This is a further contribution authored by Carl Ochnio, an avid freshwater fly angler who lives in central Connecticut. Carl is a former higher education professional who now finds as much time as he can wading in moving water. All photo credits belong to Carl. carl.ochnio@gmail.com
The recipe for a successful fishing trip starts with excitement, expectation, and a dash of anxiety. Whether you're heading to a local river or embarking on an extended out-of-state adventure, anglers strive to plan every detail of the trip with confidence. Expectations run high as the day approaches to pack a suitcase or load up the car. Ideally, the latest fishing report shows that the river flows are perfect, the weather is favorable, and the hatches are on schedule. Everything seems perfectly lined up, just as planned.
As anglers head to their destination, they often imagine a massive fish striking a dry fly on the surface. When the trophy fish takes off downstream, the angler grips the rod tightly as the drag spins wildly, like a Kansas windmill in an F5 tornado.
Many anglers share these exciting thoughts, as they are typically known for their optimism. Look inside a fly box: a non-angler may see just an assortment of flies, while an angler views rows of hopeful moments patiently waiting for their chance to shine. Most often, these aspirations may not meet expectations. Challenges can unexpectedly arise and trip you up like hidden riverbed obstructions.
Here's some advice: things can and will go wrong during any outing, often when you least expect it. Over the years, I've experienced my share of those "I can't believe that just happened!" moments. Many of these could easily find a spot in the ‘Bible of Fishing Trip Mishaps.’
A fishing adventure can present a variety of challenges. Ideally, most of these will be minor and will result in nothing more than simple annoyances. I've had numerous incidents I can now reflect on and laugh about.
They say that confession is good for the soul, and now I'm ready to bare mine. This unburdening might help readers avoid similar mistakes or at least provide a laugh or two at my expense.
I have carefully curated a selection of my fishing mishaps. These stories are loosely arranged in chronological order and illustrate that I have not become any wiser over the years. Such tales should best be shared around a fishing lodge fireplace or a campfire. Feel free to recount any of the following if you don't have your own stories to share or are hesitant to reveal them. Just start the conversation by saying, "I once heard about an angler who..."
My first significant mishap occurred when I was sixteen. At that time, the opening day of trout season was an important event. Trout season always started on the third Saturday in April, and I began the countdown on January 1st. I had a calendar hanging in my bedroom, and each morning, before trudging off to school, I would faithfully cross off another day. After months of anticipation, just a few days before I could cast my line into the new season, my trusty VW Beetle quit running, jeopardizing my plans for opening day. Thankfully, my mom came to the rescue and offered me the use of her brand-new 1969 Ford LTD. Compared to the Beetle, it felt like a land yacht.
On opening day, my cousin Ed and I eagerly traveled down a narrow dirt road around five a.m. when a large vehicle approached from the opposite direction. I pulled to the side to let it pass, but this caused my car to bottom out on an unseen rock, leaving the passenger side wheels perilously close to a drop-off leading to the river below.
Recalling a previous trip where I had spotted an old, dilapidated tow truck parked in a nearby backyard, I left Ed to fish and walked to the main road, hoping to hitch a ride. Fortunately, someone stopped and gave me a lift. As I arrived at the "tow truck house" in the early morning light, I peeked through the window and saw an older gentleman sitting at the kitchen table, having breakfast. I knocked on the door, explained my dilemma, and asked if his tow truck was operable. Although he mentioned it hadn't been used in a while, he replied supportively, "Let's give her a try."
Thankfully, the truck turned over, and we were soon cruising down the road. Once we reached the scene of my misfortune, he quickly hooked up the Ford and pulled it off the rock. He saved the day and helped me avoid a very uncomfortable conversation with my mom. Grateful, I emptied my pockets of cash and coins and thanked him profusely. I didn't share that tale with anyone other than my cousin for years. Incidents like this are best kept on the down-low for a long time.
This blog post continues with part II, which will be featured shortly. Tight Lines!
I misstep on the mishap. Most missteps are embarrassing - not bringing home fish is embarrassing, not a mishap.
To make it up to you Carl, I will tell you about the greatest mishap I witnessed. My friend and I, with our wives, were driving up to Grant's Kennebago Fly Fishing Camp on Rangeley Lake in Maine. He had just bought a Leonard Bamboo rod and was anxious to try it out. From the highway there's a long, dirt logging road to the camp that follows a beautiful river, and halfway up the road he couldn't wait any longer, so he asked his wife to stop so we could take a few casts. After a couple of minutes without…
The longer you fish, the more mishaps. I've had everything from hooking myself in the ear to falling in the water. But my most common one is promising my wife a trout dinner and coming home empty handed.
Enjoyed reading the first installment Carl and looking forward to more!