Teaching, coaching outdoors skills might show you that know more than you think
Why, in the future, I'll be less hesitant to step into the role of 'instructor'
Roger Willoughby is a fictitious fellow who looks over my shoulder from time to time.
I imagine a lot of us in the outdoors world needlessly have a bit of him in our heads—but we should keep in mind this protagonist is based on a short story called, “The Girl Who Almost Got Away.”
Almost.
Rock Hudson brought Willoughby to life in a movie that premiered when I was only 2 years old. The rom-com sets him up as famous book author who works in sporting goods. His books establish him as a leading expert on fishing, but he’s never fished a day in his life. His books are all based on the conversations at the sporting goods counter.
The laughs ensue when his boss—who is somehow ignorant of Willoughby’s shortcomings—enters him in a fishing tourney against some of the best in the country.
Spoiler alert: In the end he wins the tourney, and gets the girl too.
When I was new to fly-fishing an old friend used to goad me—the way that fishing buddies do when their partner pulls a bonehead move—with Willoughby’s name: The expert author who can’t fish.
I’ve never been silly enough to claim to be an expert angler in my writings but I do try to inspire others to give hunting, fishing and other outdoors endeavors a try; sometimes with stories of my own experiences (bonehead moves and all), often with advice from true experts.
I’d forgotten what a kick it is for a new fly-fisher to finally make that first half-decent cast.
Saturday I stepped out of my usual role as writer/photographer and did some one-on-one teaching as part of a group class with 20 women, all brand new to the activity.
To be completely honest I hesitated at the prospect before I signed up to help as one of several volunteer instructors/guides. Other than family or a couple trips one-on-one with kids that were beginners, I’ve avoided the role of fly-fishing teacher.
I have picked up loads of bad habits on the water in 35 years. I’m the guy who hasn’t been fishing for five months and forgets how to tie that one kind of knot—and screws it up twice before he checks YouTube on his phone for a reminder.
My equipment? It’s a hodgepodge that ranges from bargain-barrel chic to 1980s classic. But Saturday there I was showing people brand new to the activity how to make a basic cast—as best they could in a 30 mph wind. How to pull off a roll cast in fast current and mend their line—because there was a 30mph wind. And how to tie a knot I constantly forget how to tie.
Luckily for this group true instructors with Oklahoma Trout Unlimited Chapter 420 were there to cement the basics. I’m talking about people like Scott Hood and Joel Kantor, who have been fly-fishing most every weekend for years and have actually used their long experience to hone their skills in a more formal way and have learned instruction skills and taught many clinics. People kinda like my old buddy from the 1980s.
I thought I might write something about the day, and I sure enough had my camera around my neck most of the day—as always. But I only picked it up for a few informal shots, none of which were publishing quality.
The thing is, I was really enjoying myself. The students were genuinely interested in learning and I was fully focused on helping them the best that I could.
I’d forgotten what a kick it is for a new fly-fisher to finally make that first half-decent cast.
Fishing the stream was tough, really tough, but for a little over two hours they got the feel of making a roll cast, mending line across the current, looking for a “seam” in the current and just getting that general idea of presenting a fly in a rocky stream in a way that makes it look “buggy.” A few students managed to catch some fish, too.
They seemed to fully enjoy the experience, fish or no fish. I had a blast.
And the true specialists were there for backup—and as a learning tool.
While coaching one of the 10 women in the group, lined up on a large lawn, I stopped and told my participant to look down the line as Hood made a few demonstration casts for another student. The sun hit his line and shade trees in the background let it stand out.
I told her to note how his rod bent to “load” with the back cast, how the main line traveled almost horizontally. Hot the motions were smooth and deliberate, and how the line formed that nice loop that just rolled out to the ground at the end of the cast.
She got the gist. “That’s what I’m shooting for, then.” she said.
I confirmed, “That’s what I’m shooting for too.”
I told her just how much better at fly-fishing Hood is than I, and that he typically out-fishes me. He is much better at casting than me, ties his own flies and has great equipment, but the lesson was that, that was not the most important thing.
I love fly-fishing, and I’m no expert. You can get the basics and decide where you want to go from there. There are dozens of knots you can learn, but you can also learn one or two and stick with those. You can tie flies if you want, or just buy them. You can have five reels and five different kinds of line and a dozen different sizes and types of tippet to tie up your own leaders, or you can use one line, one rod-and-reel and buy leaders at Bass Pro.
The lesson is to get out there and get your line wet, to relax and to have fun.
We all have our Roger Willoughby moments. But even the Roger Willoughby’s of the world have their days—and they might even figure out along the way they have some gained some skills of their own to share.
Kelly, Have you ever noticed how hitting a golf ball and making a cast with a fly rod are alike? The pause you make to allow the rod to load the line at yhe back is like the pause at the top of your golf swing. If you think about the song, "A Place for Us" it is like the rhythm of the song sung slower, "A place (load) for us. some where (load) there'll be.......
It is the same rhythm though bamboo fly rods will have you pause a tiny bit longer.