Editor’s note: I launched California Fly Fisher magazine in 1992, when I was 37 years old. At that time, agility and coordination were not issues for me — in fact, I looked forward to the challenge of physically difficult access, because it usually meant I’d be fishing untouched water.
Now, 27 years later, I’m in my mid60s, and the wear and tear my body has experienced over the years is leading me to become more circumspect in where and how I fish. I’m certainly not alone in this; many readers of California Fly Fisher are facing similar concerns, and we are all wondering how we might continue to enjoy angling in the face of the impediments that aging inevitably brings.
Thus this new column, which will highlight experiences and suggestions to help us continue to get the most out of our sport as we grow older. We’re starting off with a story that could have had a depressing ending, but which instead provides a lesson in optimism that serves as the theme of what “Just One More Cast…” and its contributors hope to accomplish.
“Get Back Out There”: An Injured Angler’s Return to the Stream
By Phil Morris
In “If Not Now, When?” in the January/February 2016 issue of this magazine, I explored the physical challenges I was experiencing as a 70-something fly fisher. I also predicted that at some point, I would not be able to fish in situations that I desired and that I was currently able to handle.
That happened soon after my article appeared. While walking along a remote, rocky stream bank in sandals and without my wading staff, I rolled my left ankle and separated my right quadriceps from the patella (knee) tendon and injured my right shoulder rotator cuff in the ensuing fall. This occurred in a remote area, and I had to crawl on my belly back to my vehicle. I drove home 10 hours with my left foot. Thank heaven for cruise control.
The knee tendon has been reattached. Due to my age and prior fishing and tennis activities, the rotator cuff was not repaired. My shoulder surgeon said the rotator cuff probably looked like Swiss cheese, which was likely why it tore during the fall.
Spey casting allows me to fish for steelhead with two torn and retracted rotator cuffs. I now have little strength lifting my hand above my shoulder. As a result, I have difficulty pulling sinking lines from the water for a single-handed back cast while wading. (Only with the added height-leverage from a boat can I still execute this maneuver.) Casting floating lines is not a problem, but casting strokes, hauls, and playing larger fish need to be done with my elbow close to my body.
This past summer, I was thinking I needed to go back to the river where my mishap occurred. I wanted to reassure myself of my ability to wade streams and to hike uneven trails. There was a psychological recovery component, as well: prove I can function there. Is this courageous or lunacy? I’m now in my late 70s. My balance is suspect. But the wading staff is a big plus. My knees are not 100 percent. Anti-inflammatories help. I exercise on a stationary bike to strengthen my legs. I told myself that I’ll stretch my quadriceps and hamstrings, and I’ll take it slow and be more careful. Something inside egged me on.
So instead of questioning why would I go back there, I thought, how could I not go? I went. The trip was a success: no falls, and I caught fish on surface-film patterns. Guarded confidence restored, I renewed my subscription to California Fly Fisher magazine — albeit for one year.
Fishing has been a major part of my life, and I am not ready to hang up my wading staff just yet. I no longer walk around stream banks in sandals, and I use a wading staff on uneven surfaces. I wear the inflatable life preserver I recently bought. It operates on water contact or by a pull cord. I carry a waterproof survival satellite personal locator beacon. It is tucked into my fishing vest. You need to turn it on in an emergency. My version doesn’t have an annual fee, so I’ll probably get billed for a rescue. I plan on camping in less remote locations, just in case I get injured. Another safety option, if you have a buddy with you (highly recommended), is a pair of walkie-talkies. I’m giving thought to wearing a kayaker’s helmet. Now I pick my spots. No more rock hopping on the upper Sacramento River. But I am back in the stream.
