Al Kyte's Life Take-Aways

 

The sport is called fishing, not catching, but one day I was catching more than fishing.  This was Alaska before hordes of anglers were streaming to the most remote rivers there.  That day there were only six of us on our favorite river, and the salmon were everywhere.  I hooked over 100 fish, landed two-thirds of them, and had fish on my line most of the time.  Since that day, counting fish has meant little to me and valuing each fish has meant much more.                                                                                                      

Although catching many fish generally makes for a good day, catching unusually large fish often requires more skill.  One of my favorite ‘big fish’ days occurred while casting into the surf at Christmas Island, south of the Hawaiians, in ocean water so clear you could see fish below the wave action.  As we walked along the shore, we caught a variety of fish, mostly bonefish.  Then my guide pointed to deeper water where a large fish, a trevally of about 70 pounds, glistened a brilliant blue in the sun as it cruised along slowly beyond casting range.  I switched to my other, much stiffer fly rod onto which I had already tied a 4-inch-long streamer fly.  I made a few practice casts to get line out and retrieved it into several coils in my hand.  With my line ready, I continued along the shoreline 10 to 20 feet ahead of that big fish.  I was remembering another time watching a trevally suddenly speed up in a dash toward shore to catch a small fish. I was hoping this trevally would do just that—and before long it did

I placed a cast in front of that approaching fish, and when it was only about 40 feet from me, made my fly dart once.  In a flash that huge fish had it, was hooked, and bolted for deeper water.  I tightened up my reel’s drag as much as I dared, but nothing slowed that fish.  I moved high on the beach, and my guide went into the water with my line held high in joint efforts to keep it from breaking on the coral.   I had 300 yards of backing line on that reel, but when that fish stopped moving only a few feet remained.  I worked hard for the next few minutes but only gained back a few more feet before the fish succeeded in breaking me off.  I think the only way I could have landed that fish would have been to be able to follow it in a boat.  By breaking me off, it saved me several hours of hard work.  All I really lost was a photo that would have meant little to anyone but me.  I gained far more—a vivid memory of a well placed cast, an eye-filling view of an enormous fish attacking my fly, and the feel of its immense power.

Some best fishing days were about sharing the experience with special people—fishing buddies, family members, even a few famous guides and fishing personalities with whom to share ideas.  If given the opportunity to relive one fishing day, it would be a day back in the 1950s with my dad and uncle, men who I loved being around and tried to model myself after.   

One of my best fishing days was with our daughter, Tami, whom I had taught to cast and catch trout in small Sierra streams.  She wanted to catch a bigger fish in Yellowstone Park but, once there, kept busy in other activities.  Before leaving, we made a last stop at Grant’s Village.  I quickly glanced at the indoor exhibits and went out the back door and down to a boardwalk I remembered that extended a ways into Yellowstone Lake.  There I discovered some trout cruising within casting range, sipping mayflies off the surface.  I grabbed my vest and fly rod out of the car, tied on a fly that matched the one the fish were taking, and quickly caught one.  Then I hurried back into the building, found Tami, and told her to come catch her big trout.  “Tami, you don’t have to put on waders or anything, just come.”  

She was wearing a stylish outfit—not something to wear fishing.  On that boardwalk I handed her my fly rod and started spotting fish for her.   With polarized sunglasses, I could see the trouts’ movements and direct her casts.  Tami caught and deftly released several of the largest Yellowstone Cutthroat trout I had seen.  My pleasure included watching the reactions of passers-by seeing an attractive, well-dressed young girl battling those big fish.

I love calling up such moments from the memory playlist in my mind.