Fly Fish Chick

I have been looking everywhere for this old picture.

This picture was taken sometime in early August on the Missouri in 2000. I floated Craig-to-Craig early one morning with my dad and dear friend Mitch. This is the fish that made me fall in love with tricos, a reach cast, and my navy blue UNC hat.

It was my super-mojo, holy-hoodoo fishing hat for many summers. But I got worried that I was putting all my eggs in one basket, so sometime around 2003 I weaned myself from it and worked some other hats into the rotation. But enough time has passed and we have a basketball tournament to think about, so I have been bullish to find my Carolina hat.

No luck all week.

Then in one fell ally oop swoop I found that picture yesterday and my hat late last night. The trico spinner that caught that fish is still hanging on the edge.

I know the feeling.

So perhaps the hat, the trico and I are all looking a tad more weary than we did in the picture up above. But we’ve weathered these eight years nonetheless, and to be reunited feels good.

With this fortuitous timing, the only thing else I have to say today is GO HEELS.

Catch you on the flipside…

I saw this picture and one thought came to mind:

Ooh, I need this rig in Montana to pull my boat!

Now despite many years of failed attempts, I still harbor this fantasy of spending a summer in Montana totally under-the-radar. Just fishing and minding my own business and staying out of the fray. I realize this vehicle wouldn’t do much to help me in that personal goal…

…but who freaking cares! It’s badass!

To be clear, I am not a car person. I do not know one thing about cars. But I do have a history of making bad decisions where flyfishing vehicles are concerned. You see a long time ago I was in Craig with some friends and a touch overserved in Hookers (which is now Izaaks.) I just started blabbing about how cool it would be to have an old Carolina blue Cadillac. Go Heels. Just made it up off the top of my head, for no good reason.

Well, the very next day I was driving through Helena and saw one for sale. No lie, I have witnesses to my accidental drunken prophecy as well as the discovery of the car the very next day. Clearly it was meant to be my fishing car. A four-door Tarheel blue 1966 Sedan DeVille. Go Heels! I got for my 30th birthday — against the wishes of every member of family, including my then-husband. Financed at the ATM in the Helena Safeway. $1000 cash.

At one time this Cadillac was a thing of glory. I would jet along the banks of the Missouri River, fly rods hanging out the back window, racing from one fishing spot to the next.

It was a foot too long to fit in my parents’ garage so I kept it in the neighbor’s barn for a few years. Unfortunately the horses kicked it around a bit and ate some paint off the hood. Eventually the neighbors needed the space in their barn so I had it hauled to Texas where it’s been in dry dock ever since.

Lest you think I did the predictably Texas thing and welded some Longhorns to the hood, let me refute that assumption. The situation is far worse and much more white-trash than that.

A few years ago I used the trunk as a cooler and filled it with ice and beer at my birthday party. Since then, the latch won’t stayed closed so if a light wind blows the trunk just pops up. It was making me crazy so I ventured out to a shed I apparently have (I’ve set foot in that gnarly shed only two times in the past seven years) and grabbed a pair of Longhorns to weigh down the trunk.

Every so often someone offers to buy it. My non-redneck voice starts to speak clearly and vociferously about how insane it is for me to keep this car. Besides the fact that it looks utterly vile in my driveway and my daughter is getting old enough to be embarrassed when her friends come over, I know I should be thinking about my mortgage and my taxes and PTA meetings and clients and my aging dog who has cancer and fixing up my backyard and getting my life in better order.

You know, all those age-appropriate albatrosses.

But just as I am ready to pay to have the damn thing hauled off, I think about how fun it was to cruise alongside the river on a sunny day looking at rising fish through a haze of tricos. How fun to race through those river towns with my wading boots dripping all over the floorboards and my windows down and the AM radio hopping from The Bee Gees to Loretta Lynn to pure static.

I’ve said goodbye to many things in my life but I just can’t seem to adios this ole fishing ride. Even though I’ve totally let it go, I’m nowhere close to letting go.

Go Tarheels…

It was our last day in London. We’d checked off every single thing on our itinerary, save one more decadent tea time. Little Chick was starting to languish a bit (ok fine, I was the one getting a little cranky) as my mother led us through the streets of London like the Bataan Death March. We, however, were marching toward Fortnum & Mason to have scones with fresh lemon curd, triple chocolate truffle cake and giant ice cream sundaes with Chantilly whipped cream. So you needn’t feel too sorry for us.

But it started to rain as we wound our way from Trafalgar Square down Pall Mall. The change in weather was starting to cramp our spirits — just as we stumbled upon Farlow’s.

Now as I’ve said before, there was to be no flyfishing on this trip. No fishing related activities. But my mother and I looked at each other, Little Chick glanced at us both, and without further ceremony we all raced inside.

Farlow’s was founded in 1840 by Charles Farlow as an angling shop in the City of London. He manufactured his own products and advertised “Half An Hour With Mr. Farlow” to promote his unique brand of personal sales attention.

I can say without reservation Mr. Farlow’s high standard of customer service is alive and well today. It didn’t take long for the three of us to spread out around the entire store and cause quite a commotion. At any given time there were two or three charming gents on-the-ready with helpful advice, sparkling conversation and a quick jab at each others expense — all for our entertainment.

Proving once and for all that flyshops are all the same no matter where you go.

My mother had an eye on some rods but her practical side took hold and she didn’t want to deal with getting one home. So with the help of our new friends, we each picked out an assortment of flies and filled a box to take to Montana this summer. We’re going to have a friendly family competition to see who catches a Missouri River trout on an English fly we each selected at Farlow’s.

The store is beautiful, the guys are top notch and the merchandise is premium. I had so much fun I almost applied for a job — they do have an opening — but considered the commute and decided against it.

We didn’t buy much, just a hearty selection of flies and a wooden Farlow’s flybox. But true to Mr. Farlow’s slogan, thirty minutes was all it took. Our spirits were lifted. The shelter and the banter were just the shot-in-the-arm we needed to end our time in London on a high note.

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Ernest Hemingway wrote the foreword for Charles Ritz’s autobiography A Fly Fisher’s Life. Hemingway describes the hotelier:

Charles Ritz is one of the very finest fishermen I know. He is not only a great fly fisherman for trout and salmon but he is an articulate writer and a splendid technician.

He is also an iconoclast who never hesitates to destroy an idol in order to deal only with true and important facts.

Because he is a charming companion he does not bore a non-technical reader with his knowledge. But it is there like a mine of true information for anyone with the desire and the intelligence to work it.

In his book Ritz talks about Coco Chanel and the first time she went fly fishing:

That great dressmaker, Coco Chanel, lived at the Ritz for more than 35 years. Her suite in the Cambon building was just opposite mine. On one occasion, knowing that she had been fishing the Alta with His Grace the Duke of Westminster, I asked: ‘Mademoiselle Chanel, did you enjoy the salmon fishing in Norway? She told me of her concern when the Duke invited her to join his party.

‘Never having fished before, I was most anxious. After all, who would want to make a poor showing at such time?’ She need not have worried. One of the Duke’s friends who always joined him on the Alta, was a famous fly-fisher. Coco explained her problems to him and received the soundest possible advice. ‘Mademoiselle, in fishing we try to lure the salmon with an artificial fly. Casting is a simple matter, but when the fly is in the air the fish cannot see it. Your best chance of success is to keep your fly constantly on the water.’

He added that she need to have no qualms about choosing the right pattern, nor waste her time changing flies. ‘Just look at the sky. When it’s clear and bright, tie on a Silver Doctor. When dark and overcast, use a Black Doctor. Nothing could be simpler.’ Being of a very practical nature, Coco followed his advice. As a result, on several occasions she landed more salmon then His Grace.

My eight year old daughter wants to be a fashion designer more than anything on the planet. A few years ago, in an attempt to direct this passion toward something substantive and away from something superficial, I gave her a card with Coco Chanel’s famous quotation, “Fashion fades, only style remains.” Since then Coco Chanel has become her idol, mentor and muse. Little Chick spends hours reading about her on wikipedia, collects books about her, even dressed as Coco Chanel for Halloween.

On this trip to Paris we made a pilgrimage to the original Chanel boutique at 29 Rue Cambon. Little Chick was in awe, and once inside she turned a bit shy. I think she was completely mesmerized by all the gorgeous gowns and the giant flower arrangements and the swanky European women lounging on sofas with their dogs and diamonds.

I felt so painfully American.

They were broadcasting the spring fashion show on video screens, and I chuckled as “Whole Lotta Love” blared through the store. (I simply cannot account for my recent love affair with Led Zeppelin. I just can’t seem to escape it lately.)

It wasn’t long before Little Chick had a dedicated team of Chanel sales associates offering her tea and bringing her Chanel paraphernalia. Little Chick commandeered her own sofa and proceeded to interview her new entourage about Chanel’s favorite fabrics, why tweed, what did she do during the war, why was she buried in Switzerland, why did she love camellias.

These Chanel employees rose to the occasion. They were so charming and patient and kind to my kiddo. It was such a sweet experience and far-exceeded our very high expectations. As we left the boutique, Little Chick further disarmed the haute couture sales team with some good-ole-southern-girl goodbye bear hugs. I swear I actually saw one of those French women tear up.

I felt so deliciously American.

Buzzed and soaring from all the hugging and waving goodbye and air-kissing, we couldn’t possibly transition straight back to an art museum. So we crossed the street to visit the place where Coco Chanel lived for so many years – The Ritz.

It’s such a timeless hotel you can almost feel the ghosts strolling beside you in the ornate hallways. I tried to figure out which exit Princess Diana had used. I imagined Hemingway cruising the corridor toward his bar. Chanel coming in from her boutique. Charles Ritz checking on his staff.

Of course Charles Ritz was not only a legendary luxury hotelier, but also an avid fly-fisherman. I wanted to ask the concierge if there were any photographs or memorabilia of Charles Ritz fishing. But I was feeling a bit sheepish. We weren’t staying there and the guy behind the concierge desk looked so formal and daunting. (At this point I had no idea how inaccurately I had judged him.)

Quickly my shyness passed, and I decided to ask him. That’s pretty much all it took…

Apparently the mere mention of “fly-fishing” is international code for ditch your post, abandon your real work, and talk talk talk talk talk about fishing.

So it’s pretty much the same in every country!

We gabbed and gabbed and talked and chatted. His father-in-law is a big fisherman and taught him to fish in southern France. He loves la TWEET. Loves loves loves la TWEET.

TWEET? TREAT? What was he saying?

La truite. Ah, trout!

Ooh, I love the tweet too.

About this time a lovely Asian couple arrived at the desk. I think they were actual hotel guests who probably needed dinner reservations. But Concierge was un-phased. It was time to talk about carp fishing.

Truthfully, he feels carp fishing has too much equipment. Too hard to feel the beauty of nature when you’re hauling all that stuff. But it’s so fun to have something so big on your line! Big big big. Carp get big! (There were dramatic re-enactments.) Now his son prefers carp fishing so he is going to have to start carp fishing more. Do I do the carp fishing too, or just the TWEET?

I felt terrible for the couple waiting for his attention, but we were having so much fun talking TWEET and he didn’t seem worried. He wanted to know all about fishing in Montana and Texas — and did we plan to fish while in France…

I had to say no, and in fact we were off to the Musee D’Orsay from here. We all exchanged grandiose goodbyes, excused ourselves and allowed him to get back to work. The revolving doors spun us back onto the streets of Paris, and back into reality. Once again we had a little extra bounce in our step from another deliciously unscripted Parisian encounter.

It’s so funny. We went to the Chanel boutique and the Ritz Hotel to pay homage and commune with big-name famous ghosts. But in both cases it was the lively French characters that made our visit silly, soulful and unique. I’m sorry I didn’t catch the names of our fleeting new French friends, but we will remember them fondly for sure. The true spirit of Joie De Vivre.

It was all very very Paris.

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“…Well I may be gone, I won’t be long

I’ll be bringing back the melody

And all the rhythm that I find…”

(from TO LIVE IS TO FLY written by Texas legend Townes Van Zandt)

One final post before this bird has to fly away. I’ll try to come back with some nice, heartwarming stories that’ll class the joint up a bit. In the meantime, yall just try to behave yourselves, OK?

But if you don’t, I want all the scoop and every juicy detail just as soon as I return!

Catch you on the flipside.

I have vague and blurry memories of Spring Break trips replete with tequila shots, cases upon cases of cheap beer, hours of beachfront debauchery, nineteen girls sharing a two-bedroom condo in Mexico, and a red rental jeep that we may or may not have abandoned on some sandy dunes in Cozumel.

Oh how the times have changed.

This evening I’m leaving on a much more ladylike Spring Break holiday with my mother and daughter. Instead of liquor and sunshine we’re going to soak up some culture. The kind that involves oil paintings and architecture, not a round of quarters and a bad resort cover band. (Although that sounds pretty fun too.)

This is one of those rare trips that has absolutely nothing to do with fishing. I know…what are those like exactly? Well, I’ll have to let you know when I get back. I’ll be out of pocket until the 17th, so I’m certainly going to miss everyone here at Fly Fish Chick until then.

I’m terrible with postcards but I’ve compiled a random selection of youtube videos to keep you entertained while I’m away. If you can only stomach one, the Zeppelin interview is the best of the lot. Enjoy!

Cheers for now…

I’m going to be looking at the world through La Vie En Rose-Colored Glasses:

“It’s Cool, It’s Groovy It’s #1…The Led Zeppelin. The Led What?”  — These British journalists are hysterical numnuts. But I’m completely smitten with John Bonham in this clip. Can’t beat smoking hot rockstars smoking during a television interview. And if you make it to the very end of this clip apparently there’s some cause for concern for Anglers in Southeast England. I’m kinda curious to know what it is…

My heart still belongs to Frank but this dude actually did Comme D’habitude first:

Cul De Cunard in a Parisian park:

Weather dot com is pretty much confirming this forecast:

Mick puts the honky and the tonky in Hyde Park:

It’s a Texas tradition to sing this song your last night in London. Although this is without a doubt the least rowdy version I’ve ever seen:

I truly believe I can make French waiters and crusty guys at flyshops lighten up and be sweet. But I’m pretty sure they all make fun of me like this when I walk out the door:

Apparently it’s easier to catch a bass in the heart of Austin than it is to find a copy of this magazine. I went three places yesterday and couldn’t find it.

This is the current issue of Southwest Fly Fishing. From what I hear, there is an excellent article by Steve Probasco who fishes for bass in the shadows of downtown Austin with local guides Kevin Stubbs and Banning Collins. I can literally see the window of my old office in this cover shot. It’s a great view of downtown Austin and Town Lake.

Although Town Lake is now called Lady Bird Lake. And the Congress Bridge is now called Governor Ann Richards Bridge.

Given these particular area tributes, I think they needed a woman on this outing, don’t you? Perhaps it’s not very ladylike but next time I think I will just invite myself along. Or paddle by in a pink kayak singing a Lucinda Williams song. Loudly.

You know, just doing my part to Keep Austin Weird.

All joking aside I look forward to getting my hands on the actual story. It’s always fun to hear visitors bragging about your hometown and nice to see good people featured like my buddy Banning.

If you see a copy on your local magazine stand be sure to check it out. And as always….

In this situation, ‘No Catch’ is actually a good thing. No really, I’m serious!

Because HMH is sponsoring a ‘no-catch-zero-gimmicks’ promotional contest with the Underground Network blogs (ie, The Trout Underground, The Day Tripper, Singlebarbed, and Fly Fish Chick.)

This contest offers YOU the chance to win an HMH Spartan Fly Tying Vise. For FREE. No catch.

All you have to do is click on the HMH contest advertisement in the Fly Fish Chick right-hand sidebar, enter your email address to receive their newsletter, and you will be entered into the contest to win an HMH Spartan Vise and a Tube Fly Convertor.

HMH will use your email for their newsletter, but will not spam you and they will not sell your information to any list service. Contest ends June 1^st.

Good luck and many thanks to HMH for sponsoring this exciting giveaway!!

Forget about the pyramids. Screw the crop circles. The cinnamon bun with Mother Teresa’s face? Old news. Even Sasquatch is passé. Friends, I am here to tell you that I have witnessed a miracle.

Normally this is the sort of thing I would chalk up to urban legend, but I was there. In the flesh, and I saw it with my own eyes. Following is my account of what actually happened.

This past Saturday I attended a fishing clinic at a flyshop in Dallas. I spent roughly ten  hours with anglers of every skill level, fishing guides, casting instructors, flytyers, and the team from the shop. Now, I know what you’re thinking…this sounds like a lot of fly fishing power in one room. Not to mention a real mix of personalities and attitudes. The optimal breeding ground for competitive story telling, conversational turf wars, and self-fueled bravado.

But that’s where the paranormal mystery begins. You see, I spent Saturday with the kindest group of ego-free anglers in the universe. It was other-worldly. We actually achieved zero gravity in the fly fishing ego chamber. Someone better call the boys at Guinness. (Book of World records not Beer.)

The clinic was hosted at Tail Waters Fly Fishing. I can’t say enough about this store and the company behind it. Open just under a year, Tail Waters is already a topnotch flyshop that offers quality merchandise and a team of a people that bring a deep bench of experience.

These guys have manners, smarts and soul. They are as generous with their fishing knowledge as they are with their hospitality. And while they seem to be having an awfully good time, they are extraordinarily passionate about creating a reputable brand and solid business with Tail Waters. And they’re working their asses off to make it happen.

The seminar itself was for women anglers of any and all ability. The women in the group were amazing, and skill level was irrelevant the moment we started. Everyone was attentive and eager and very supportive of each other. It was nice to look across the field and see someone helping someone else out with her cast. The mood was low-key and open, but the group was focused and engaged and asked a hell of a lot of good questions. I learned a ton.

The ultimate credit goes to our fearless leader for the day, badass flycasting instructor Stacy Lynn Trimble. I’ve heard about Stacy and her husband Billy Trimble for years so I was over the moon to meet her in person and learn from her directly. Reality far exceeded expectation.

First of all, Stacy is beautiful. But don’t let her angular good looks fool you, because her angling looks damn good too. She is a phenomenal caster and a natural-born teacher. She seamlessly and skillfully facilitated a group of women with wildly differing capabilities – and still managed to keep us laughing dawn til dusk. During the casting portion of the clinic, she had us do a horizontal casting exercise that essentially brought everyone to the same level, then teaching and empowering each of us to analyze our own casting strokes.

Nothing like a casting clinic to make me realize I suck at casting. But Stacy has me convinced that I need to shake things up and break things down so I can get to the next level. At this point I’m just going to believe anything she says because she’s as cool as they come.

The remainder of the day included substantive sessions on the best gear choices for women, basic knots and Texas fishing organized by species, season and locale.

Another highlight of the day was the chance to meet fellow fishing blogger Texas Fly Caster. I was waiting patiently for the ladies room and he boldly cut in front of me in line. An honest mistake, but while he received a light ribbing from the rest of the crowd I had the opportunity to meet him properly.

This is a guy who is passionate about Texas fishing and fly fishing photography. He’s got a great tagline on his blog – Fly Fishing Culture on the Skids – and he’s nice as hell. Stay tuned because hopefully we’re going to find a chance to fish together and collaborate on some creative projects for our blogs. Before he took off, he slipped me a little film canister with some of his favorite super secret North Texas flies.

Did I tell you I met nice people on Saturday or what??

This seminar was a benefit for Casting For Recovery. I had so much fun it’s kind of amazing to think I actually did something slightly selfless on top of it all. It was great to meet Mary Rohr of Texas Women Fly Fishers and Susan Gaetz, Planning Coordinator for Casting for Recovery in Texas. More cool women kicking ass, catching fish and making the world better a better place.

Now I don’t actually believe in UFOs or Bigfoot or nuns faces appearing in pastries. But you have to admit, it’s a pretty rare treat when you stumble across one of those blissful days where moods and attitudes all seem to align just perfectly.

And I’m not sure how to explain these…