Pigs will fly by the time I become a world renowned fly fishing champion, so for now I am content as a beginner, and have learned that fly fishing is so much fun!! My name is Jackie and I would like to share some of my story.

I am sure my experiences are similar, and different too from all the other greenhorn fly fishers, men and women. Is Greenhorn a fly?... Ah not sure. You may wonder why I titled this short story about fly fishing versus skinny dipping. The latter is the one true activity I have enjoyed in the water, not much of a jet skier, sailor, swimmer, but love to skinny dip when the setting is right.

My best friend and only person in the world who knows most of my secrets is Katherine and she gave me a gift ... my first fly rod (that is a rod, not a pole as I continually called the thing, knowing that very soon I will be hit in the head with it if I continue to call it a pole). So with the great house warming gift came some lessons.

In my backyard, and also on the floor of my kitchen, is the great desert of Central Oregon. After Kath gave me a few flycasting lessons I practiced frequently in my yard and was amazed at the items I was able to catch. The small prizes were twigs, grass, and a dead bird. I advanced confidently to the other larger inanimate objects such as tumbleweed and finally the elusive juniper tree. I saw coyotes hightailing away during my morning sessions, surely they had heard of me and my dangerous hook. Undoubtedly I knew this training would lead me to seek water and fish, and leave the jackrabbits, rattlesnakes, house dogs, and poor horses alone.

The river awaits me, that is the place that holds the fish.....and I believed that those fish had a deep desire to put my fly in their mouth. My thought was that if as a child I could hook a catfish in the tail and slap it expertly on my sister’s face, then certainly the local fish would be an easy match.

On the first trip to Prineville Reservoir below McNary Dam, Katherine and I found a great campsite bordering the Crooked River. While Katherine went off to ultimately land a number of fish, I proceeded to cast and re-cast into that river. I think it was just the thrill of the cast, the movement of the water, and rocky cliff views with the afternoon shadow and filtered sun that made me understand why fly fishers stay in that stance for hours. Sometimes you see those sports people as statues just waiting, maybe just mesmerized by the sights and sounds. I didn't catch a fish that day.

Over the next year I periodically would practice in my living room with a great little Rajeff Sports practice rod or in the backyard with my rod and then travel to the Crooked along with the dogs for company. I was in heaven after work at the river bank with my fishing rod, the dogs, no hassles, no headaches, and no customer service required. No fish either.

Really I didn’t care if I caught a fish as I knew my cast was perfect, snapped across the water and then tipped into the exact spot I chose. I practiced my roll cast, tried to remember the fly knots... do I use a surgeon knot now? It was amazing then that with all of my good casts, and the time I spent changing lines and flies, untangling lines, pulling hooks out of my vest, the tree, the snags, and then trying to negotiate sometimes even verbally with the rocks to release my fly, I didn’t catch a fish. Although I had no clue what the heck the fly was I was using, I knew it was small and cute, most of the time brown. I also knew that if I was a fish I would want to eat that brown thing, and apparently the rocks and snags felt the same way.

Fisherman would walk by me as I was changing flies and clearly they were looking at my gear and I knew they were measuring my expertise by eyeballing my fly and rod. I didn’t care; I just shook my hair, tipped my cap, smiled, and asked how their day had been. Most replied that it had been a good day to fish, but I sure didn’t see fish on any of them so I knew I was in good company. I didn’t feel bad I had never caught a fish, no one catches any fish!

Then on my birthday in August of this year I was invited to Hosmer Lake for an afternoon fishing trip. After Tim and Katherine trained my Blackmouth Cur pup to get into a canoe, off we went. We took only one 5 wt. Echo Trip rod to the lake and I told Tim I hoped he was bringing a rubber fish in his bag because that’s all I would catch. He just smiled.

Never in my life have I seen so many fish in a lake, just hanging around in the clear water, as though you are actually looking into an aquarium but on top of it. The lake along with the views of the mountains, Mt. Bachelor, South Sister, and Broken Top, and the wonderful company was just enough to make my day perfect. But soon it would be the ultimate day.

Numerous fish were clearly interested in my two flies and almost seemed to be following our canoe. There was no way I could leave that lake without catching something and certainly this was no time to be skinny dipping. Then, in a special spot on the lake a serious tug became a battle with a local resident. He won that battle and disappeared into the reeds. My line then became tangled and after I repaired that I wanted to call it a day as we had a deadline to meet. But Tim wanted to try one more cast.

There it was... at last it was my day to shine. An Atlantic Salmon grabbed my fly, I tipped it up, and the hook was set... and I was sure it was a whale! Actually it was about 6 inches, a colorful little fella but he bent and pulled my line and gave it a good fight. I was happy as this was my very first fish that I had caught on a fly rod with my friends and on my birthday. There could not have been a better birthday present!

So to all of the beginners here is a little advice as you begin your fly fishing adventure. Remember to be patient and practice, make the time to fish, and listen to the experts. It may just be more fun than skinny dipping!!