On Right Guard and Matchin' the Hatch

New Principles, Number 2

I was just spending some time in the kitchen. First of all a dear friend is due for a soak and dinner, and I was perusing the cookbooks. Second, I was painting some kitchen cabinet doors, as part of a renovation. As I was putting on the copper paint (ala Mark Rothko,) I got to thinking about trout fishing and Into the Centre. I'll get to that story in a moment - because as I sat down to write this, my mind flipped back to my first published book, Stories From the Sea of Life, and to the story of one of my roommates, Freshman year. Thus, you see the curious workings of my odd little mind, and get to read the story from my book, then hear about trout fishing on the Madison, and finally get to (hopefully) figure out my point. Here's the first story:

It's Refreshing

Pete from Iowa was one of my Freshman room mates, in 1968, at good old Elmhurst College. He introduced me to the idea of meaningless and superficial refreshment.

The town Pete came from was so small that the chief entertainment for teens was to jump into their pickups and cruise around the block, which just about circled the town. Then they'd go over to the A & W, have a root beer and check out the girls. They wore an "outfit" -- crew cut, black jeans, white tee-shirt with a pack of smokes rolled up in the sleeve . . . and cowboy boots.

Pete liked to feel refreshed. All the time. He told me that. Repeatedly. I thought that meant he showered a lot. Wrong.

I noticed that he had brought along to College what for me would have been a lifetime supply of the industrial size cans of Right Guard Aerosol Deodorant. Initially, I was glad that he was so conscientious, as it was a small room with no air conditioning and I therefore considered deodorant to be a direct gift from God.

About a week into the Semester, I was lying abed studying, when in rushed Pete. "Boy oh boy, guy," said Pete. "Shore is a hot 'un out chere." And he grabs a can of Right Guard, lifts his arm heavenward and sprays a goodly dose of the product on the appropriate area. One small problem, though. I noticed that he had neglected to remove his white tee-shirt.

Ever the kind soul, ever willing to illuminate this backwards kid from Iowa, I pointed out the error of his ways. To which he replied, "We always do it that way back home. Cools ya right off." I think it was then and there that I began to hate the expression, "We always did it that way."

This little trip to the aerosol can took place not once a day, but every time Pete left the room. I began to wonder how he was able to raise the arm of his shirt, so heavily laden was it with Right Guard. Right Guard ceased to be my product of choice, from that day on.

Refreshment (becoming fresh and alive again) has more to do with a state of mind than it does with taking a day off. It is an attitude, not a technique. It can't be bought and applied. It must be lived. It is an internal choice, and thus is not about vacations, relaxation, exercise or eating right. It is about a change of heart and a change of mind.

End of the first story.

My parents, when they retired, chose to move from Buffalo, N.Y. to Three Forks, Montana. Which, as everyone knows, is at "The headwaters of the Missouri," and which is " Where the Gallatin, Jefferson, and Madison Rivers converge to form the mighty Missouri." My dad's sister was there.

Now, I make jokes about Three Forks, but let me tell you, those rivers contain a pile of trout. And my uncle Barney is one hell of a trout fisher. (Historical note: the movie "A River Runs Through It" was filmed in the area.) When they moved the Fly Fisher-persons Hall of Fame (or something) to the region, President Carter came in to dedicate it. Uncle Barney was one of his guides for a fishing trip.

Early on, Uncle Barney decided I'd take too much work to turn into a fly fisher. So, he and cousin Mike taught me to fly fish using a spin casting rod. I got pretty OK at it. Dad learned to fly cast, as he was retired and had the requisite time on his hands.

One year, dad and I headed out a 6 pm to catch some fish. I think we were on the Gallatin, but maybe not. We stood on the banks, picked out a fly or two, threaded 'em on, and proceeded to catch water for an hour. Nary a bite, as they would say in Three Forks, and elsewhere.

Next day, I was dejectedly wandering the street of Three Forks (I jest. Three Forks has more than one street.) I found a fly-tying shop. I decided to wander in and look around. Nice (cute) lady behind the counter, and we begin a dialogue about fishin'. I gripe that I'd used my favourite fly, and then my second favourite fly, and that "I'd been skunked." She asked me what I'd been usin'.

Believe it or not, I was dressed in boots, jeans, a cowboy shirt and a wide brimmed cowboy hat, which I had bought on my fist trip to Montana. (I dug up the following photo of the outfit, sans fishin' rod, but adding a horse.)

I took off my hat and extracted the flies I'd used the night before from the hatband. She laughed. (Not because I had 'em in my hatband. That's where you chuck 'em.) "No wonder you didn't catch anything!"

"Huh?" I replied. "They always worked before." (Variation on, "We Always Did It That Way." See above story.)

She reached into her display case, yanked out a plastic box, grabbed a tray from the box, opened a storage container and tossed 4 flies on the counter. "Use these. You gotta match the hatch."

"Huh?" I replied.

"There's Mayflies (or something) hatching right now. The trout ain't gonna bite on nothin' else."

I figured she was trying to rip off the bozo from back East, but really wanted to catch some fish. I risked, "So, how much for the flies?"

"Two bucks, for the four."

Sheepishly, I plunked down a fiver and got my change.

That night, dad and I went back (Fish story alert! Fish story alert!) to the exact same spot. We tied on the new flies. One hour later, we had caught and released 20 or so large trout. We also had kept 6 for breakfast. The only reason we quit was that our arms were tired from reeling them in.

"You gotta match the hatch, 'cause the trout ain't gonna bite on nothin' else."

Spraying deodorant on one's shirt covers up a deeper problem. All that happens is that the deeper problem goes background for a moment or two, and then rears up again. Plus, you end up with a really disgusting shirt.

Now, stripping away the shirt and getting down to skin, to soap and to washing takes a bit more time, but the results last.

Now, admittedly, if I'd have waited a year and a half, the flies I started out with might have just caught some fish. Changing flies at the time of the failure - and changing them again and again if necessary, is the secret to consistently catching fish in the here and now.

In other words, if it ain't working, doing more of it ain't gonna work either. If you're hammering on something and no one else is biting, maybe you need to let the thing go. If you're ignoring something and hoping it will go away, and it isn't, maybe you have to deal with it. If you find yourself saying, "It always turns out like that," maybe you need to try another fly. (Jeez, that could be taken a couple of ways…)

This week, match the hatch. You might gain a fish story of your own.