The Perfect Cast
I would propose that the most difficult thing about
catching a trout on a fly is the cast.
Oh sure, you have to choose the right fly for the stream conditions, and
there are hundreds of options including the right size, color, profile, does it
float or sink? You have to choose the
best tapered leader – not too stiff for the trout you are likely to hook, but
not too delicate for the larger fish you are hoping to hook. You have to choose the right stream, and here
in Wisconsin there are literally thousands of miles of possibilities.
But all those are just the preliminary; the cast determines
whether you have a chance or not to connect with a trout. Consider the challenges to be overcome. You have to know how to read the river. Where are the trout likely to be holding? Based on the way the water is moving: current
speed, water clarity, obstacles such as rocks and fallen trees, is there a bend
or is this a relatively straight stretch?
How do you put yourself in the best position so that when you do cast
the fly will drift naturally and won’t get pulled suddenly in a way that alerts
the trout that something is not right about that potential food morsel.
And, if you correctly navigate all those options,
there is the final decision that hardly even considers the water: what kind of
cast can you make given the overhead and behind you trees and brush. Too often I have misjudged and instead of
having my fly settle delicately, it winds up snatched by a tree branch or
streamside brush. Countless times I
decorated the high branch of a tree with the one fly that seemed to be working
that particular day.
Casting is a metaphor for life. You have to consider all the variables, and
make the best decisions possible. You
must know the difference between casting with hope and casting carelessly.
My wife’s Uncle Jim passed away recently at the age of
91. One of my regrets in life is that I
never had the opportunity to fly fish for trout with Jim, mainly because during
the time that I knew him we lived half a country apart. The only times that we were together were
when he and his wife Lynne came back to Wisconsin for a home visit (see Home
Visit, October 9, 2023) . But on
most of those visits we got an opportunity to talk trout fishing for at least a
little while.
Jim took a fall in his yard a couple of weeks
ago. His neighbor saw the fall and ran
over to help him back to his feet and into the house. They discussed whether he should go to the ER
or not. Jim thought he would be fine if
he just took a rest in his chair. The
neighbor came back in a couple of hours to check on him and found that Jim had
passed away in his sleep.
We were able to watch his funeral on line. It was held at the little church on
Washington, Utah that Jim and Lynne called home for the last 23 years. The most impactful part of the service for me
was near the end they invited those in attendance the opportunity to say a few
words. Now, as a Catholic deacon who has
led quite a number of funeral services, I know that usually you get a handful
of people who have something to share about the deceased; sometimes the stories
are sweet and maybe even funny. Other
times the speaker should have used better discretion as to what is appropriate
to share at a funeral. I didn’t count them, but around twenty people got up to
share. There were those he was the
Sunday school teacher for, those he was a good neighbor to, those he was
engaged in some type of church ministry with, and those who ate donuts, drank
coffee and studied the Bible with. All
came to the same conclusion, Jim Bartz was a good man.
Although most of them were people I did not know, none
of them said anything that surprised me.
In my own, all too few conversations with him, I had come to the same
conclusion. Jim was a man that figured
it out. He loved God and he loved his
wife of 67 years, and his family, and anyone else the good Lord guided into his
path in life. Jim read the water well,
he avoided the snags of overhead branches, he took up the best position, he
chose the correct fly, and he felt the grip of his rod, and the dance of the
line in the air. He knew when the moment
was right and he let his line fall delicately and tended it expertly so the
drift was natural and attractive. In and
with his life, he made a perfect cast.
His Peace <><
Deacon Dan
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