Fish Lies, Fact or Fiction?

After watching innumerable videos on fly fishing and listening to twice as many podcasts on the same subject, it seems I grew up under a cloud of false beliefs and ignorance.

According to a recent Orvis podcast, feeding lies, sheltering lies and prime lies refer to distinct areas where trout go to eat, to be protected and to be in an area that provides all the elements the fish needs to survive, respectively.

These definitions are radically different from what I believed growing up.

When I was younger, a feeding lie referred to the size of your fish. More accurately, it referred to the size you actually said it was. Hence the common phrase, "What's this mess you're feeding me," or some variation, which often followed such slightly altered statements of fish size.

Sheltering lies, however, often have an element of truth to them. In general, they are are statements that can't quite be quantified.

"That bass had the biggest attitude of any fish I ever caught," "that sunfish put a lot of heart into that fight," and "that was the biggest pumpkinseed I ever saw" are good examples of proper sheltering lies.

Unlike the feeding and sheltering lies, the prime lie can take many different forms. Instead of going into an elaborate detailed description of a prime lie, allow me to give you an excellent example.

I caught my first striped bass on a fly rod when I was a teenager. In fact, I caught it within the first two casts the first time I picked up a fly rod. At the time I had no clue as to what I was doing. I cast out a little weighted fly and stripped it back. Cast it out again and was stripping it back when the fish hit. I set the hook and struggled some, but managed to land it. I'd guess that it's about 14 or 15 pounds.

What makes this a prime lie is that technically, it's all true. I was 17. It was my first time holding a fly rod. Cluelessness did indeed hold me in a firm grip. However, notice the verb tense change in the last sentence.

When I caught the striper, it probably weighed in just over a pound. If the bass is still alive, though, it could very well be 14 or 15 pounds or more by now. Herein lies the quality element of the enigma that is the prime lie.

Imagine my surprise at discovering all these years later that some disrespectful fisherman changed the meaning of my perfectly crafted fishing terminology! Despicable!

Fish Identification 101

I must confess to being deeply depressed. I squarely blame Tom Rosenbauer of Orvis for my depression. In short, Tom let me down.

Allow me to share some background knowledge. Through this knowledge, I hope my readers come to understand my need for a personal apology from Tom for this severe oversight.

My wife took me on a fly fishing sojourn recently in the mountains of North Carolina. Prior to this three day journey, I have been binge watching fishing videos on YouTube. Primarily, I've been watching the Orvis videos and concentrating on the ones with Tom Rosenbauer.

I've even been binge listening to the Orvis podcasts with Tom. By the time my wife and I left for our trip, I had covered all of the 2014 podcasts and was well into 2015. I've been eagerly listening to each piece of advice Tom and his guests have shared with me. Heck, I've even taken notes on some!

I carried all this new knowledge with me as I waded into the stream that flowed by my AirBnB. I looked the water up and down. I perused through my flies and asked myself, "Hmmm... What would Tom tell me?"

A little black and white dry fly jumped into my fingers. I deftly tied it to my tippet with a firm Haworth Haphazard Overhead Hug knot. (Yes. I named the knot I invented after myself.) Within two casts I landed a little rainbow trout!

Needless to say, I was absolutely elated! Tom and I exchanged imaginary hugs and high fives. He complimented my extraordinary fishing talent. I complimented his excellent tutelage.

Now, fast forward to day three and ten more fish later. I'm busy fly fishing my heart out, changing flies, changing tactics and changing locations, all the while looking for foam and casting to the seams. Three fish made a mockery of me by tugging my strike indicator under and letting go faster than a dog on a potato chip.

I had all but given up when my line hung up. I paused and didn't move, not wanting to lose my hook to the very large rock or log on which it was stuck. That was the last straw. As I stood there, I realized my leader was moving sideways in the current.

"Monster fish on!" I mentally screamed and set the hook with all my strength. My line shot out of the water and sailed over my head like a warning shot fired from a cannon. I never even saw the 20 pound brown trout that took my hook.

In all the videos and all the podcasts, never once did Tom tell me how to discern the difference between a large rock and a monster trout. This, I believe, is pertinent information that should be passed on to future fly fishing stars such as myself.

Come to think of it, Robert Field of Field Trips didn't either! As soon as I finish drafting my letter to Tom, I may be firing one off to Rob, also.