Then it was Tom Norton’s turn to crack the whip.
“No snapping lines or you’ll break them!” Norton yelled without even looking over his shoulder to see who the offending party was.
Teach a kid how to cast a fly rod and the next thing you know they’re snapping flies off, thinking it’s cool. Go figure.
It was 8 p.m., and there were 15 young fly casters standing around the edge of a small pond at Twin Bears Campground, about 30 miles east of Fairbanks.
The young fly fishermen were practicing the skills they had learned earlier in the day as part of the Midnight Sun Fly Casters Kids’ Fishing Camp. They had sat through eight hours of classes that included two hours each of fly casting, fly tying and knot tying, as well as an hour and a half of entomology, which is a fancy name for studying insects.
Classes had ended three hours ago, and the children were allowed to do whatever they wanted now. They could play basketball, go for a hike or read a book. Most elected to fish or tie flies.
“I’ve got one,” yelled an excited Justin Perry, as a small rainbow trout danced and splashed at the end of a fly rod that was more than twice as long as he was.
At 10, Perry was one of the youngest campers at the school, but he looked like a seasoned veteran. Standing only about 3 1/2 feet tall, Perry wore a fly-fishing vest with a first-aid kit dangling from the front, along with the forceps and clippers he had been issued at the start of camp. A pair of polarized sunglasses sat atop his Sportsman’s Warehouse ballcap.
“He’d stay out here and fish all night long,” his father, Bill Perry, said as he leaned on the railing outside the cookhouse and watched his son fish.
Awkward invitation
Inside the cookhouse, Scott Murdock was holding court at the head of a long dinner table that had been converted into a fly-tying studio. There were a dozen fly-tying vises secured to the edge of the table, which was strewn with colorful fly-tying materials like feathers and fuzz and beads and bobbins and thread.
Murdock was seated at the head of the table, his glasses sitting on the end of his nose like a professor as he supervised five campers sitting in front of fly-tying vises clamped to the table.
Seated next to him, watching his every move, was Roland Mackey.
“The main reason I came back this year was to learn how to tie flies better,” Mackey, a second-year camper, said as he opened a fly box to reveal more than a dozen flies he had tied.
It was Murdock, the passionate president of the Midnight Sun Fly Casters, who encouraged me to attend the camp with my 11-year-old son, Logan.
The situation presented an awkward moment for me because Logan has yet to show much interest in fishing, with a spinning rod or fly rod. We always pack a few rods with us when we go camping and Logan will take a few casts, but I think I can count on one hand the number of fish he has caught in his life. He’d rather kick a soccer ball or toss a Frisbee than fish.
But I figured the camp might be a way to get Logan hooked on fly fishing and I could snag a story out of it at the same time, so I took Murdock’s bait and signed us up.
Learning the basics
There were 30 kids in the camp, ranging from 9 to 16. Each child was accompanied by an adult of some sort.
Seventy-seven-year-old Lois Buscher was there with her 14-year-old granddaughter, Caitlyn Ewing. Charlie Bohart, 34, was hanging out with his nephew, 13-year-old Cedric Bowman. Jeff Bue, 19, was serving as guardian for his 16-year-old sister, Courtney, and 12-year-old brother, Joe.
Throughout the three days and two nights, young anglers learn how to tie flies, cast a fly line, tie knots, release fish, identify insects that fish eat and even remove a hook from themselves or someone else in the event they get hooked.
Instructors focus on the basics so as not to overwhelm the kids. They learn a few basic fly patterns, a few different types of casts and a few different knots, just enough to give them a taste of fly fishing. It’s up to them if they want a bigger bite.
“They get really good basic skills out of it,” Murdock said. “If they go home, they can do stuff. They know what a leader is. They know how to tie a knot. They know how to put a hook in the vise.”
Planting the seed
This is the 14th year of the camp, and it’s one of the club’s top priorities, said Norton, who serves as club secretary.
The point of the camp, Norton said, is “to plant the seed” and get as many fly rods into the hands of kids as possible, which is why each camper walks away with a brand-new fly rod at the conclusion of camp.
“If kids don’t fish by the time they’re 14, they’re probably never going to fish in their life,” said Norton, who oversees the camp and blows a whistle to signal the end of classes. “We want to get them exposed to it early.”
So much so that the club is willing to lose money on the camp to make it happen. The camp costs the club about $250 per child, but the registration fee is only $80, which includes meals and accommodations for a child and adult.
Throw in the fact that each camper received a four-piece, five-weight Redington fly rod at the conclusion of camp, complete with a ready-to-go reel and carrying case (a $200-plus value) and you begin to get the picture.
Good experience
True to form, Logan was more interested in playing basketball than he was fishing. While most of the other kids were beating the water with their fly rods on Saturday night, we were hiking 2 miles to the top of Twin Bears Mountain. He spent more time writing “Thank You” cards for camp sponsors than he did tying flies.
But that’s OK. He had fun learning about bugs, scooping them out of a plastic tub with a spoon and sorting them in an ice cube tray. He tried his hand at fly tying and tied a few flies, which he said was his favorite class in the camp. He found out how easy it is to get knots in your fly line when casting — like father, like son.
I’d like to think the fly fishing seed has been planted in Logan, but I know I will have to water and fertilize it this summer in the form of a few fishing trips to make sure it grows, especially since Logan now owns the nicest fly rod in the family.
The camp was a great experience for both of us, or “quality bonding time,” as I jokingly refer to it with Logan (at least he thinks I’m joking).
I could go on and on about the camp.
Like about how Jerry Hallberg, a former club member who was a biologist for the Alaska Department of Fish and Game before he died of ALS several years ago, was the one who made it possible to provide a fly rod for each camper with money he left the club because he felt it was important for kids to have the proper equipment to practice what they learned at the camp.
Or about how the Fairbanks chapter of Trout Unlimited pays for three scholarships to the camp for Big Brothers/Big Sisters.
But if I did, I wouldn’t have time for one last story, which I thought summed the camp up perfectly.
Memorable moment
It was Saturday night, just minutes after Norton had scolded the fly line snapper, that Wayne Lachappelle came running into the cookhouse with a frantic look on his face. He pilfered through the pockets of his jacket, grabbing a camera and sprinted out the door.
Outside, his 13-year-old son, Spencer, was fighting a 20-inch rainbow trout, one of just a handful of lunkers the Department of Fish and Game had stocked in the lake before the camp.
“He saw it first,” Wayne said, his face beaming with pride. “He said, ‘Dad it’s coming your way,’ and it grabbed my fly.
“I hooked it and handed the rod to him and then ran in to get the camera,” he said. “It was a team effort.”
To make it even sweeter, Spencer had tied the fly that caught the fish earlier that day.
“Dad, you got a picture, right?” he asked.
“Yes, son,” Wayne replied, patting his pockets for the camera.
Not feeling it, a panicked look came across Wayne’s face. He looked down on the ground to see if he had dropped it, and the panicked look got panickier.
“Spence, you got the camera?” he asked, a hint of fear in his voice.
“Yeah,” replied Spencer, who had gone back to fishing with his own rod before Wayne had even finished releasing the fish.
Wayne breathed a sigh of relief, and a smile as big as the fish his son just caught spread across his face.
Contact outdoors editor Tim Mowry at 459-7587.
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