Kieser: Fly fishing mentorship comes full circle

Flyline gently swishes through the air, eventually propelling a fly or popping bug great distances over lurking bass, bluegill or trout. Handling fly fishing equipment is an art form that goes back centuries.

Mentors who taught the next generation how to “catch fishes from other men’s ditches,” on fly tackle go back just as far. I had mine.

Really, it’s surprising that Stan Richardson paid any attention to the young man who had just turned teenager. The kid, despite his mother’s best efforts, was constantly dirty, in blue jeans with fresh grass stains from the latest tackle football game or ground in dirt from digging worms for the schools of big bluegill, bass and crappie that roamed the grass lines of our lake. Add an old T-shirt and baseball cap to create – well, a grubby looking kid.

Richardson worked with electronics, a subject well above my head then and now. He had a work bench in his basement with many “neat” items. But above it all hung a sparkling new flyrod, the Holy Grail of fishing in a young Zebco 33 rod and reel bluegill fishermen’s opinion. I had read about fly fishing in outdoor magazines, but never realized that anyone but the wealthy could actually do it.

“Hey Chief, why aren’t you fishing?” Richardson asked me one warm spring morning. “The fish should be biting.”

“Aw, been fishing all week,” I said, amused that he always called me Chief. “Might find a baseball game on television later, think the Yankees are playing.”

Then Richardson did something that shocked me, he walked in the garage and pulled down his flyrod.

“Ever fish with one of these?” he asked.

I admitted that I had not and he took the next hour showing me how it worked. I left with a new desire to expand my fishing horizons, but how? Fly fishing tackle cost money. I ran back to Richardson’s house.

“How much would it cost for fly tackle?” I asked.

“I can get you started for $10,” he said. “Rod, reel, fly line and nylon leaders, I’ll give you a couple of popping bugs to try, too.”

I did not realize at the time but he was giving me his mentor’s price, about half of what the outfit actually cost, or perhaps it cost even more. Anyway, I ran home to pull out my dad’s trusty lawn mower that started about half the time and quickly found a yard. An hour later, I gave my friend the $10.

Two days later he motioned me to come to his house. I ran up the street, probably burning rubber off my tennis shoes, and stopped to be handed my first fly rod and reel, rigged with popping bug tied on. I had never seen anything so beautiful, at least at that point in my life. His little kids, Kathy and Kenny, and my younger brother, Rodney, followed us down by the lake to watch.

On my first cast I correctly stripped out the line that slapped the lake surface too hard and very loud, but the leader somehow straightened out. The popping bug, no doubt propelled by the spirits of fishing, dropped next to a half-submerged tree limb. I twitched the bug as Richardson told me to do and “WHOP” a 1-pound largemouth bass hit it. That bass wasn’t the only one hooked that day.

Richardson and I fished our lake and several strip pits over the next couple years until responsibilities took me away. Since, I have fly fished all over the country for most predator fish and written volumes on the subject. My goal is to catch a tarpon on fly tackle like my hero and friend, Stu Apte, who owns most saltwater records on fly tackle – a tough but not impossible venture.

I recently received a lunch invitation from Richardson and his family. My work and travels had taken me all over the country and I had not seen the family for many years. My fly fishing mentor had some health issues and brought me a special surprise.

“I can no longer use my fly fishing tackle, so thought you might like to have it,” Richardson said over lunch. “ I have a brand-new fly outfit still in the package too, thought you might find something to do with it.”

I knew exactly what he meant and the following day knocked on the door of my neighbor, Drew Nielsen, a young fishing enthusiast. I told him all about my mentor and promised to help him get started with fly rod, reel and tackle. Soon we will visit a nearby lake to start a passion I have enjoyed for about 45 years. He will soon turn 13, my age when Richardson first placed a fly rod in my hands.

Fly line gently swishes through the air, eventually propelling a fly or popping bug great distances over lurking bass, bluegill or trout. You can mark time of this fabulous way of fishing through students and their mentors!