Wednesday, June 17

Gauche. As a French idiom, it means awkward, clumsy, crude, lacking refinement or grace. Literally, it means "left," as in left-handed.

The idiom-makers were probably thinking of me casting a fly rod with my left hand.

Ambition vs. Skill

For some time it's been an ambition of mine to be able to cast a fly rod with my left hand. Heck, it's been an ambition to cast better with my right hand!

A Mrs. Fuzzy fish. Caught with her right hand.

However, left-handed casting remained an ambition, and never developed into a skill. But the last two days I've made great progress. There's no incentive like the threat of imminent death and dismemberment.

Incentive

It's been windy the last two days. Yesterday I was always fishing places where the wind was off my right side while I cast heavy flies with a sinktip line. After getting bonked on the head a few times by weighted six-inch streamers, and watching size 1/0 hooks whoosh past my eyeballs, I decided to switch to the left hand.

At first, it felt very awkward, clumsy, crude, and lacking grace. Gauche. So I'd switch back to the right hand. Bonk. Whoosh. No, I'll stick with the left; no matter how clumsy I feel, it's either that or don't fish.

Today was even windier than yesterday--too windy to fly, even--so we stayed on the Copper River, traveling via small jet sleds. Our guide, Devyn Powell, took Mrs. Fuzzy and I upriver beyond the heaviest fishing pressure. He sized us up, made some sort of character judgment, and put Barb on nice, delicate, ladylike water where she could be killer with a eeePrince on a five-weight. The wind was always on her left shoulder. Always.

Me he put on big deep gnarly slots, tied on a three-foot, two-pound fly at the end of a Teeny 200 line on a seven-weight. And the runs always--I mean always--put the wind off my right shoulder. What'd I ever do to him? Had he heard I was a meager tipper or something?

It was go gauche or risk injury, switch or die.

An Uncle Fuzzy fish. Caught with my left hand.

So I switched and spent most of the day casting with my left hand. Not some of the day. Most. By late afternoon I'd actually gotten fairly good at it. I got into a groove and found my rhythm. It began to feel close to natural. By the end of the day I'd taken the majority of my trout with my left hand.

I'm feeling pretty smug. And not as gauche as I did this morning.

See below for an audio piece about the De Havilland Beaver.

Should have been born as a SouthPaw when you were expected to write, eat, and cast with your right hand. Because of that, I cast with either hand.

By the way; rumor has it, the Good Lord created everyone Left Handed - then people commit their first sin! Oh, well!

Scott, I am really enjoying your posts from the Last Frontier. Please keep 'em coming.

Oh yeah, and Way to go Mrs. Fuzzy!!!! That girl can fish!

Tim

It's good to be a lefty.We have our own day:)

Still jelious.

Keep the reports commin.


Sean

I have been enjoying the heck out of your AK report series, thank you for the entertainment. I'm blessed as a lefty, myself. My right hand casts make me look like I'm epileptic and on Meth. I'm inspired to fail my way to success!