Henry Winkler - Ive Never Met an Idiot on the River: Reflections on Family, Fishing, and Photography

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Table of Contents

Also by Henry Winkler, with Lin Oliver

The Hank Zipzer: The Worlds Greatest Underachiever series

Niagara Falls, or Does It?
I Got a D in Salami
Day of the Iguana
The Zippity Zinger
The Night I Flunked My Field Trip
Holy Enchilada!
Help! Somebody Get Me Out of Fourth Grade!
Summer School! What Genius Thought Up That?
My Secret Life as a Ping-Pong Wizard
My Dogs a Scaredy-Cat: A Halloween Tail
The Curtain Went Up, My Pants Fell Down
Barfing in the Backseat: How I Survived My Family Road Trip
Who Ordered This Baby? Definitely Not Me!
The Life of Me (Enter at Your Own Risk)
A Tale of Two Tails
Dump Trucks and Dogsleds: Im on My Way, Mom!
A Brand-New Me!

To Skip Brittenham and in memory of Leonard
Hanzer, for introducing me to a lifes passion.

And, always, to Stacey.

You are about to enter a lifelong journey into a different world. Michael D. Shook, The Complete Idiots Guide to Fly Fishing

If you will it, it is not a dream.
Theodor Herzl, Old New Land

Ladies FirstStacey Winklers Side of the Fish Story

When I began dating Henry in the 1970s, I was struck, as most people were, by how incredibly kind and good-natured he was. Henry was such a gentleman and so caring and thoughtful. After a few months of his chivalrous treatment, I kept waiting for his darker side to show up. Id probably still be waiting for a glimpse of it more than thirty years later, if I had not started fly-fishing with my husband.

Honestly, Ive never seen Henry wake up with anything but a smile and an enthusiastic GOOD MORNING! HOW ARE YOU? I hear this from him each and every day, and I have no problem telling you that the man I married is still the most thoughtful, kind, and optimistic person Ive ever known. Henrys glass is always half full, and he is always patient and easygoingexcept when he is fly-fishing.

Its odd because Henry is a native New Yorker and we live in Los Angeles. In both of those high-stress places, he is never flustered or overwrought. Only in the serene beauty of fly-fishing country does the crazed and competitive Henry appear.

Now I dont want to give you the impression that he is on edge the whole time were in the wilderness. Henrys feisty alter ego arises only if someone threatens to cut short his time on the water.

One year in Montana, my calm and loving husband, who has always been shockingly patient with our children, actually threw a wader boot across the room because our daughter, Zoe, then a teenager, was taking too long to prepare for an afternoon of fishing. It didnt help that Henry had given up his morning on the river to join us for a horseback ride. With half the day gone, he was really eager to get in as much fishing as possible before sunset.

Still, Id never seen him lose his cool like that. It was as if he had turned into Damien, the evil child in The Omen. After the boot-hurling incident, we told the children that positioning themselves between their father and the trout was courting disaster. If you happen to find yourself on the same river as Henry, my advice to you is this: Do not obstruct his casting, because he truly believes all fish wear tags reading To Be Caught and Released Only by Henry Winkler.

Its hard to describe just how much Henry looks forward to his Montana trips. With his television roles, scores of speaking engagements, constant travel, production meetings, and all his other responsibilities, Henry is a busy, busy man. He loves acting, writing childrens novels, and producing. He is fulfilled and passionate, and he uses up every minute of every working day. That said, Henry covets his fishing time with a capital C.

We head to Montana for our annual fishing trips in August, but Henry will start packing in January. Every year he does a vacation countdown. Beginning long before our scheduled departure, at least once a day hell say something like, Only three months, two days, and ten hours until Im back on the river in Montana.

These cherished trips take him away from Los Angeles and New York City and his wonderful but demanding career in the entertainment industry. Sitting in a boat or standing in the river, Henry can relax and enjoy each moment. He is finally offstage and free to be just another guy chasing after trout. Surrounded by mountains, wildflowers, and natures own cast and crew, he feels spiritually cleansed and recharged.

Henry relishes every minute on the water, every fish, every reflection and ripple, every beam of sunlight on the shoreline, and even each drop of rain on the river. He basks in the quiet and has no tolerance for anything that distracts from the wilderness experience. Fly-fishing is his bliss. And he fiercely protects his time in that world.

Henry and I had more fights on our first day fishing together than in all our previous years of marriage. Once in the boat, my mild-mannered, loving husband turned into someone elses aggressive, cranky spouse. Luckily, there was a guide between us, or one of the Winklers might have been tossed overboard.

I was stunned at this development because that first day began peacefully enough with a nice breakfast and quiet preparations. Then, when we arrived at the put-in point, Henry, without a word, commandeered the front seat of our boat. I was taken aback by this power play. The bow seat on the boat is considered the best in the house because it puts you in position to be the first to cast into undisturbed waters populated by unwary fish. I would have gladly given up that coveted seat to my husband, but he didnt ask. He just seized it.

Even worse, once we were on the river and ready to fish, Henry proceeded to completely disregard fly-fishing etiquette by madly casting into my waters as well as his own. His fly invaded my fishing space time and time again. He tangled my line, disturbed my fish, and slapped the water loudly.

I was shocked. My husband is normally one of those rare men who opens and holds every door and always pulls out my chair at dinner. He is a perfect gentleman in every social situation. But, as I discovered, these rules of etiquette do not apply on the river.

Henry was so crazed on that day we spent in the same boatseven long hoursthat ever since then, we have fished in separate boats with separate guides, in separate places on the river. We do sometimes meet for a picnic lunch, but Henry views these breaks as interruptions from his time with the fish.

The guides usually caution other people to stay clear of Mr. Winklers boat, especially if he has just arrived at freshwater. Its very hard for Henry when people recognize him on the river and want to chat. They spot him, even with a hat, glasses, and his nose covered with zinc oxide. He is always too nice to say Please keep moving, but believe me, thator worse!is what hes thinking.

Henry becomes very territorial on the river. He recently admitted that when he sees water that looks fishy, a strange spirit comes over him and demands that he cast his fly into that area. He claims it is an unconscious and overwhelming urge beyond his control, and he doesnt want anyone else fishing in that spot. Its also true that Henry never forgets where he saw a fish. Hell come back three years later to a spot where he saw a big Brown Trout, hoping its grown even bigger and is finally hungry for his fly.

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