Dry feet are great, but the first fish on a dry fly by your eleven year old daughter is MUCH BETTER! Yeah, that’s what I’m talk’n bout!

So it was a brown. No big deal. It was only eleven inches. Who cares.

It was hers, all hers!

And just who is the dipstick who forgot the camera? That would be me. DOH!!!

Her fishing experiences started many years ago. As soon as she was old enough to touch the fish I caught, that’s exactly what she has wanted to do—touch the fish and release them for me. I first let her reel in fish when she was about six. She first cast a spinning rod about four years ago. But today was the day she first cast a fly rod.

She has been asking me for a couple of years, but I’ve always been a bit leery of taking her before I was ready. That’s right, not whether she was ready, but whether I was ready. You see, I think I ruined my son’s desire to fly fish because it was about me, not him. I know, I know, I just said the same thing about my daughter’s fishing, that it was about me.

My son went through the same kind of experiences as my daughter, but a lot more of them. He would come with me on quite a few fishing trips and always want to hold the fish I caught. He would walk the bank with me and tally the number of fish caught. He caught his first fish on a spinning rod when he was about eight. We were just fishing a little bend in the river near the school on our way home one day. An urban setting. I pulled the spinning rod out of the truck and he cast a couple of times and reeled in a 12″ brown. We fished for about ten minutes at the most.

Now, nine years later, it’s all I can do to get him to touch any fishing gear, let alone fly fishing gear, and he won’t fish with it. Since I’m here on your nice comfy couch, can I unburden to you for a moment?

“Sure, that’s what I’m for. So what went wrong?”

Well, I took him fishing in the mountains. No big deal you’d think. But there was a lot of brush.

“Yes…and so…?”

Well, the little guy kept tossing his spinner in the brush.

“Right, that’s what happens when you’re learning to fish.”

Well, he was getting frustrated.

“Of course, that’s expected too.”

But I was getting frustrated.

“Ah, now we’re getting to the crux of the matter. It was about you, not him?”

Yep, that was the problem. But doc, it get’s worse.

“Yes…?”

You see, I was trying to fish while he was fishing. And stopping my fishing every couple of minutes to go back and unwrap him from a bush across the water was getting to be a real drag.

“Continue.”

I couldn’t keep going back and forth from my fishing to his, so I…well…the water wasn’t deep, it was just a little mountain stream with maybe two feet of stillwater where he was fishing…

“You’re rationalizing. What happened?”

I told him to buck up and if he got tangled again he’d have to retrieve it. Then I stomped off and fished by myself for another half hour before checking up on him again. Okay, I’ve said it…I’ve come clean. Are you happy? It was about me, me, me and not about him.

Somebody out there have a good dope slap they could offer me? I’ll take a couple dozen if it means I could redo that day. But it did teach me that I wouldn’t do the same thing with my daughter. I would not take her fishing until she wanted to go and I was ready to let her have the fly rod in her hand and none in mine.

Oh what a blessed day it was too! Such a better experience than my major screw-up with my son. We took the little 7′-6″ Reddington 3 weight. It was a small stream (Temple Fork) with plenty of casting room for some simple roll casting. We used a nice, easy to see beetle. I taught her some basic arm movements on the bank, then we moved into the water. I pointed out some likely spots that fish would find appealing. We talked about stalking fish quietly and with a low profile as we moved upstream.

She spooked a fish or two. She caught the fly in some bushes. We saw some nice little holes. She missed a strike. And then, in the Honey Hole, she did it! Fish on! She was so excited she didn’t know what to do. Luckily the fish was well hooked and wasn’t going to shake loose. I showed her how to hold the rod and line with her right hand and strip the loose line in with the left. Then reel in the slack line. What a grin!

You know, teaching your child to fish isn’t so difficult, when you’re ready and prepared for it. And luckily, I was.

“Did you bring the camera?” she asked, still flashing that huge smile.

DOH! A couple of more dope slaps please.

“No, I forgot the camera,” was my meek reply.

“Oh, that’s okay,” she said with the forgiveness only a daughter could give, as she let the buttery 11″ brown slide from her fingers back to it’s hole.

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