Unpaid Bills by John C. Street

I wish I could remember the actual wording, or even the author for that matter, of the very sage advise given to those of us who make a living by fishing and then writing about it.  The gist of it was that since we write about fishing, we must know more than the people who read our material. 

The truth of the matter, as this wise man revealed, is that what we probably know a little bit more about is how to get some words down on paper, not necessarily how to catch more or bigger fish.   In light of the soul rending confession that I am about to make, however, you may wish to draw your own conclusions.  Advice, as they say, is cheap

To save my otherwise questionable reputation, I have developed a few techniques that help promote the myth that I am an accomplished fly fisherman without me actually having to prove it.  For instance, when someone asks me how the fishing has been, I don’t blurt out that I caught fourteen trout and all of them over that many inches in length.  I simply say in my most nonchalant manner, “oh, I’ve got a few.”  After you do this for awhile, especially in print, people begin to assume that you are not only a good fisherman but you are modest about your abilities as well.  This technique can occasionally backfire, however, in ways you could never imagine.

Being perceived as accomplished and modest leads to invitations and that means, sooner or later, proving your stuff in front of an audience.  And these invitations don’t come, for understandable reasons, when the fish are falling all over themselves to get caught, they come when the fishing has been difficult and an “expert” is needed to sort things out.

It was precisely this type of a predicament that I found myself in just the other day.  After several months of putting off a couple of guys - coincidentally, both named Bill - who’d been reading my stories, I’d used up all the excuses that were even vaguely plausible and was committed to a day of fishing with them.  Naturally, the stream they chose for the occasion had a population of enormous trout but also a reputation for being stingy about giving them up.

It was obvious right from the beginning that they needed a knowledgeable person like me to help them out.  I just wanted to be sure not to be overbearing about it, you know, leave them a little space so they could say they had figured it out on their own.

So, even though I knew it would be tough to pull off with three people, I figured that I could accomplish it by using one of the oldest tricks in the “expert’s” book; disappearing up stream or down, depending on the direction they took, so they wouldn’t be self conscious about their fishing skills.  I’d catch up with them right at dark and listen intently to their fishing stories and respond, “yup, got a few,” when they asked about my day.  Little did I know, however, that they intended to start fishing just below a long stretch of “protected,” nursery water.

When it became apparent the disappearing act wasn’t going to work and I’d done all the “expertly” things - like cinching up my waders just right, alphabetically sorting the contents of my fly boxes, cleaning all my lines and tying several new tapered leaders - that should have encouraged them to go ahead and start fishing without me, but didn’t, there was nothing else to do but mosey on down to the stream with them. 

This new venue offered unlimited possibilities for “expertizing.”  I began by turning over rocks to study the aquatic food base.  When I finished this necessary chore - actually, when I ran out of easily turned over rocks - I pulled out my thermometer and went to great pains to get an accurate temperature reading on several different sections of the stream. 

My acquaintances, however, again stood patiently and politely waiting at the edge of one of the prettiest runs on the entire stream.  Despite their noticeable desire to start fishing, it was painfully obvious they just weren’t going to risk upsetting the “expert” by starting without him.  

So, when one of them finally blurted out, “are we going to fish or are you going to catch bait,” I should have had an inkling of the type of people I was with.  Unfortunately, as you are about to learn, I didn’t heed the warning.

So we spaced ourselves out on that deep run, Bill at the top, the other Bill in the middle stretch and me at the bottom where I stood thigh deep in the water fiddling  with my tobacco pouch, lighter and pipe, hoping to appear “expertly” thoughtful. Somehow, in my preoccupation, I must have allowed my line to drift downstream untended because just as I was about to set fire to the fresh bowl of tobacco, a fish - probably angry with having my nymph dangling in its face for so long - chose that moment to strike.   

Seeing them both preoccupied with their own fishing, I leaned back on the rod a bit which caused the line to ratchet out of the reel in audible tones that quickly gained their attention.  It couldn’t hurt, I reasoned, to let them know the resident “expert” was on the job. 

Putting as much pressure on the little fish as I possible could without getting it skipping across the top of the water, I accepted their cat calls of “game hog” and “who invited the expert” before discreetly turning slightly downstream to unhook the little brown.  “How big was it?” one of the Bills hollered.  “Oh, man,” I answered, “didn’t you see it?”   Like I said, these guys needed to have confidence that their “expert” was present and accounted for.

Now before I tell you about the rest of the day, you should know that - being a writer and all - I generally have a camera with me when I’m fishing.  I say generally, not always, because there have been occasions when I would have paid dearly to have had a camera and didn’t.  Anyway, and this is the only relevant fact that you will need to remember in light of what I’m about to tell you, I was the only one carrying a camera that day.

I’ll admit that I scratched into that first fish and might have encouraged them to think it was a bit bigger than it really was.  Even “experts” have to be creative in promoting their reputations.  But when it became apparent that they just weren’t going to catch anything, I began handing one or the other of them my rod when I got a decent fish on so that I could get some photographs of the “the ones that didn’t get away.” 

Given all the “expert” assistance I provided, I really thought they’d appreciate having copies of the photographs so I called the taller of the two Bills at his office the other day to see what address he wanted me to use.  After some general chit-chat about what a great day of fishing it had been, he told me that he would love to have some pictures of the fish he’d caught. 

“The fish you caught?” I asked incredulously.  “Why, yes,” he shot back, “the fish I caught.  There aren’t any pictures of you holding a fish are there?” 

I was too stunned to respond.  “Of course,” he continued, “Bill and I would be happy to sell you our ………