Fly Fishing, Fears and Hangups

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Hank Shaw fly fishing Alaska
Photo by Tyson Fick

I scrambled over the boat’s transom, down onto the swimming platform below. Scooting my butt over the side, onto a bobbing kayak, I wondered if I’d need the life vest I’d strapped myself into.

“Not comfortable,” I grumbled aloud.

My friend Tyson sounded concerned. “We can pull the plug on this if you want.”

I didn’t look at him. “No. Let’s go. This is how we learn.”

I don’t like kayaks. I am more of a canoe person. And here we were, in one of Admiralty Island, Alaska’s many bays, kayaking in to a trailhead to fly fish for dolly vardens, a species of char.

I don’t fly fish. For decades, I’d only been exposed to the holier-than-thou “Orvis Boys,” fly anglers for whom catch-and-release was religion, people who looked at me keeping and eating trout in the same way you might look at me if I told you I enjoyed eating kittens. I have no time for them. But over the years, I began to meet more and more people who  use a fly rod to catch and eat fish.

Yet while my opinion of fly anglers improved, I still had never picked up a fly rod. Ever. Even in a recent trout fishing trip to the Canadian Rockies, where I’d used flies — but they were attached to a casting bubble on a spinning rod. Tyson’s nine-year-old son Riley had more experience with a fly rod than I did. But today would be the day I’d break my personal ban on fly fishing, a ban that had lasted 47 years.

Oh yeah, and if you aren’t familiar with Admiralty Island, it has the densest population of grizzly bears in the world, at one per square mile. Did I mention I am deathly afraid of grizzly bears?

The things I do for trout.

A sandy beach next to a body of water
Photo by Hank Shaw

When we are young, most of us eagerly pursue new adventures, new skills — we bravely face our inner fears, all in the hopes of making ourselves better people. But as we age, we settle into patterns, habits. Our fears crystallize as we acquire the ability to avoid them. We become more resistant to change. Old dogs, new tricks, that sort of thing.

I am determined to fight this mental ossification until something catches up to me and I am forced to shed this human form. To do this, however, I must leave my comfort zone. I must deal with fears, rational or otherwise.

And so it happened that I faced one big fear, and a pair of stubborn hangups, on this little trip to fish for an unloved member of the salmon family, the dolly varden. Fitting, if you read this space often, as I am a passionate lover of the unloved.

Kayaking went fine. The water was calm, it’s depth shallow enough for me to stand for most of it. We got out and hauled the boats about 200 yards inland so they wouldn’t be dragged out of we were there when the tide rolled in. Facing us was a wall of conifers, with a dark hole in the center. The trailhead, leading into the Xootsnoowú Wilderness. Xootsnoowú is the Tlingit word for “Fortress of the Bears.” Comforting.

Hank Shaw kayaking in Alaska.
Photo by Tyson Fick

We walked into the woods, calling out, “Hey bear! Hey bear!” My head was on a swivel.

The forest itself looked like an airy Fangorn from Lord of the Rings: Huge trees, moss, lichen, ferns. Old growth. Everything felt ancient and wonderful. Yet it was very apparent that we were not lords of this forest. Ursus arctos sitkensis ruled here.

A tiny Forest Service cabin greeted us where the forest met Admiralty Creek. Even at first glance, it was obvious that the creek was alive with pink salmon, all humped out and waiting to spawn. Thousands of them, in just this tiny stretch of stream.

Tyson rigged up a fake salmon egg on a tiny red hook above a bobber… er, “strike indicator,” as they say in fly world. This would be the easiest fly fishing imaginable, perfect for me. Strip some line about as far as you want the lure to go, gather it all up until only a little bit of the weighted line stuck outside the guide wires, then cast upstream, letting the gathered line go. The egg would drift down current and, if the bobber dropped, a fish had struck it.

It took me a couple tries, but I was starting to get it. The pinks were amazing to see. Every now and again they’d bum rush — a hundred or more rushing upstream or down, or sideways. It sounded like waves on a beach.

I’d just made my first proper fly cast when I heard another pink bum rush to my left. I looked and instantly saw why they’d scattered. Bear. Grizzly bear.

Tyson reached for his pistol. We all called out, “Hey bear! Get outta here!” The bear, a teenager grizzly, looked at us and dashed across the creek back into the woods. He was maybe 150 yards away. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was a bit shaken.

Tyson Fick fly fishing.
Photo by Hank Shaw

But we continued fishing. Riley caught a teeny dolly varden, then a teeny cutthroat trout, then a pink salmon, then a teeny coho salmon. Tyson laid into pinks, shaking them off. These were not eating pinks, which should only really be eaten when chrome bright, preferably in salt water.

Working downstream, the thought of bears began to fade as I tried to make this new gear work. Slowly getting the hang of casting a bit farther, mending line, getting more precise with each cast. I had an advantage, as I’ve done all this with conventional gear for decades. It was just a matter of figuring out a fly rod.

Cast, drift, bobber went down! I set the hook and was instantly attached to something heavy. The connection between you and the fish on a fly rod is unlike anything I’ve felt with conventional gear. Closer, more intimate, more electric. Clearly this was a pink salmon on my line, but I played it anyway. I needed practice landing fish on the fly.

I was amazed at how strong this fish was. With a fly rod, there’s not a lot of drag, and the reel isn’t like a conventional reel; you need to carefully let a fish unspool you when it wants to go somewhere. And I couldn’t horse it with 6-pound test on the tippet. Tyson said to drag the fish into the shallows, which took some doing.

Hank Shaw holds his first ever fish caught on a fly, a pink salmon.
Photo by Tyson Fick

But it worked, and voila! My first actual fish caught on a fly rod. A stinky pinky, but hey! Ya gotta start somewhere.

We continued to fish downstream. There were so many pinks in this creek that we began to think they’d crowded out the smaller dollies. Tyson thought they might be either in deep holes or tucked under cut banks. He was right.

I dropped the egg lure so it would cruise right up to a cut bank in the stream. The current was swift, but the bank couldn’t have been more than two or three feet deep. ZING! My bobber went down and I was attached to a fish. Smaller, far more athletic. A dolly?

Where the pink was strong, determined, like a bull, this fish was a berserker. Into and out of the fast current, I could see it almost double over on itself several times. A good fish! With this little fly line, I could do nothing but play it, wait for a moment to step backwards and drag it onto the gravel to land. After what seemed like 15 minutes but was probably only about five, I rushed backwards a few steps. And there he was!

Hank Shaw fly fishing.
Photo by Tyson Fick

My first ever dolly varden. Such a pretty fish, salmonids are. They are the Platonic ideal of a fish in many people’s minds, streamlined, beautiful, dainty. A dolly is a char, a cold water relative of the trout and salmon. They got their name from a character in Charles Dickens’ novel Barnaby Rudge, a character that spawned a fabric pattern of forest green with pink spots popular in the 1860s. This is the same pattern these fish get when they are ready to spawn.

Tyson suggested I keep trying that cut bank, and I managed to drop the lure exactly where I wanted it, just upstream from a log that created a little slack water under the bank. Boom! Another dolly, this one a touch bigger. Again, the electric connection between angler and fish. I was starting to understand this fly fishing obsession.

I landed this dolly, too, and it was a female loaded with pretty golden eggs. Dolly varden caviar for dinner!

dolly varden caviar
Photo by Hank Shaw

Two fish is a person’s limit, and as it happened, those were the only dollies we caught. I’d caught a limit. We walked back through the bear woods to the beach, then kayaked back to Tyson’s boat with no drama. It had all worked out. Mission accomplished.

Hank Shaw with nice dolly varden in his kayak.
Photo by Tyson Fick

Intellectually, I figured it all would. But fears and hangups are not rational. In my mind, I was ready to fall out of the kayak into the icy water. To be chased — or worse — by giant grizzly bears. To fumble with a fly rod and catch nothing. All of this was going to happen, my fearful self thought.

But it didn’t. And I emerged from this little adventure a slightly more competent person. An aging dog learning a new trick.

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About Hank Shaw

Hey there. Welcome to Hunter Angler Gardener Cook, the internet’s largest source of recipes and know-how for wild foods. I am a chef, author, and yes, hunter, angler, gardener, forager and cook. Follow me on Instagram and on Facebook.

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16 Comments

  1. Hi there Hank,
    I have a antique lure I came across I’m hoping maybe you could help me identify it. You sound like a man that knows his stuff so if you could get back to me when you have time I’d really appreciate it. I can send you a picture but I’ll wait for a response before I do that. If you have an information on this please reply back. Thanks again Hank.

  2. So glad you experienced the fly rod! If you go further down that road you may find yourself tying your own flies. Just as with food there are recipes to be followed or tweaked or even disregarded all together as you go your own way. The first time you watch a wild trout stalk and attack a fly you’ve made yourself , because he is convinced it is the genuine article, it does something to you. At this point there is no turning back! Yes by all means knock them in the head! I get to participate so little because of life’s obligations that I really appreciate catch and release anglers but am not one my self! Would like to see a dish of trout and what they eat… crickets maybe?!?

  3. The act of catching a fish on a fly rod is the greatest experience my clients bring to me. Novices have no idea the fun of landing a fish on a fly rod until it happens. Sounds like your first experience with the fly rod was a great success Now you need to get out and explore what the fly rod had to over.

    1. Tim: Of course I do. You remove them from the skein and salt them in a brine for an hour or so. Rinse, chill, eat. And yes, they are raw.

  4. Hi Hank — The first few days of August Tracy and I were in Sitka, just an island away from where you were. Didn’t see any bears there, but we spent four days in late July at Brooks Camp in Katmai NP, and boy did we see bears there! Up close and personal. SO. MANY. BEARS! Like you, I had a surprise encounter with a teenager no more than 15 yards from me. Not sure who was more startled. Didn’t get a pic of him (too busy backing away slowly) but got a lot of great pics of dozens of other bears. Love Alaska. ~ Jennifer

  5. I am delighted that you tried flyfishing and liked it. I had read in the past of fishing trips that ypu made to Alaska to catch salmon with a spinning rod which was highly effective but, in my opinion, a boring way to fish. I prefer to catch fewer fish but in a more interesting way. When you experience a 20-pound plus Atlantic salmon on the fly you might never want to go back to the spinner.

  6. I have been with you on this whole fly fishing thing, for years I would not touch a fly rod just in case someone might mistake me for one of those “Orvis Boys”. One day I had two fly guys on my boat trying to catch stripers in Maine, I laughed at them every time I reeled a fish in on cut mackerel. Later that day we got into 12-15 lb. bluefish . Just for fun I tried one of those fly rods and you know what? it was fun…I now own a couple of fly rods and actually use them when appropriate particularly for north woods brook trout. Nobody has mistaken me for an Orvis boy, could be the tattoos or the stringer of fish or the smell of cut bait?

  7. What a great first fly-fishing trip! Salmon, Dolly V. a bear, kayaks, salt and fresh water… Glad you are still trying new things at “our age!” I just learned to cast a bait casting reel a couple of years ago. I started fly fishing as a kid because it seemed the best way to catch trout. They ignored my spoons while eating bugs. Wait till you try stripers on a fly. You’ll be hooked!

  8. Glad you enjoyed the trip. I love fly-fishing and its my preferred method of fishing; however, I’ve never understood putting a hurt on fish merely for one’s recreation/entertainment or trophy hunting for that matter. There’s a balance between catch and release and pure greed. I call that balance good resource management. We should all hunt, fish, gather with a mind towards wise stewardship of our shared/public resources and greed/selfishness has no place in it. We’ve already seen what happens in the absence of effective resource management. I’m not here saying that all resource management in the present and past has been effective. Its a learning process and adjustments are surely necessary.

  9. Had brook trout caviar in Labrador with Eddie Nickens years ago. Not bad at all. The catch and release thing being bound to fly fishing is a weird artificial construct. We should release is keep based on the law and good management of a particular resource wether we are using a fly rod, spinning rod or a milk jug. Glad you had fun with the fly.

  10. That Dolly Varden caviar looks delicious. I assume you ate the Dollys too and wonder how you prepared them and what you thought. I grew up fishing for trout with fly rods, but never with flies, just night crawlers that we picked on rainy nights at the local church grounds and canned salmon eggs we bought at the bait shop. My epiphany came when a pool full of trout yielded not a single hit on our favorite baits. Stubborn as we were, we were pretty much wasting our time. At a point when we had pretty much given up, an older gentlemen — we were all about 15 or so — that was fishing streamers waded downstream and politely asked if he could fish through. It couldn’t have been more than a minute before he was on to a nice rainbow. Up until then I had naively thought that fly fishing was just a fancy thing and done more for the challenge than as an efficient and more productive way to catch fish. A switch was flipped that day. The learning curve was steep, but tremendously profitable. Very cool to see you taking it up and sharing your thoughts. I’m sure you will inspire others to do the same.

  11. This is awesome. As a new fly fisher myself, I get the anxiety and hang ups that accompany you on the journey to a great adventure. I laughed out loud at “eating kittens” as I’ve felt the very same way since we enjoy the trout we catch spincasting every spring. Here’s hoping I have as much fortune as you when I get out on a waterway. Looking forward to both new books!!!

  12. Congratulations on your success! That island sounds like an incredible place! I love your honesty in this post. I too find trying new things in adulthood difficult. You have inspired me to start practicing with my new Tenkara rod, I share your sentiments regarding fly fishing but was intrigued by it’s simplicity. BTW I started a batch of dried tomatoes today based on your recipe, I’m excited about them but worried I used too much red wine vinegar, I guess I’ll know in a day or two!

  13. I’ve done a lot of trout fly fishing in black bear country, but I grizzlies are a different beast all together. As much as I want to see them in a natural environment like this, I also don’t 😉 Glad you’re trying new things.

  14. Hank, congrats! As a lifetime fly fisher, I came to hog shooting, sausage making, etc later in life. Tho I practiced catch and release in some fine settings over the years, I never felt holier than anyone (but know the other side). Now, farther along my path I simply regard it as incomplete or a bit decadent. Something to still do now and then when I flyfish with my eldest. (On the philosophical side have you read John Hershey’s “Blues”?) Tight lines!