Boat Journeys

The Art of Letting Others Lead: A Fly-Fisher’s Story

Written by Trish Dotts

January 27, 2025

Table of Contents

Last Updated on January 27, 2025 by Boatsetter Team

My earliest fly-fishing memory dates back to a trip with my aunt Anne on the Yakima River. I had no idea what I was doing — I could barely manage a cast and had no idea what a tippet was. I remember being impressed by aunt Anne’s skill with the oars and her ability to read shifting current and place us exactly where the fish were. Other anglers with fancy casts were floating by; I was afraid to move my fly line and make a knot. Anne smiled and said, “Don’t worry about having a fancy cast. Those guys can’t catch a fish when their fly is in the air. Keep the fly in the water; you’ll catch a fish.” I realized that perfection could wait — it was about simply doing the thing: putting your fly on the water, trusting the drift, and learning from every knot and nibble along the way. That simple invitation welcomed me into fly-fishing. From that day forward, I was in: monitoring insect hatches, scanning bubble lines for life, checking what lurks beneath the surface riffles and ensuring you don’t snag the branches behind you.

I picked fly-fishing back up later in life after accomplishing other skills, like training horses and being a National Board Certified teacher. I realized I was starting from a blank slate.

I picked fly-fishing back up later in life after accomplishing other skills, like training horses and being a National Board Certified teacher. I realized I was starting from a blank slate. It had been years since I’d been out with aunt Anne, and I was always the only woman in sight during my hours on the water. After months of catching more trees than fish, I knew I needed help. That’s when I discovered Spokane Women on the Fly (SWOTF). At my first fly-casting practice in the park, I learned the simplest way to thread my line in the first minute. My only cost? A few pounding heartbeats as I approached a circle of experienced strangers asking for help. Since that moment, SWOTF has transformed my experience.

[W]hat I found is that the steepest learning curves become shared adventures, and every obstacle feels a little more conquerable. That sense of community can turn the noisiest river bend into a place of quiet possibility.

One of my most memorable moments happened during a chilly winter float in the Pacific Northwest. After days of unsuccessful solo fishing, SWOTF encouraged me to hire a guide, which I was reluctant to do at first. But once on the water, I realized what an incredible opportunity this was and how social platforms seek to connect and, hopefully, inspire each other for the better. This was just another form of that. During our trip, my guide helped point out subtle nibbles and highlighted where I went wrong; I was waiting for a distinct tug. He’d say, “That’s an eat.” By day’s end, I learned to recognize visual cues. Because of that trip, I soon landed my first fish on a solo trip on the North Idaho River. But what I found is that the steepest learning curves become shared adventures, and every obstacle feels a little more conquerable. That sense of community can turn the noisiest river bend into a place of quiet possibility.