wading

A few months ago I happened to overhear one of our local golfers expounding on the physical demands of completing an afternoon’s outing on the local links. This dissertation, of course, took place after the obligatory bend-the-elbow session at the Club bar. To drive his point home he managed to somehow compare the effort to fishing, which was, in his words, “a pansey sport.” To the best of my knowledge the man had never in his life ventured on stream. Well, golf must be an exhausting endeavor. Why else would the clubs provide golf carts!

Most of us who engage in the sport of fishing learn early on to ignore the “experts” whose only knowledge of our sport comes from watching a few canned television fishing shows, or who, having dunked a worm once or twice as a pre-schooler, gave it up for all time. For me to suggest that if he had spent the same amount of time working his way upstream on one of our local trout streams he probably would be completely bushed, perhaps bruised and sore, and a lot less vociferous.

Admittedly, there are forms of fishing that appear to be relatively free of too much effort. The typical Norman Rockwell picture of a couple of kids equipped with cane poles bobbing for pan fish on a stream bank comes to mind. Or the tourist promotion pictures of a happy couple lazing in a boat on a pristine lake with mountains in the background. Certainly not much effort involved in this type of fishing. Even the standard Fish Commission picture of young men armed with their Ugly Sticks or Zebcos, slinging worms and lures, out for opening day. Walk downstream and back a mile or two…what can be so difficult about that!

All well and good, unless and until the budding angler is bewitched by the sport of fly fishing. There are some aspects of this form of fishing that put a premium on physical effort. And sooner or later, if one sticks with it, serious thought and preparation go into a day’s excursion.

For openers, 90 per cent of the time fly fishermen fish upstream, unlike worm dunkers who drift their bait along with the current, which means that they will periodically move downstream to explore new water. These same anglers fishing lures will cast either down or slightly downstream and retrieve the lore upstream. Walking, that is wading, downstream is not nearly as difficult as moving upstream against the current. The natural tendency of anyone caught in moving water for whatever reason is to follow the course of least resistance and move downstream.

However, for a couple of very good reasons, fly fishermen normally work in the opposite direction. The first of these is that trout always lie in the stream facing upstream, all the better for them to see drifting food at the earliest opportunity and thereby be ready to snatch it before it drifts on by. Very fundamental. It doesn’t matter what the food is – worms, little minnows, insects, etc. - all are intercepted in a very sophisticated and highly evolved way. Rarely do trout waste time and energy by chasing prey. The physical structure of a trout is such that the eyes are positioned very much forward in the body with the result that a trout cannot see very well directly behind itself. Depending on conditions and with careful wading, one can often get to within a few yards of a feeding trout before it spooks.

The second reason is a bit more involved. By fishing upstream, the fly fisherman takes advantage of the natural “drift” of the water. If the trout’s food is brought to it by the water, then the fly fisherman who places his imitation (his fly) ahead of the trout, then lets it drift undisturbed towards the target fish, will, if lucky, achieve a “strike.” “Target” fish is meaningful: by wading upstream the angler can see individual trout that are rising to (intercepting) natural food, usually mayflies, caddisflies or stoneflies. Were he to wade downstream these same trout would more than likely see him outlined against the sky and scatter well before he could get off a cast. Fundamentally the fly fisherman stalks his prey by taking advantage of some of the trout’s inherent behavior. The basic exception to this is wet fly fishing in which the imitation is a drowned fly and it is presented to the trout in a downstream mode, much like the spin fishermen. Wet fly fishing is not as popular as it was a half century ago.

This is a greatly simplified outline, to be sure, but it provides the rational for upstream wading. And it is the wading that may make or break a trip on stream. Unlike the manicured grounds of the golf course, hardly any different than your living room carpet, all streams have difficulties. If it isn’t loose cobble, slippery boulders, slimy muck, hidden pot-holes, fallen trees, or a host of other potentially ankle-wrenching or leg breaking obstacles, it will be the current. Even a moderately slow moving stream can wear down the body after several hours of fighting the current. And if it isn’t the current, it may be a section with high banks that defy even the most nimble-footed angler. And these are normal or low water situations; high water such as spring run off can be downright scary.

On heavily forested or brushed in streams, the norm here in Potter County, the fly fisherman stays in the stream in order to have room to cast. Spin fishermen have more options owing to the nature of their gear – they can execute a cast with the flick of their wrist so fishing from the bank is more common. Consequently, the fly fisherman puts a premium on his wading gear. The goal is to keep dry and stay upright.

Over the years some specialized gear has been developed to aid the fly fisherman in overcoming the hazards of wading. The inexpensive traditional rubber soled hip boots, while satisfactory when wading backwater, swampy land or sand bottoms, turn out to be almost lethal on cobble or stones that get slipperier as the water warms up and algae forms on underwater surfaces. They are probably responsible for most wading accidents. These have been replaced with felt soled boots or wading shoes – the waterlogged felt “sticks” to slippery stones. They are also available with metal studs for extreme situations. For wading deep rivers, chest length waders enable the angler to get to deeper water. They are not normally needed here in Potter County except for the lower reaches of our larger streams. For very hot weather, some fishermen don a pair of shorts, felt soled boots and “wet wade.” In treacherous water a wading staff – store bought or improvised from a branch cut on stream – aids greatly in crossing troublesome stretches.

In 1990 I spent 3 weeks fly fishing some 16 blue ribbon streams in Montana and Idaho. The first leg of the trip was with my late brother Jim, then a retired forester with the Clearwater National Forest in Idaho. The plan was to fish the Lochsa River, the stream Lewis and Clark followed after their ordeal in the Bitterroot Mountains. The Lochsa is a true western wilderness stream, rising on the continental divide and pounding pell-mell down a steep gradient on its way to join with the Selway, thence to the Clearwater and eventually the Snake, Columbia and Pacific Ocean.

We stopped, rigged up, and dropped down from the road to the river bead. It was a gorgeous stream and was flowing moderately well. However, moving up and down stream was not easy as the river bottom was littered with boulders. I found a likely looking pool and began to fish. Before too long, I noticed a group of trout feeding in some slack water on the opposite side. I was wearing chest waders with felt soled boots and eventually was able to make my way across stream to a position where I could reach them with a normal cast. My brother fished wets in the pool below me about 200 yards away. Everything was fine until he came up and announced that we needed to knock off if we were to get to our campsite before dark. That’s when I realized that I might have gotten myself into a jam.

The trip across had been in waist deep water and had carried me downstream in the process. To get back would mean either a time-consuming hike back upstream beyond where I came across originally or crossing the pool from where I stood at its deepest point and in the late afternoon visibility was not good. Directly below the pool the stream choked and became a rapids where I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep my footing. I would somehow have to get across the pool without shipping water or being carried into the rapids. My brother, who had routinely processed paperwork for fishermen, hunters and hikers who died in the Clearwater Forest each year, was not pleased with my crossing in the first place and was getting nervous.

The solution was to release my waist belt, allow air to fill the chest waders, and cinch it high and very tight creating a sort of balloon effect. With the semi-inflated waders I was able to float-bounce from bottom boulder to bottom boulder, just touching them with the toes of my wading boots. Without the added lift of the waders I doubt that I’d have been able to pull it off. It was a lesson well learned and I was extra cautious for the next three weeks to avoid getting myself into such a predicament again.

I will concede that while on stream I can’t recall that I’ve ever had to worry about being pummeled by air-borne objects. The only time that happened was when I worked as a teenager at the local golf course. While on my hands and knees grooming number 5 green, I was hit by a golf ball. Soon more started dropping all around me. Perhaps it’s the stress of the game, rather than the physical demands, that my golfer-raconteur was referring to.

The Lochsa, Idaho, early autumn 1990. Slick, algae- coated boulders
require careful wading to avoid a sprained ankle or broken leg.

The lower Allegheny near Reed Run. To fish this riffle and work upstream
without mishap puts a premium on good gear, stout legs and careful wading.