Articles

Women on the water

If mom is out, the kids are out
Photo: Windy Davis

I’m learning about saltwater fisheries in Galveston, Texas. It’s a manly affair. This stands to reason since I’m an outdoor journalist in an industry dominated by men. I’m here to learn about red snapper and I’m concentrating on harvest statistics when my phone buzzes. My husband herds our kids solo when I’m on the road so I rarely ignore a buzz from home. You never know what our wild ones are doing. The screen lights up and all fishing facts leave my head.

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Most saltwater fly fishers don’t care about presentation. Whether you take that to mean most individual saltwater anglers in general, or most anglers fly fishing in the salt on any given day is up to you. But the fact remains that, most of the time, presentation isn’t anywhere near the top of the list of concerns of the saltwater fly fisherman that’s preparing to make a cast.

The kid

He only talked of fishing
Photo: Domenick Swentosky

The kid was ten years old and small for his age, but his legs were strong and he waded without fear. He fished hard. We shared a passion and a singular focus, so I enjoyed having him on the water. He stood just tall enough not to lose him in a field of goldenrod and he weighed less than the family dog. But he was sturdy, tough and determined, with an unwavering perseverance that kept him focused during the inevitable slow days with a fly rod.

The worm

Just don't tie it on at the car
Photo: Chad Shmukler

As spring rains in the Rockies push lowland creeks and streams out of their grassy banks and stain the water just a bit, smart anglers will disregard the disdain many fly fishers hold for a particular fly pattern and they’ll happily catch trout, because this fly does, indeed, match the hatch.

Aquatic worms dwell in the moist and muddy banks along bottomland springs and streams, and when water rises, these worms—not unlike the ones you used to dig up in grandma’s garden before heading off to fish as a kid—end up in the water. And the trout love them.

Trout trip

A classroom down by the river
Photo: Kris Millgate

I hear giggling. It’s a muffled, hand-over-the-mouth kind of giggling, but it’s giggling nonetheless. The giggles are coming from a huddle halfway down the trail leading to the fish ladder on the river. The curious nature of the reporter in me must investigate the giggles so I sling my camera pack onto my back and hike to the huddle. I’m short so my small stature blends in nicely with the fifth graders who maintain their low laugh when I join them. Their heads are down and I see why. There’s a tangled ball of mating snakes in the middle of the dirt walkway.

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