One-Armed Fly Fisherman

"Simply messing...about in boats -- or with boats... In or out of 'em it doesn't matter. Nothing seems to matter, that's the charm of it. Whether you get away, or whether you don't; whether you arrive at your destination or whether you reach somewhere else, or whether you never get anywhere at all, you're always busy, and you never do anything in particular; and when you've done it there's always something else to do, and you can do it if you like, but you'd much better not." - Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows.

- Rubin Jala

Cracking the Code

My friend Alan Yu and I can fully identify with that. In our case, it’s a love affair with Kayaks, something that has grown out of our newfound lunacy with anything to do with fly fishing.

As I am writing this article, I imagine my friend would be bent over his fly-tying vise trying to concoct yet another ‘new’ bream or a whiting fly. Right from the start, let me just say we are still a long way from being able to crack the code as yet. It’s not for lack of trying, I can tell you.

Rather than taking both of our kayaks, we decided to take my eleven-and-a half-foot tandem Hobie Kona. High tide wouldn’t be in until well after sun down and so on that day we dispensed with the electrics. And besides, we both needed the exercise.

Alan sat on the bow with his four weight butter fly rod while I took the stern. The water was so low, I just about poled us into the channel that leads to the first sand bar onto the island in the middle of the flat.

Beyond the sandy drop-offs of the sandbars, the vast expanses of the Peel inlet are too muddy to wade comfortably and a kayak is really the best thing for the job.

As soon as we got into a paddling rhythm, I dropped my paddle and steered the kayak into the face of the gentle sou’easterlies. The wake of a cruising school of fish swaggered just off the sandbar as the Hobie moved stealthily into them like a ninja in Kung fu movies.

I couldn’t believe that in less than a foot of water we were able to glide as silently as we did without spooking the oncoming school of fish. I wish my dad was here to see this; there is no way you could do this in his dugout longboat.