The Mad River Beckons Me

I have always been interested in fishing, but for various reasons, I haven’t fished much. My father isn’t a fisherman. Neither is my mother. I have always played in baseball and basketball leagues and run track and cross country. My only experiences on the water have been occasional canoe trips on the Scioto River and Big Darby Creek and a sailboat cruise on a Boy Scout trip in the Florida Keys. So I thought I would try fly fishing.

Another experience that sparked my interest in fly fishing was reading the novella, A River Runs Through It, by Norman Maclean. It is the autobiographical story of a Presbyterian minister who teaches his two sons, Norman and Paul, all about fly fishing, and how the disciples of Jesus Christ were fisherman. Norman explains: “In our family, there was no clear line between religion and fly fishing . . . He told us about Christ’s disciples being fishermen, and we were left to assume, as my brother and I did, that all first-class fishermen on the Sea of Galilee were fly fishermen and that John, the favorite, was a dry-fly fisherman” (Maclean, 1). To the Maclean boys living along the Big Blackfoot River in western Montana in the early 1900s, fly fishing was a passion.

I had never fly fished before and I wanted to connect with nature the way Norman and Paul Maclean did. My father introduced me to his friend, Tom Allen, who recently retired from Ohio EPA, where he managed the state’s groundwater protection program. Mr. Allen is an experienced fly fisherman and is also the President of the Mad River Chapter of Trout Unlimited. The volunteers of this organization have worked diligently to restore and improve trout habitat on the Mad River. Their activities include removing log jams, and conducting macro invertebrate sampling and stream monitoring. By adding boulders to recreate the bends in the river, fly fishermen are helping to enhance the environment needed to support life in the river.

Mother Nature also plays a prominent role in the Mad River fishery. “Trout need a cool water temperature to live and thrive. The Mad River’s water temperature rarely gets above 68 degrees” (Plasters, 1). According to the U.S. Geological Survey, approximately 60 to 80 percent of the base flow in the Mad River consists of ground water from the Mad River Buried Valley Aquifer (Sheets and Yost, 138). Cold water fish such as trout thrive in streams with colder temperatures. For this reason, the Mad River is an exceptional trout stream. And Mr. Allen told my father that he would be glad to teach me how to fly fish.
On October 10th, Mr. Allen took me to a farm in Urbana where he had been working with the farmer to restore the natural flow of the Mad River as an Ohio EPA habitat restoration project. Mr. Allen helped me suit up into his son’s waders and boots; they would help me keep dry and keep my balance in the river.

As I waded into the Mad River, I felt the coolness of the river settle around me as the water level slowly rose up my legs. My boots kept my feet warm against the cold current as I moved still deeper along the rocky-river-bottom. As I moved sluggishly down the river, I found a current where the trout flung their colorful brown bodies in the air after their prey. After two hours of working down the river, this was a relief to finally see some fish. On my next cast, my line caught in a low hanging branch. Although it was a struggle to untangle my line, this wasn’t my only challenge on the river that day.

All afternoon, leaves from the swaying, overhanging trees fell on the water. This was bad for fishing. The leaves would catch on my line and would spook the fish like ghosts do to little children on Halloween. Mr. Allen called the leaves that got caught on our lines, “leaf fish,” which were the only “fish” we seemed to be catching all afternoon. The sight of the jumping trout renewed my determination to catch a fish, especially after snagging so many leaves.

I began to work my line and cast the fly toward the opposite bank. The fly flew like a mayfly, but in pure silence, as if I had hit the mute button of my television remote. My line moved through the air like a deer through the forest. I was able to guide my line by flicking my wrist from the ten o’clock to the two o’clock direction. To get the best cast, I guided the rod with my wrist in a slow fluid motion.

Once I learned this technique, I caught my first fish. As my line drifted across the river, I felt a tug and thought it was another leaf. When I pulled back on the line, I felt jerky “pull backs,” not the calm, constant pull of the “leaf fish” that I had been getting all afternoon My struggle with this small trout didn’t last long; I reeled him in fairly quickly. This small brown trout was a hopeful sign for Mr. Allen and me. It was great to finally have a fish at the end of my line. I smiled as I released him back into the river.

My first catch sparked several more bites from other fish and a few more catches. As Tom and I stared down the river, we saw a beautiful, large, red-spotted trout jump out of the water. Mr. Allen looked over at me and said, “Never in all my years of fishing have I seen an Ohio trout jump like that.” After seeing that fish fly through the air, I was inspired to catch a fish just like him.
I worked my line to the far bank and let the fly drift across the river. Then “boom,” I felt a strong pull on my line. I thought of Nick in Hemingway’s short story, Big Two - Hearted River. “There was a long tug. Nick struck and the rod came alive and dangerous, bent double, the line tightening, coming out of the water, tightening, all in a heavy, dangerous, steady pull” (Hemingway, 150). After several minutes of tugging and pulling, I reeled in a beauty. This trout was the catch of the day; she was 15 inches long with red spots. I pulled the mayfly out of her mouth and held her wet, smooth body for a few moments as she struggled in my gentle, firm grasp. Then I bent over and carefully released her into the swift current. She splashed, then swam away. Our day was complete as the sun faded on the horizon and the coyotes began to howl at the moon. We headed back to Wittenberg.

As I reflect on my fly fishing experience, I recognize that I could sense a peacefulness about me, as if I were a part of the river itself. It was so quiet. I could hear every sound the river made as well as every sound I made. My movement seemed compatible with the current of the river. I could feel changes in the current of the river, especially with the swift alterations from passing fish. Being a part of nature and a part of the river just felt right.

My day on the Mad River also had a spiritual dimension that gave me a deeper understanding of how Maclean portrayed it. “Man’s chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy Him forever” (Maclean, 1). When I’m in nature, I can feel a spiritual part of me emerge. This spiritual awareness while fly fishing helped me realize the beauty of being alive, sharing the river with the fish I’m trying to catch. Upon reflection, I know I want to go back, to fly fish again. I want to feel that connection with the river. I want to fish other rivers, explore other scenic natural areas and feel that intimacy with nature. Fishing the river allowed me to begin to understand what makes the river so alive.

This connection with the river is similar to the connection I feel with the natural sciences. This experience on the river helped me confirm my interests in biology, geology and natural resources. I have a better appreciation for the work of scientists like Tom Allen, and the extensive volunteer service contributed by organizations like Trout Unlimited. It is gratifying to know that scientists have fun with their job. It is also gratifying to know that through science, I might find many opportunities to connect with nature.

While fly fishing in the Mad River, I felt almost as if, for a while at least, time stood still. I could hear every sound, see every color, and feel every sensation. When the cool, swift current flowed past my legs, I could sense the trout nearby. “I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and a hope that a fish will rise. Rivers haunt my dreams” (Maclean, 104). The Mad River beckons me.

Works Cited

E. Hemingway, In Our Time, “Big Two - Hearted River: Part II” (Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1925).

N. Maclean, A River Runs Through It and Other Stories (The University Of Chicago Press, 1976).

B. Plasters, Dayton Daily News, “Mad River Holds Its Own With Brown Trout Fishery” June 7, 2009.

R.A. Sheets and W.P. Yost, Hydrogeology of the Mad River Buried Valley, Volume 94, pp. 138-146, Ohio Journal of Science, December 1994.