I shoved my clunky North Face cross trainer into the leg of the waders. Then I paused, puzzled, on the passenger side of Catfish Willy’s green Toyota truck and asked whether the shoe goes on the inside of the wader or out. That shows how much I know about fishing. Not much.

The misty clouds were dangling low over the Green Mountains near Waterbury. And there I was, on the banks of the Winooski River at 5:30 in the morning in heavy rain, learning about various rods and lines that would be used that day.

I was on the hunt for trout, as I was told. Of course, if there were a school of fish, I couldn’t distinguish a freshwater trout from a saltwater tuna.

So I hired Willy Dietrich as my fishing guide. In a “Got fish?” hat and camouflage fishing vest, Willy is what I call “fish centric” — all fish, no bull.

In the winter, for leisure, Willy travels the world fishing the best spots, like New Zealand and Montana. When home, he ties beautifully colored, exotic beaded flies. In the summer, he guides people of all skill levels through the fishing holes of Northern Vermont.

“My favorite thing in the world that I do is instruction,” Willy volunteered. “I like taking someone like you who’s never done it before, has no preconceived notions or ideas, and go through the process with them.”

Willy runs an outfit called Catamount Fishing Adventures, a 1½-man operation dedicated to guiding and teaching others how to spin fish, ice fish and, of course, fly fish.

“My first year I had 14 customers, that was it,” Willy recalled. “You know, I wrote them a hand-written thank you letter, and the next year I did a few more and a few more. I knew all along that I was determined to make a go of it. Last year I did 163 guided fishing trips in seven months.”

Willy claims no one can be an expert fly fisherman. But after 14 years of guiding, with 32 rods in his arsenal and 47 different types of fish caught, he is, I believe, as close as you can get. Of course, as with anything, his initial adventure as a teenager was a bit rough.

“My first fly cast I wrapped the fly around my neck and put the fly in my ear,” Willy said chuckling. “I still carried on with it though.”

Good thing. He remains a student of the water. As I practiced casting the eight-foot rod, he was taking mental note of water levels and water clarity for his fishing journal.

Unfortunately, under the header “fish caught,” that day would read zero. Not for his or my lack of trying. I nabbed only two fish. They were Fall fish, or, as Willy called them, Trash fish, which, of course, made me beam with pride at my own angling ability. Even if I did catch a fish, Willy prefers to release them, after a quick snapshot of course.

“For me as a fishing guide, with our trout populations, I don’t kill them because they are a reusable resource,” Willy explained. “In other words, it can be caught by another person to enjoy. If I harvested every fish that I caught or my anglers caught, there wouldn’t be any fish left to catch.”

As you can tell, Willy is not your typical fisherman. He actually used to be a 9- to-5er in D.C., working for politicians after receiving a B.A. in political science and history at Dickinson College in Pennsylvania.

After landing in Vermont, he is now fish, fish and more fish — and loving every minute of it.

While we tromped down embankments and through rivers and creeks, we talked about everything from the nymph flies he ties to politics, to relationships, to travel and family.

I could see right off the appeal of a sport based on skill, creativity, independence and dedication – a sport that gives you time to reflect and truly get to know someone.

At the end of all this, I wondered if I might just buy myself some waders and a rod and search out some cold rivers when I get back home in California.

Might even find myself some fish and make Willy proud.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, July 10th, 2007 at 8:44 pm and is filed under Writings. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.