Carmichael - Side Casts: A Collection of Fly-Fishing Yarns by a Guy Who Can Spin Them

Copyright by Hoagy B. Carmichael 2015

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data on file.

ISBN: 978-1-63450-303-7

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-5107-0106-9

Carmichael, Hoagy B., 1938

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Printed in China

For Ben and Sarah.

Contents

Foreword

Isnt it wonderful that our sport, the art of trying to put a hook in a fishs mouth, has so many interesting nooks and crannies that guys like me can indulge in daydreaming about various facets of fly fishing and never tread on the same turf? The research involved, which I thoroughly enjoy, and the hours of trying to find a way to put it on paper is, to me, almost as rewarding as catching a beautiful fish. If someone were to actually take the time to read some of it, we join hands and, if I have somehow put the right words down, they, too, could share the excitement of a few new thoughts with me. It is all I can ask for.

What we have here is a collection of pieces that I have, for reasons not fully known to me, felt compelled to write about. Several have appeared previously in the Anglers Club of New York Bulletin, Classic Angling Magazine, and The American Fly Fisher . People have asked me to explain how I took on the task of writing Mr. Garrisons book on rod building, and others wanted more biographical information on the man himself. One or two of my childhood experiences are laid bare here, as are several friendships that have been important to me. I became interested in why women have landed so many of the famous trophy Atlantic salmon after learning of an incident on the Grand Cascapedia River, and equally drawn to understand how weight forward lines came into being. I fell in love with a fish one cold, rain-swept evening. Four years after seeing her fearfully lying exhausted on the stones she still brings a rush of emotion when I think about that brief moment I had with her. Now, she will live forever.

By putting all this between one cover I get to share these thoughts and experiences with others. My hope is that readers will feel a tinge of the fascination and personal satisfaction that this wonderful sport offers. Its nuances have carried me through many days when I could not put my waders on, and evenings when I could and the fishing was poor. It is, as Arnold Gingrich so aptly recognized, the richness of fishing in print.

Hoagy B. Carmichael

November 2014

Thanks

Jim Adams, Ken Barnes, David Beazley, Brian Bennett, Judith Bowman, Per Brandin, Mike Brazzell, Terry Casey, Gary Clark, Steve Crandell, Nate Dablock, Keith Davidson, Ralph Finch, Barbara Fody, Catherine Fody, Ethel Fody, Mike Greco, Sarah Green, Bruce Haag, Andrew Herd, Robin Hayes, Russell Long, Kevin Lyons, the Estate of Pierre Lutz, Tom McCoy, Caroline Mulne, The Heddon Museum, Jim Otranto, Antti Parkkinen, Lana Schultz, Barabara Schwartz, Patrick Scott, Robert Seaman, Paul Sequira, Amy Simula, Jeff Slater, Robbie Smith, Jared Tausig, Art Weiler, Norman Wilson, and Joan Wulff.

Dries on the Alta

W ithin minutes of leaving the rock-strewn beach landing at Bolo, our pine twenty-eight-foot boat was piercing the waters of the River Alta with assurance. The bow, high to the wind and rough water, seemed to know where the ominous rocks were that hid just under the turbulent peat-stained surface as we moved upriver toward our camp. The river soon narrowed, becoming a high-walled canyon as unpronounceable, yet legendary pools such as Garvarteigen, Svartfossnakken, Sandiagoski, and Vhniva passed under us. We see the red and white buildings of Sandia, the camp owned by the Duke of Roxburghe, and the great pool, Mikkeliniva, that it faces. Midway, we docked the boats and carried our equipment over the well-worn Gabonakken trail of fallen rocks (used to make the famous slate-like roofing materialAltaskifer) strewn by countless years of weather that had released them from their origins more than fifteen hundred feet above us. Boatman Kjell Haldorsen and Jan Edmund, Norsemen to the core, moved cigarettes to their lips as we settled in different craft for the final leg of my almost five-thousand-mile trip to the Arctic Circle and the Alta, the home of many of the largest salmon in the world. I was aware that the hard-edged images of the men in the mountains, who live in Europes largest canyon, were watching us from their craggy perch as we glided the last few yards onto the landing at the red-sided buildings of our home for three days, Sautso.

There was nothing else within miles of the camp. We were alone save for the two in the kitchen who within an hour would serve a wonderful meal of lamb chops chased with a quality claret. It was six in the evening of another day with little sleep, my eyelids heavy with the time changes and travel. The first fishing session was less than an hour away and rest was far from my mind. We drew the lower beats, which included Vaehaniva, a long deep pool just above a short white water that history confirms has given up countless fish of more than 50 lbs. The minutes went by slowly as we busied ourselves, waiting for the hand to reach eight oclock and the time when we could step into the boat. Blankets of annoying mosquitoes were everywhere, taking their life-giving drops where they could. We were to fish until four in the morning, under what protection was afforded by the low light levels of the midnight sun. I had lost track of what day it was, but I felt exhilarated as we motored slowly to Nielo, not far below the camp.

The river narrows, bordered by Europes largest canyon.

The first fish mistook my 2/0 Grand Cascapedia wet fly pattern, the Stone Ghost, for something else. My fishing partner, Markku, had covered her from the traditional side of the river, but as is often the case the silhouette of an unfamiliar fly pattern approaching from a different angle proved irresistible. It is also possible that the pheromones that the comely Annette from the kitchen had kindly passed onto the fly with her hands at my request may have also been an important part of the deception. Those who fish the Alta quickly try to estimate the size of their fish in hopes of a salmon that passes the 40-lb. mark. This one, game as she was, was released after scaling at 19 lbs.