Hook, Line and Sink Her

By TAD BARTIMUS

Last night I caught, cooked and presented to my husband for supper a 15-inch (well, maybe 13) brown trout it took me 15 minutes of fishing (well, maybe 25) to catch. And it only cost me $3,000 (well, maybe $5,000).

For nearly 20 years I've been trying to walk up to a river, cast a line into a river and pull out a fish. Be a true fly fisher, not just somebody who wears the get-up. I've tried in Alaska snowstorms, New Zealand flooding and Montana rattlesnake country. Mostly, I've failed. Still, I've kept returning to tackle shops for more water-whacking lessons and accessories.

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If you've ever fretted about the possible extinction of the red-blooded American male in this touchy-feely, kinder-gentler era, fret no more. I have first-hand knowledge that he is alive and well and hoarding the counter space at the tackle shop. Many nice shop owners deny this, but women are not often welcome in their establishments. We waste their time and cost them money as they try to explain to us what those weird little elk-hair fake bugs are for, why graphite rods cost more than a month's mortgage, why no one ever says "worm" above a whisper. To get attention, a lone woman in a tackle shop must either pitch a fit or have one, preferably knocking over the hip boot rack for emphasis. I know, because I've done both.

There are exceptions. At Jack Dennis Sports in Jackson, Wyo., Jack, Larry, Scott and Jeff not only don't ignore women customers, they cater to them, and have taught me much. Sue, who works behind the counter, and Sarah, who teaches with grace and skill, understand how to fit generously proportioned females who love to fish but don't want to freeze to death. Best of all, they  empathize with me about my Most Embarrassing Moment.

Ten years ago, at Cabela's in Sydney, Neb., I tried on a pair of men's sponge-rubber waders that fit so tight I couldn't get them off. Exhausted and frustrated, I finally had to call for reinforcements. Two mortified young male clerks tugged and pulled, one on each leg, as a crowd of male onlookers cheered them on. When I finally escaped the Neoprenes I swore I'd never attempt another pair of waders until somebody made them for women's bodies, specifically mine.

Times change. So do consumer demands. Flyfishing Retailer Magazine, citing an ongoing poll by Leisure Trends/Gallup Leisure-Trak researchers, reported this month that now 25 percent of fly fishers in America are women, up from 10 percent only four years ago. Where consumer dollars appear, products follow.

More than half of the 70 employees at Simms, a Bozeman, Mont., outdoor wear company, are women, and 70 percent of them fly fish. That's partly why Simms now makes both Neoprene and Gore-Tex waders for women, no matter what their shape: beanpole, fire plug, hour-glass, it doesn't matter. Even mine.

"Our women's waders have been very, very successful," Diane Bristol, a company spokeswoman, says. "As women become more independent and learn to love this beautiful sport, our market will continue to grow and we'll keep bringing out more women's fishing products."

Columbia Sports of Portland, Ore., carries eight styles of fishing wear for women, including nifty vests, and Orvis, of Manchester, Vt., allots four pages -- three percent of its catalog -- to women fishers' gear. It's a start.

I know my new Simms waders didn't put that brown trout on my elk-hair Caddis yesterday. I know I can catch fish in blue jeans, with worms, though I'll be a lot colder and less proud. I certainly know I should not eat wild fish; rather, I should return them to the river to leap for dry flies another day. But it was suppertime, I had my first fish of the year on the line, and in my joy at this singularly unique sensation I had a momentary lapse of political correctness. Pragmatist won out over purist.

I wanted to give my husband, who first introduced me to this woman's sport, a gift of thanks. Now we're even.

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