Let’s say I’m out fishing with Ron.  We’ve hiked a couple of miles into a stream where there’s a beautiful elbow-shaped pool.  He’s standing at the head of the pool and I’m at the tail, maybe 25 yards away.  After a few little whiles of inspecting the variety of insect life floating down stream, casting some, maybe rolling a rock or two, changing flies, casting to a rise, changing the drift, watching a rise form, changing flies, I think I’ve got it. There’s been a long elaborate calculation taking place and then...  I’ve often come up with the wrong answer. 

Twenty five yards away, Ron has got the right answer and catches a fish. I watch what he’s up to a little closer, but I don’t yell, “Hey how about a little help down here!”  I keep trying to figure it out for myself.  Ron might catch another fish.  I tie on a new fly and float it over a rising fish.  Not once or twice, but five times.  Ron glances my way from his drift with a smug little grin. 

My fish envy is only slightly lessened when he misses a fish he clearly should have had because he was busy gloating.  He gives it another chance and sure enough he hooks up on the second try. I watch him net the fish, remove the hook, and set the fish on its merry way.  After the fourth fish, I’ve had enough, “Okay, okay, what have you got on?” He’s coy for a moment, but then he tells me what it is that these fish are dying for.  But, do you see?  It took me a while to hit the help button.  You can’t give up too easily, but then again you’re ready to catch a fish. Figuring it out is only part of the fun.

As I said at the beginning fishing and help have a funny relationship. 

Let me set up another scenario.  Ron and I are in a canoe on a small pond.  There’s one other canoe on that pond.  They’re catching fish and we’re not.  From a distance we can get the big picture.  We can see they’re not fishing streamers or nymphs. That’s some kind of floating fly.  But we’re not going to paddle over to their canoe and say, “Hey there, you fabulous fishermen you, how about a little help here.  What fly is it that those trout love so much?” 

Fishermen are good guys and good guys are helpful, but that kind of direct approach would be stepping over the line into bad manners.  So we wait and maybe decide to take our lunch break when we see them paddle to shore.  That’s okay, perfectly acceptable behavior.  Maybe we’ll be able to strike up a friendly conversation or at least eye ball what they’ve got tied on the end of their fishing line if they leave their rods in the boat.  That’s cool.  

And sure enough as we’re eating our PB&Js with our new fishing friends one of them says straight out, “Buddy, if you ain’t fishin’ a doodlebug on this pond you ain’t fishin'.”  

“A doodlebug?  Really?  Damned if I've got a single doodlebug in my whole box.  Have you got a doodlebug, Ron?”

“No worries,” our new pal says.  “Here, take a couple. Those brookies will wear them out. I got more if you need them, just holler.” 

Like I said, the fisherman is a friendly, helpful guy, and loves to be the one who knows how to catch the fish. 

It’s not always the other guy catching the fish and me scratching my head.  Every once in a while it’s my turn and I’ll have it figured out.  I’ll have  the pleasure of sitting in the catbird seat  just waiting for someone to ask my sage advice.

All this is my way of asking you for a little help.  Here’s what I need your help with.  I’m not asking directions to your secret honey hole or anything like that, but I do want some suggestions.  

My sister’s daughter, Christine, is getting married in California at the end of May.  My wife, Susie, and I are taking a long cross-country drive to the wedding near Santa Barbara.  We’ll wander around and see a lot of country on our way west.   But then... and here comes the good part... my wife has decided to fly back home and suggests that I fish my way back to Maine.  Fish my way back.  California? Yes. Oregon?  Yes. Washington? Idaho?  Wyoming?  Montana?  Colorado?  Yes, yes, yes.  Anyplace I want to stop and try to catch a fish between California and Maine is OK.  But I need help with where to go.  Sure, I can read about places, but where would YOU go if your wife told you to fish your way home?  Is there a place you’ve dreamed about?  A wonderful river you’ve fished in the past?  Read about?  Write me here and help me put together a little fishing road trip.  I’ll be sure to tell you how I’ve done when I get there.

What do you say?  Help a fisherman out?  I’ll even make it a trade.  Here’s a tip, “Don’t leave home without a few doodlebugs.”

Rick Cronin fishes in Maine and reports on why the big ones got away.

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