ABOUT
R.O.L.F.
ABOUT
R.O.L.F.
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The Royal Order of Lunatic Flyfishermen by Mike Vineyard It was cold, it was cloudy. it was snowing hard, it was icy - perfect day for flyfishing, right? Well, if you’re 1600 miles from home and on the banks of one of the West’s most storied streams, the Henry’s Fork, what else are you going to do? The day before had been perfect. Sunny with temperatures near 70, just enough wind to riffle the surface, and rising fish all day. It was late September, 1978, and the Henry’s Fork was in its prime. There were continuous, multiple hatches all day and Jim Cook, Bill Cramer and I were pretty much into nice rainbows all day. Hardly a minute went by that we weren’t stalking a riser, frantically changing flies, hanging on to a screaming rod and reel or wading perilously close to the top of our waders trying to dig a big fish out of the moss. When you’re 7 or 8 days into a 2 week trip and fishing hard all day, every day, you’ve just about tuned out the outside world. News, the stock market, weather reports - who needs them? Consequently, we were totally surprised when we awoke in West Yellowstone the next day to eerie silence - no traffic noise, no one moving about, no dogs barking. It’s amazing what a blanket of 12 inches of snow can do to the world. Undaunted, we headed over Targhee Pass to resume our battle with the trout of the Henry’s Fork. Nothing was easy - not the getting there, not the sliding through the snow to walk to the river, not the trout, and certainly not the coping with the cold, snow and freezing rod tips. Hatches and fish were scarce. Jim did manage to hook up our only fish of the day, but long-line released him after a brief tussle. Battered, beaten and covered with snow, but warmed by a shot or two of Dickle bourbon, we headed into Mike Lawson’s fly shop in Last Chance, Idaho. A customer, warming himself by the fire, took one look at our bedraggled selves and commented, “Only a lunatic would be fishing on a day like this!” We took no offense but rather glowed at his comment. At least we were out there fishing. Thus was born the Royal Order of Lunatic Flyfishermen, and who could have guessed that ROLF, as members affectionately call it, would weave its way through our lives and fishing adventures for the next two decades? How do you describe something that has no real structure, no rules, no dues, no by-laws, no officers (the Sage of ROLF is the eldest member), no member selection process, no annual meetings, yet meets fairly regularly, has two to three dozen members, Eleven Commandments, an initiation ceremony, the Psalm of ROLF, an official beverage (Dickel bourbon) and a guide to identifying a typical ROLF member? I suppose you look for the common bonds - flyfishing, good people, good times, and a not-too-serious view of the world or themselves. Flyfishing, particularly flyfishing for trout in clear, mountain streams, is the core of ROLF’s existence. ROLF really revolves around fishing trips, and the sharing of these trips’ adventures with other members. They usually last from a few days to two weeks, involve three or four members, and are built around a primary destination. Two decades ago, it would have been the Madison, Henry’s Fork and Armstrong Spring Creek in Montana or the Frying Pan in Colorado. Then it became the Bighorn and the San Juan. Now it’s often the Green and the Beaverhead. The longer trips to Montana, Idaho and Utah occur at least twice a year interspersed with shorter trips to Colorado, southern Missouri, Arkansas, the Black Hills or New Mexico. A trip goal, almost always attained, is to fish at least one new stream each trip. And lest you think ROLF is only about big name streams, the best fishing times are often on the small, little-known mountain streams where only you, the deer and the trout know what’s happening. Alaska beckons periodically, and ROLF members can be found on the saltwater flats chasing bonefish several times a year. Except for the biennial Montana treks, most trips just sort of come about. Someone thinks about wanting to go somewhere, makes a few calls, talks with some members, and off they go. While flyfishing and catching fish are the reasons for going, ROLF trips have a few other common denominators - hard fishing, cold beer, good food, long drives, good music, interesting people, out-of-the-way places, pool tables, gin rummy games, old Dickel, lots of humor, fly shops, guide comments (always “it’s been fishin’ real good!”), hot morning coffee, fishing hats, loud singing, worn out jeans, good photography (now video) and just a whole lot of fun. ROLF members come in all ages from mid-20’s to almost 80, and from various walks of life. We’re all competitive to the point we really want to catch that fish, but not with each other. One always has time to net and admire someone else’s fish, take the photos from which memories are preserved, get everyone the “hot” fly, or share a particularly good run. If this sounds too good to be true, I suppose it’s just the way our fishing has evolved. If anyone ever had a problem with the way it works, they just wouldn’t be invited back. I simply don’t recall a single instance in almost 30 years of fishing of a harsh word being spoken (except at the gin table), any disagreement of where and when to fish, who goes where, who pays for what, etc. Maybe that’s a function of flyfishing or maybe we’re just lucky. Anyway, all this has me thinking. A trip to the San Juan sounds pretty good right now, I’d better call Jim or Bob or Sam or someone and see what they think. Let’s see, we’ll need midge pupas, disco nymphs, Griffiths gnats, …………… Mike Vineyard
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