg and barter with celebrity anglers at shows for a "quick" lesson before the show opens. This works best if you can get him or her the night before during cocktail hour.
It's patchwork learning, I guess, but it's better than nothing.
And then there's technology. I remembered that night that my camera has a little video setting, so I asked my husband, Jack, to shoot me casting. Bad idea.
(Never mind the studio clothes, please).
Well, what I got back as far as information was pretty interesting -- though only to me, no doubt.
Suffice it to say, I still have some remnants of the dreaded "creep" but somehow have managed to work the tailing loops out of it.
But it was a lovely evening to be out there. Just as we were leaving, a Sandhill Crane flew overhead. These cranes practically live in our yard and surrounding fields in the warmer months, and we have been hearing them for a couple of weeks now. This one was the first I'd seen in person since last fall. It was a good omen. Maybe I would get better at casting this year...



Now that I am a member of the Michigan Flyfishing Club, I have a bevy of new friends (who don't generally see me in my studio attire), who have offered to help me out at the monthly meeting when members gather for such things. I can't wait. Stay tuned.
In the meantime, I have a great lawn and great casting companions with which to work on my errant ways.