Judging from the title, one might suspect I've come up with a new novel or indie film. While just as likely, I'm actually referring to my brief stint with tenkara (a form of Japanese fly-fishing) that most likely has concluded this September day. It started off earlier in the day when I escaped the confines of my parent's house in Sudbury to go fishing at Puffer Pond in Assabet River National Wildlife Refuge. I have been a life long fisherman, but in recent years have slacked off because of either my own laziness or having a social life that distracts me from the need to taunt the underwater denizens with hook and line. I'm not in anyway implying that fisherman, especially fly-fisherman have no social life, but one does have to realize that once hopelessly addicted to something you cannot adequately explain to the unbaptized members of society, why you find the sport so damn interesting. I went a step further by pursuing a sport very few had even heard of, save for a few Pacific Coast stream fisherman who'd become enamored with combining the simplicity of cane poling with the grace and patience of fly-casting
For all intents and purposes, tenkara pursues the same goal all fly-fisherman have of catching a fish using a lure that best imitates the food a fish is used to seeing in their environment, in the most delicate and natural way possible. The difference with tenkara is that in order to make it even simpler they took away the reel and attach the line to the tip of the rod. They also use mono line as opposed to the white and green fly lines most modern fly casters are used to having in their arsenals. This makes the fly lighter and less "artificial" looking as it slowly sinks to the bottom of where ever one is fishing from. In fact, that's what they generally recommend doing as the main way of fishing. This is done by using a fly that can best be described as a plain hook with a single ruff of hackle feathers that's bobbed gently up and down in the stream or pond to entice a bite. The flies I'm used to using were clearly designed either to be floated (dries), sunk (wets), or streaked through the water like grease lightening (streamer flies) in the vain hope that one of the more sporty and "manlier" game fish would partake. The overall impression this has left me with is that, while a unique contribution and spin on the typical view of "what fly-fishing is", it is quite annoying to have only the one casting style and lure to your availability. The diversity within fly-fishing itself leaves much to be enjoyed, but by trying to simplify something that I feel is best left complicated, you in turn make it more complicated than it needs to be. But enough of the technical aspects, we must return to the story.
As I got to the pond, I extended the pole, attached the line to the end and launched the fly on the end into the air in a series of pirouettes above my head. Back and forth, back and forth. The fly went back and came forward several times hitting the water, surely causing alarm to whatever lay below in the weedy depths of the pond. I wasn't getting into the rhythm, so I slowed down in my casting. It was at this point that the wind decided to blow onshore which all but ensured a failure to cast it (the fly) appropriately onto the water. I tried for several more minutes to cast but either the fly wouldn't cast far enough or the wind would cause the worst sort of tangle: the mid-air line collision tangle. The mid-air line collision tangle is caused when the wind pushes back on the line upon the back cast causing the line to collide with the line nearer to the end of the pole. This then causes the worst part of the tangle to form whereby the fly decides it wants to play too and knots itself around both lines. The resulting tangle leaves the user irate and abusive to the wind obliging line that you had so causally tossed into the wind in the most strained of hopes wouldn't do what you were currently struggling with.
This by far was bad, but the day of tenkara doom wasn't finished with me yet. I decided to try another spot and hopped into the car for the 15 minute journey from ARNWR to Heard's Conservation Land. Along this beautiful spot mainly used by dog-walkers and birders, the Sudbury River sidles lazily around a wooded bend making perfect fishing for panfish such as Brown Bullheads (Ameiurus nebulosis), Bluegills (Lepomis macrochirus), and Yellow Perch (Perca flavascens), as well as some of the larger Largemouth Bass (Micropterus salmoides) and White Suckers (Catostomus commersonii) I'd seen in the river. I walked down the bank, took out my tackle and started waving the rod in the same back and forth manner as before. In my haste to catch the easiest fish in the world however, I failed to realize that my casting backdrop was a Silver Maple tree (Acer saccharinum)and cattail reeds (Typha spp.) and subsequently caught not the panfish I was seeking, but instead the leaves and branches of the aforementioned maple.
After two more tangles and nearly uprooting the entire marsh of leaves and reeds, I safely concluded that it wasn't working. While I'm sad it hasn't worked out, I'm still a fisherman. I can still go bait, spin, and fly fishing (I might even give surf fishing a try one day), but my time with this venture is over. What I won't say is that tenkara isn't worth trying. It certainly is. If you're into fly-fishing and want to simplify your efforts by doing the same activity with a whippy cane pole that's more prone to wind than an errant feather and requires the delicate touch that I cannot muster even if I wanted to, be my guest. The next time I cast a line, it'll have a worm on it.
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