Inside Competition Angling

a winning attitude

This may be the first written attempt to outline how to compete with another angler in a skiff for a one day Fly Fishing Club tournament. (It is imperative that you fish from your boat, or you’ll lose control immediately, and may as well quit fishing and eat your lunch.) 

If, at any time as you read the following, Gentle Reader, you say to yourself, “Oh, that’s awful!  I could never do that!”, ask yourself if it’s ever been done to you. 
Having fished from Alaska to the Bahamas with very competitive anglers, I assure you that as I type this, some sad fisherman is getting a brutal lesson from an expert, a winner. 

Every angler, whether fishing with a hand-line from the banks of the Omo or with a 3 wt. boron fly rod from Bob Clouser’s Towee skiff, wants to catch a bigger fish than the other guy.  If you win the Tournament, will you save the little tin trophy and display it in your home or office?  Will you smile at the applause at the next club meeting when your winning is announced?  I thought so.  If you say you don’t compete when you fish I have a word for you:  Liar.  

If your guest wins, you can always trot out the old, “I put him on some nice fish,” implying that only by your own self sacrifice, years of experience and patience, did you allow your guest to catch anything at all, but it’s an ancient, weak excuse.  Twenty years later he will claw his way through a crowded party to retell, with vivid embellishments, the details of the day, how you did your best, BUT...

Here’s a hypothetical situation for a day’s fishing that will serve to illustrate winning techniques during an important tournament.  The “guest” could be anyone. Keep in mind that the techniques discussed are worth considering anytime you’re fishing: 

Usually you’d fish with a pal of yours, but for this one day Fly Club event in salt water you were assigned a new member as your guest, an angler who’s just moved to Florida from the midwest.  You met him once at a club meeting and figured him for a semi-asshole.  You listened to his walleye stories.  You responded that you prefer fish that put up some resistance, and suggested that “If you enjoy eating walleye you might take the Little Woman for the Tilapia Special at Red Lobster.” (See the aggressive tone developing quickly?  He’s already not sure he wants to fish with you.  Nice!)

You quickly figured out that he’s not an experienced fly fisherman.  Like golfers will sometimes demonstrate their grip and takeaway, he held up his casting arm and demonstrated in miniature his casting stroke, which included lots of wrist movement and a rocking horse motion with his arm.  “Cannot cast,” you said to yourself.  “Gonna be a long day.”

He’s a walking Mr. Orvis, with Ex-Officio pants that zip in two parts, the latest Patagonia fishing shirt, Simms sandals, a Rolex Goldie and a fancy hat from a lodge in Colorado, and one of those neck protector/face shield/ collar things.  He said that he’s working on his cast and looks forward to fishing with you.  Me, too, you said.  Game on!

(He doesn’t know it, but he’s entirely vulnerable with all that high-priced clothing.  A really keen competitor can level the field immediately by stripping off his cutoffs during the day to fish wearing a red door-knocker, thong bathing suit, saying something like, “Those shorts are way too hot.”  Worn under a ratty T-shirt by a hairy, heavy man, it’s almost guaranteed to put even the most experienced fisherman off his feed, particularly if other anglers pass by occasionally.)

The match begins the night before. Have him meet you at the front of your home in the wee hours, where your boat’s on its trailer in the alley behind your house. 

Have the house dark, and don’t answer his knock right away.  He won’t know that you’ve been up for an hour.  Does he have the right house?  Should he ring the bell, wake up your wife?  He’ll check the address again and try to call you on your cell phone.  Don’t answer.  Peek out the window.  Wait until just before he appears to be leaving, then calmly open the door and call to him.  

Do not apologize or appear concerned about the delay.  Attitude is key, cordial but distant.  Attempting to keep your opponent on edge, slightly unsure of himself and irritated, is an important part of winning.  Think tennis match, John McEnroe, or Tiger on the fairway.  The match during the match.

He’ll have to schlep all his gear through your house.  Do not rush to help him.  Even if no one else is home it’s a good idea to put your index finger to your lips to indicate, ssshh as you disappear to your den, leaving him to find his way, pointing to the back door.  Or, a loud recording of a savage dog barking wildly and scratching at a door can be played from another room to create a different mood.  He’ll get it done in a couple of trips, most likely, while you read the morning paper and catch the ball scores on TV.  

It will occur to him that you might have driven the boat on the trailer around to the front of the house to help him load up.  That he already thinks you’re a jerk is fine, just fine.  Rushing him a bit is not a bad thing, as he may leave something behind, maybe a special fly box.  It’s early and he’ll be on good behavior despite his annoyance. 

Move slowly, taking your time.  He woke up three times during the night in anticipation of the trip, and is already a little worn down by the early hour.  He’s ready to roll and you’re thinking about another piece of toast.  Work it!  “Finally ready are you?” is a good line to employ as you fold your newspaper and take off your reading glasses.

As you put his rods away in the boat with the help of a small flash light, he’ll ask where your rods are.  “Oh, mine are in the truck,” you say.  Yours are safely in their tube cases, with their reels in a separate bag, in the back of your SUV.  You suggested last night that he bring two rods already strung, flies tied on, so they can be put in the boat for the trip to the ramp, “a few minutes away.”  Then, when you’re on the freeway doing seventy, a half hour from the ramp, look in the rearview mirror and say, “Oh, that scared me.  I thought I saw something fly out of the boat.  Worries me because that one rod holder has a loose gizmo to hold the top rod.  Oh, what the hell, everything will be alright.”  Timed with a rapid increase in acceleration to around eighty miles an hour as you consult your watch, this can cause considerable consternation.  

It’s a good time in the truck to comment on the weight of his rods and the flies he’s tied on as you suggested, saying something like, “maybe we won’t have wind today and you’ll be able to use that little five weight rod, but we’ll have to change that fly for you.”  You suggested that he bring a 5 wt. rod, remember? 

Naturally, the first thing he’ll do when you stop at the boat ramp is to check to see that his rods are still secure in the boat.  

Take your time at the ramp to show your guest how Lefty Kreh taught you to string the fly line through the guides by doubling it first, and how to tuck the line behind the reel so it’s easier to store without fouling the other rods. (Ask him to hold the light for you.)  A lecture tone is fine here.  Ol’ Lefty, your friend, on the trip to the Seychelles for Giant Trevally.

Whatever the fly he’s selected and tied on, it’s not quite right, not the right color or size, but he should be encouraged to try whatever he likes. This minor critique may lead him to change his flies compulsively during the day, which is time with his fly in the boat, not the water. You might apologize that you didn’t call last night to tell him to bring heavier tackle, but you did bring along a spare outfit in case he needs one. (It’s an old white Shakespeare fiberglass rod.)

Fly fishing is about confidence.  Work on his has begun.  He’ll be concerned about his rods and will defend his fly choices.  If you’re familiar with the brand of his fly rods you can mention that you “had one of those once”, offering no details on why you replaced it, but offering something like, “I’m glad it works for you, but I like a faster tip for this kind of fishing,” or, “my guide up at our Kodiak camp quit using ‘em.”  

You put on plenty of mosquito repellent before leaving the house, over a lavish coating of Surfer Sunscreen, so you’re calm and comfortable at the boat ramp, putting your rods together, rooting through your fly boxes, tying on flies while he waits, flies that are entirely different than his.  Show your largest, gaudiest flies as though you’re considering using one, maybe a fly your eight-year-old son tied on a treble hook.

You are sorry, after looking through your gear for your repellent for a few minutes, that you didn’t bring it.  At this point if he seems to be breathing mosquitos and he’s slapping and nearing panic, it’s good to say something like, “I’ve learned to take my time at this stage, to make sure the plug’s in the boat and I’ve got everything where it’s supposed to go.”  Loud, leisurely sipping coffee is good at this point.  Be calm and move slowly, enjoy the early morning sky.  Even if a mosquito gets through all your repellent and bites you on the tip of your nose, do not slap it, but steel yourself and smile, drawing his attention to it and your quiet amusement.  Brush it gently away like a Nature Channel naturalist.  I’ve had good luck humming a Rock tune out of key during this last-minute prep time.

Once daylight appears he’ll notice that you’re fishing in an old T-shirt and an ill-cut pair of jean cutoffs with one leg longer than the other, and a grease-spotted Yankees baseball hat.  He’s wearing all the latest gear, complete to fancy footwear, and you’re barefoot, seemingly proud of your gross, yellow big toe nail.  He should be thinking, “What have I done, coming out here with this redneck?”  If he doesn’t seem to notice the toe you might mention that you’re considering have a laser treatment, but that it didn’t work too well on your wife’s feet, so for the time being you’re just going barefoot whenever you can to ease the pain. He won’t be able to take his eyes off it all day.

He’ll also notice that your rods and reels and lines are completely different from his, although he brought the tackle you recommended.  His are a five and six weight, yours are an eight and a ten weight.  His are matching Winston rods with superb Abel reels with flawless drags.  

One of your rods appears to have sections from two different blanks, with a worn-looking Tibor reel.  He doesn’t know that the rod is a state-of-the-art boron/graphite blank custom designed for you, and that your old reliable Tibor has recently been touched up at the factory.  Your fly line’s the newest, fastest shooting on the market.  Your other rod is a piece of junk, but you don’t plan to use it anyway.

An experienced angler I fish with does fine work going the other way against a man with expensive gear, with a story about his $39.95 WalMart rod.  He says he waited until they had it on sale and got it for less than that.  “You don’t need anything fancy for this kind of fishing,” he’ll say, as he zings out a 90’ cast.  It always helps to be an expert caster.

Throughout the day you should ask questions about the prices of each of his fancy clothing items, whistling at their high cost and adding comments like, “My wife would shit if I spent that much money on a fly rod!”  You’re a poor, honest man who likes to fish when he can save up enough for boat gas.  Bringing the Little Woman in early is always good.  Her trials with dental work, her gastric bypass and painful tummy tuck can fill out quiet moments.  You don’t want to appear too crass, but when you do share, make it count.  If only you could afford it....A good statement might be, “I’ve seen those cravat things like you’re wearing in a store, but I’ve never actually seen anyone fish in one.  Reminds me of an old Liberace movie.” (Opening the door for the thong...)

There is no need to mention any glaring physical defects you may have--a hundred extra pounds of fat, for example-- but utilize them to maximum effect.  Sympathy from a naive competitor may make him ease up just a tad during the day, reaching to get a drink for you or untangling a hopelessly screwed up line while you get your other rod in play.  And while he’s moving the cooler or pulling the anchor, you’re getting in a few more casts, keeping your fly wet.

You can simply fake an injury, but professional soccer players have set the bar so very high that it’s hard to elicit sympathy in a small boat with nowhere to roll around, unless you actually slip and fall from a poling platform or bleed profusely.  After a few hours fishing competitively with you-- assuming you’re doing it right-- unless you have a bone showing through flesh, your guest may only gesture towards a fishy towel and continue casting.

Wearing a phony ostomy tube through a hole in your fishing shirt may sound extreme, but could you stand and fish in a specially built shoe with a 5” heel lift for a few minutes?  Winning anglers have done good work in this area.  A large bandage on the back of your neck also serves as sun protection, while implying skin cancer run amok. (If a competitor beats you to the bandage ploy, do not ask why he’s wearing it.  I once had a man answer, “Big ol’ hole.  They think it might be flesh eating bacteria.  Hope the bandage stays on.”  All day was like driving by a car wreck with EMTs unloading a stretcher.  I couldn’t not look!)  

It’s another aspect to include in your overall fishing plan.  Always good is a terrific grimace and mention of a blinding headache or a hip that’s killing you, or the over-used ploy on the skeet field, “I’m not sure I can keep it up, with my back the way it is.” (I fish with a tough competitor who can wade fly fishing for miles...away from the boat.  When it’s time to walk back he commences a sad tale of sleepless nights and “having to quit fishing if the pain keeps up,” that’s his cue for me to retrieve the boat and help him climb aboard... while he continues fishing.)

Go slow with the defects idea if you fish with older anglers, who can run out true stories that can bring tears to your eyes.  I fish with a man regularly who has cancer he reminds me about throughout the day-- his treatments, the “wonderful doctors at  the clinic,” an upcoming seminar he’s attending, etc. He once brought along and read from a hospice brochure. (I would be affected, but I know that he fishes daily, ties flies on into the night, keeps up with local guides’ reports, rides a bike in local events and yet cannot seem to reach the net in time to help me with a fish.)

Know that if you have to lift them from their wheel chair into the boat, you’ve lost these health innings outright.  If you are suspicious, smirk and ask if he hurt himself downtown falling off a Segway. (It’s tough, I know, but it’s a line that’s proven annoying.)  And keep in mind that anyone can pick up a used folding wheel chair at a garage sale.  If you acquire one, wear rubber gloves  and squirt it down with a strong disinfectant before use. 

Sometimes a northern angler, like the competing angler included in this account, will try to regain some sort of stature by mentioning his interest in fishing for “small brook trout with a 1 wt. rod out in Montana on brushy little streams.”  This direction is his only defense.  He’s hoping to be accepted as a sensitive fishing artist, an icthyologist/greener/nature lover/kale eater.  He’s fighting back.  You must go immediately on offense with this sort of BS.  Nail him with something like, “Yeah, well, that’s awful grim to have to fish for weensy ones like that.  They wouldn’t make big enough bait down here.”  It’s heavy-handed, but effective.

Some stories are tough to work against, like one I heard about a giant fly-caught tarpon in Nicaragua that leapt 22 times before the trusty guide, Manolo, gaffed it.  My pal, a leading story expert was nodding as we listened, then jumped in over the last few words with, “Yeah, well,” and switched smoothly to a sporting clays contest he’d won in Alabama, shooting “that little twenty-gauge ol’ Bill Huckins” left me when he died.  He said, “Reason I bring up ol’ Bill is that he was big on kayak fishing for tarpon with a fly rod.  Caught a 172 lb fish in Haulover Canal one night back in 1986...or maybe it was ’87.  Had to drag it up on the beach by himself.  Much a man, ol’ Bill.”  Then he let it lay to see if the tarpon man would rally, which he didn’t, but shook his head wearily and moved on down the bar.

Now, let’s head out on the boat for our one day tourney with what I call, Departure Technique, or how to leave the boat ramp. It’s imperative to own a skiff with a large engine for the boat’s size to get this right.  

1st,  put your guest in the bow seat.  You’re at the throttle, seated behind him.  As soon as you’ve idled past the last No Wake sign, demonstrate your boat’s hole shot. Really hit it!  Get ‘er up and running fast into the wind and a savage chop if there is one.  You want the guest holding on for dear life, clutching his hat, bracing himself, looking back over his shoulder to you, wide-eyed. If the water’s nice and rough, head upwind for long enough to sense real discomfort-- a few minutes at least-- then turn and proceed slowly towards the first fishing spot, offering no explanation. It’s a good time to point to a dolphin in the water or a sea bird diving nearby.  Everything’s fine!  

If the water is calm or you lack a fast engine, head out slowly in the wrong direction, then stop, make it appear that you’re momentarily confused, consult a chart, then turn and head the other way, smiling all the while.  His confidence in your guide services will plummet, and he’ll wish he was going spin fishing from a bridge.

When you arrive near where you want to fish, it will be time to set the casting tone for  the day.  The first cast is extremely important.  You will have stretched and greased your fly line overnight to remove line memory--those nasty tight coils-- spooling it at the last minute to make it shoot like lightning.  Be casual--chat if you like at this point-- as you strip just the right amount of line into the bottom of the boat for your first cast. You have marked your fly line with indelible marker to indicate the magic length to “load.”  When you’re sure the line is clear and the wind’s quartering behind you, let rip with the best cast you can generate.  Only one back cast is preferable.  Make it look good!  Put your cheeks into it, do the whole 100 feet if you’re capable of it, then reel the line in slowly and put your rod away as you suggest that he make a cast so you can better see how to position him for upcoming shots at cruising fish.  This will put pressure on him to perform. 

If you got off an outstanding cast you might not want to cast again until later, after he’s fumbled around and sorted out his line, and you’ve let him cast for a while in a non-productive fishing area.  Make understanding grunting noises.  Wait patiently while he’s rushing to show his best work.  “Too bads” are good when he’s having trouble getting the fly out of the boat’s shadow, casting the heavy Clouser Minnow you tied on for him.  

If he does prove to be a good caster, or, heaven forbid, a better caster than you are, it’s crucial as soon as you realize it to say something like, “You’re working too hard. We won’t make many long casts today.  We’ll fish in close to dropoffs and along shorelines, so there’s no need to get yourself sweaty putting out all that line.” (Casting is supposed to look effortless.  If he rocks the boat at all, make a show of nearly losing your balance.)

It’s going to be a long day for you if he’s really good.  You’ll want to make sure you don’t put him into position to reach fishing spots beyond your reach.  Get him in close and test his roll cast.  Naturally, you’ll wish out loud that you had gorgeous rods that cast like his, and a line to replace “this piece of junk line with the first 20 ft-- the entire head of the line-- missing.  Darn alligator got hold of it back in 1983 over at Lake Toho, when I was wading for bass with ol’ Sam.” You want him to marvel that you can cast it at all.  Don’t fall for it if he suggests that you try his rod “for a cast or two”, or your real abilities could be exposed.  

Positioning the boat for his casts is important if he’s not an expert, never quite giving him a quartering, downwind cast that might help him. (You know he secretly dunks corn niblets on a fly rod back home for small farm-raised trout. Now he’s faced with real fly fishing, and he won’t be having too much fun.)  Good here is simulating the motions of a fly fishing instructor--without your rod--so he can see you peripherally while he casts, as though you’re thinking of how best to impart your knowledge of the cast to him, hoping to solve the unusual riddle of his hopeless casting.

Let him cast before you reach a good fishing area, as he could luck into a fish while practicing.  Once you get to the right spot he’ll feel that he’s hogged the boat by making all those casts.  He’ll insist that you cast, giving you more room...where there might actually be a fish.

An hour is sometimes all it will take to slow him down, reducing him to what I call a “tackle search” for poise.  He’ll start rooting around in his gear, retying knots, looking through his flies, not casting at all, which is when you position the boat perfectly for you to cast to the best spot in the vicinity--the edge of a sand bar with a drop-off for example-- the place that usually holds the fish.  

If things go well for you and you hook a sizable fish, talk him through the entire netting process, from finding it in the boat to untangling and holding it by the handle down in the water for your fish, and letting you bring the fish to the net, rather than lunging at the fish, risking a break-off.  This can be a good lesson for him, which he will resent, naturally, having netted scores of walleyes.  This pattern is good all through the day.  His fumbling, stunted casts followed by long casts from you, and a repeated verbal netting lesson.  Good stuff!

It’s imperative that you operate the trolling motor if you’re fishing around “structure”-- docks, rocks and the edges of drop offs and shorelines.  Then it’s a simple matter to position your guest so that his casts must be longer than yours from the bow, while he’s in the stern.  You fish the best spots, leaving him to fish where you’ve already presented your fly, to what’s called, “second water.”  Sometimes due to tide and wind conditions, it is possible to operate the trolling motor so that the boat is at right angles to the structure you are casting to, with the bow pointing at the target, leaving the man in the stern only impossibly long casts.

There are times when you’ll want to make a fuss about making sure he gets his share of good “shots”.  One of those times is immediately after your cast has scared every fish within 100 feet, and you’ve seen them racing away.  Then you swing the boat to favor the other guy, who couldn’t see the fish in the first place from the stern of the boat.  You can tell when you’re doing this right, because he will complain and begin casting into open water, possibly turning to cast behind you, which will cause snafus when you catch his line on your backcast. (After a while even a beginner catches on.) It’s an on-again, off-again thing that can be pushed too far, but the skillful operator will remain in complete control, allowing the other angler good shots only at crappy locations.  In a bad location, or at the end of the good area you’ve been fishing, set the boat so only he has the first shots, until he’s satisfied you’re being fair. (There are artists at this one ploy, called assholes, but they catch more fish routinely.)

Net fumbling, being late with the net for his big fish if he lucks into one, and poking at the fish with the net, are crude but effective techniques employed the world over by winning fishermen.  It’s always good to continue casting while he fights his fish, appearing not to be impressed that he’s got the biggest fish he’s ever hooked on his line.  Making supportive noises while looking the other way is always good.  The goal is for him to get desperate, wondering if you will ever put down your rod and help him.  If he starts pleading for to get the net you have timed it right.  If it’s a really big fish, go ahead and say, “Nice fish,” but say it in a matter-of-fact tone as you net and fish and drop it in the boat for him to deal with as you return to casting.  What, take a picture of it?  Now?  It’s just a dying fish, right?

In a pinch, if he’s caught more than you have, a net can slip out of your hand, but it must be done somewhat subtly unless you are substantially larger and younger than your opponent, and have experience in an octagonal fighting ring.

If he inquires about a good knot, let me recommend the Clinch knot, which will work fine unless there is any sort of continuous strain, like from a big fish.  Not the Double Clinch Knot, which will hold.  Crude, using the Clinch knot, and maybe simply wrong-headed and immoral, but effective if the fish you’re after actually have any heft to ‘em and take out line.  The Clinch knot sets up the disastrous curly-cue on the end of the line after the fish gets away.  It’s popular with stream anglers and Walleye fishermen, not Florida saltwater fly fishermen. (The youthful owner of Ft. Collins’ main fly shop showed me his favorite knot one day, the simple Clinch Knot.  It told me all I needed to know about the size of the fish he catches.)

When you spoke to him the night before, you discussed food and drink for the day, and recommended that he bring whatever suits him, adding that you’re usually a “pack of crackers kind of guy,” thereby suggesting that he do the same and not bring much to eat...”a can of Vienna Sausage, maybe,” you said.  You’ll have ice in the cooler if he wants to bring a soda.  Simple, right?

Then, later when you’re feeling lunchy, position the boat in a non fishing area and bring out your personal spread...the lobster roll, leftover roast beef from last night’s tenderloin, with béarnaise sauce.  Maybe a thermos of hot soup.  Half a crusty sour dough loaf.  A half-bottle of Pouille Fuise can be good out on the boat, so bring it for show, even if you don’t plan to drink it.  Only imported premium beers for you, right? Or, bottled Evian.  He’s eating junk hurriedly out of a can, casting away and you’re taking your time with 1st class goodies.  Wait until you’re almost through eating, putting things away, to say something like, “Sorry I didn’t bring extra, but I figured you’d have what you like.”, 

You are not required to provide a rain jacket for a competitor.  Plenty of fish have been caught in a driving downpour.  You might keep a slightly torn cheapo plastic poncho on board for a guest, which is slightly better than nothing, and serves handily as a casting preventer by flapping wildly in a slight breeze.  This and other emergency items should be offered generously to the guest, if he can locate them in the boat while you fish.  A general rule is to allow suffering, then “remember” the needed item.  Better is to remember having one, then not be able to locate it.  

At the end of the day, be extra vigilant until his rod is safely put away.  Rank beginners have caught winning fish on the last cast of the day.  Make a few extra casts yourself, then head for the boat ramp.  

Now’s the time to relax and compliment your competitor, to let him know you enjoyed his company.  He may appear to be worn out, maybe even sullen.  As they say in the automobile sales game, it’s now time to “pee on his leg,” to do whatever it takes to warm him up.