Sean’s First Day on the River

Sean’s first day fly fishing on the South Platte River was cold, chaotic, humbling, and unforgettable — and it marked the moment he officially became a fly fisherman.

We arrived at the South Platte River near Deckers early on the morning of Monday, April 20th. I wanted to get Sean to a semi-remote stretch of water so we could have a quiet place to ourselves. The air held a brisk 35-degree chill as we stepped out of the Suburban, though we knew the Colorado sun would push the temperature near 80 degrees by the afternoon.

Sean had never picked up a fly rod in his life. He stood on the bank outfitting himself in a brand-new pair of waders and a wading belt he had purchased from Cabela's just the day before. While I rarely wear a wading belt myself, I insisted Sean wear one for two very specific reasons. First, if he took a tumble, the belt would stop the freezing river water from filling his waders and dragging him downstream. Second, it gave me a sturdy handle. I needed to hold onto him from behind until he adjusted to the forceful push of the current and found his footing.

Stepping into a rushing river takes confidence, especially for a stroke survivor learning a completely new set of physical skills. Fly fishing requires an immense amount of concentration. You have to manage the excess line at your feet, avoid painful tangles, aim for a specific seam in the water, and listen to a guide barking directions.

Sean practicing a roll cast on the South Platte River during his first fly fishing experience.

Like many beginner anglers, Sean brought a few Hollywood misconceptions to the river. He had seen fishing movies and assumed you needed to whip the rod back and forth a dozen times to make a cast. I watched him fiercely wave the rod through the air, trying to force the line across the water. I had to stop him several times and remind him, "We are not making a movie, so quit trying to cast like the guys on the big screen."

Slowly, the mechanics started to click. After two hours of Fly Fishing 101, I finally let go of his wading belt. I stepped back and watched him stand independently in the current. Without the frantic false casting, he suddenly found his rhythm. He executed a smooth roll cast, sending a microscopic #22 Blue-Winged Olive tandem fly setup, trailing behind a bead-head midge, perfectly into the feeding lane.

Suddenly, the line went tight. Sean had hooked a fish.

The rod bent deeply, but our lessons had not yet covered Fly Fishing 102. He had no idea what to do with the piles of extra line gathered at his feet or how to manage the strange, clicking fly reel. In the chaotic scramble to figure out the gear, the tension snapped, and the trout slipped off the hook.

Losing a fish stings, but the magic had already happened. As Sean reeled in his empty line, a massive smile broke across his face. The stroke had taken a lot from him, but it had not taken this moment. The missing trout did not matter. Sean had officially become a fly fisherman, and he is already counting down the days until our next outing next week.