Fly Fishing Wisdom and Mentorship of the Marlboro Man

Few people stumble into fly fishing as a hobby. Usually, a mentor introduces it to us. They impart not just fly fishing skills but also the passion for this timeless pursuit. I am fortunate to have been guided into this world by someone who saw fly fishing as more than just casting flies to feeding fish – it was a philosophy, a connection to nature, and a framework for a happy life.

The Marlboro Man

In the world of fly fishing, the bonds we form are often profound. The memories we create are as significant as the pristine rivers we cast upon. For me, that journey began under the guidance of a man who seemed straight out of a Marlboro ad in a magazine – my Uncle Don. His rugged stature was earned during his career as a US Steel mill rigger.

As a resident of suburban Philadelphia, he was often mistaken for the legendary Phillies third baseman, Mike Schmidt. Yet, his rugged exterior concealed a passion for fly fishing that would eventually shape my life as an angler.

Stories of Wild Rivers

Uncle Don never called me by my first name. He was the only person who ever called my by my initials, J.T. In a way, I wish that nickname would have stuck. Any time I hear someone referred to as J.T. it takes me back to my childhood visits to Uncle Don’s house. His house was more than just a place to visit. It was a sanctuary. There, he told stories of wild rivers and elusive trout. His paneled basement, adorned with a pool table, dartboard, and a home bar, became the backdrop of my introduction to fly fishing.

The basement bar never became a watering hole. Instead, it was the space where he found solace from the grind of the steel mill. He immersed himself in the art of fly tying. This craft would soon captivate my imagination. He spent his winters there at his vise, tying Catskill style dry flies, neatly stockpiling them in slotted boxes in preparation for spring. It was there where I dreamed of someday being able to fool a wild trout with one of my very own creations.

Setting the Stage

Uncle Don was no ordinary angler. His fishing expeditions evolved. He started bait fishing for walleye (or as I called them as a child, wool-eyes) in the Delaware Water Gap. Over time, he developed a passion for catching wild trout with a fly rod in the upper reaches of that same river system. Before I was even born, he had gotten my father hooked on bait fishing for trout. I credit my dad for instilling in me a love of fishing and Uncle Don for sharing his knowledge, setting the stage for my eventual life in fly fishing.

Minimalist Approach

In a world often characterized by excess, Uncle Don’s approach to fly fishing stood out for its simplicity and self-reliance. He shunned expensive guides and float trips, choosing instead to forge his own path on the water. His knowledge of hatches, trout behavior, and the river’s shifting conditions wasn’t drawn from YouTube tutorials or blog posts. It came from years of firsthand experience. Every moment on the river served as a teacher. Every outing added to his growing wisdom.

Fly Fishing for Wild Trout

Uncle Don’s love affair with fly fishing took a specific turn towards wild trout, and he embraced the challenge with meticulous attention to detail. From April onward, he spent nearly every weekend in northeastern Pennsylvania, beginning an annual migration to the Upper Delaware River system. What started as weekend escapades evolved into a summer pilgrimage, with a gradual migration north from the Delaware’s Main Stem to the renowned West Branch, where trout thrive all year in the cold water releases from the Cannonsville Reservoir.

Time on the Water

In a time devoid of instant information at our fingertips, Uncle Don’s expertise was hard-earned. He tracked water temperatures, flow levels, and weather conditions, increasing the odds of success for each subsequent outing. His self-reliance and refusal to take shortcuts elevated him to an echelon of fly fishers who learned the craft by living it, not just reading about it. Experience was his only teacher.

Mastering the Upper Delaware

Uncle Don’s fishing escapades were not limited to one river or one technique. While he explored almost all Pennsylvania has to offer as trout habitat, it was the Upper Delaware that truly captured his heart. His mastery of the Upper Delaware, coupled with an intimate knowledge of the river’s subtleties, set him apart in an era when information wasn’t readily accessible. The wild rainbows and challenging conditions molded him into an expert on presenting flies to spooky trout in the Delaware’s slow pools, fast riffles, and endless runs.

Lessons from the Basement

Long before a fly rod found its way into my hands, his stories told while sitting in his basement became a conduit of knowledge, passing down the secrets of successful fly fishing. As I grew older, I transitioned from a wide-eyed listener to an eager apprentice, ready to apply the lessons embedded in those tales. The time had come to finally join Uncle Don on one of his weekend trips.

Initiation

I first encountered the challenging waters of the upper Delaware as a teenager. This happened on that first trip. Uncle Don made it clear from the beginning – he was not going to hold my hand through the weekend. Armed with a handful of his flies, some instructions, and the wisdom gleaned from his basement, I set off on my own. Little did I know that I was ill-equipped to handle the demands of the mighty Delaware.

My First Green Drake Hatch

It was Memorial Day weekend, which brought a spectacle that remains etched in my memory – a green drake hatch unlike anything I had witnessed before or have seen since. Massive clouds of drakes intersected the remaining light from the setting sun. Wild rainbows feasted all around me, boiling the river. Uncle Don’s foresight provided me with a few of his perfect imitations. As I attempted to cast one of them with the cheap Fenwick fly rod , my inexperience and lack of skills were exposed.

Skills Required

Upstream from me, the Marlboro man, encircled in a halo of cigarette smoke, cast perfect loops. I watched as he landed his fly gently upstream and drifted it toward awaiting trout. In contrast, my awkward casting skills were no match for the situation. I was somehow racing in the Indy 500, yet I had just received my learner’s permit. My line slapped the water. My fly dragged across the surface. Every rising fish seemed just out of my reach. The frustration mounted until a rise form surfaced within my small casting radius. I sloppily landed my green drake far enough upstream to not spook the the wild rainbow. Seconds before my un-mended fly line grabbed hold of my leader to create drag, the unsuspecting trout ate my fly.

Lessons from Failure

With a shout, I informed Uncle Don of my success –”I got one!” But this was a Delaware trout, not about to succumb to an angler of my skill level. The fish bolted upstream creating a thrilling tension in my line that quickly went slack. My first Delaware trout was gone. Disappointment rattled my voice – “He got off!” Uncle Don’s laughter followed, as that was exactly how he expected my first encounter to end. Reassurance followed – “That’s okay, JT. You’ll get another one.” Though I didn’t catch another that night (or the rest of that trip), that experience resonated deeply. The thrill of the green drake hatch, the struggle to present the fly, and the memory of Uncle Don’s laughter created a desire in me that has yet to subside.

Wisdom

I will never be able to match Uncle Don’s skill level on the river. However, I continue to benefit from the wisdom he earned as a self-taught fly angler. His influence transformed me from a novice fly angler with poor casting skills to someone who now embraces the challenges of the Upper Delaware. As I reflect on those early days, I realize something important. Uncle Don’s legacy isn’t just in the stories and lessons he shared. It is in the bond formed over a shared pursuit of wild trout on the fly.