When he was a young boy, my son Matthew spent Saturdays at the fly shop with daddy. He had just turned four when he approached my fly tying bench and asked, "Daddy, what kind of a bug is that you're making?"
He called all flies that we tied bugs, and enjoyed tying his own - with a little assistance when needed from daddy.
We'd fish our bugs on these latesummer and fall evenings. We'd find places where he could fish with little or no wading on the inside corner of a gentle riffle, where he could raise at least a small fish, and where an evening hatch was likely. This time of year we'd see mahogany duns. The scientific Latin name for the genus is paraleptophlebia. I was tying Mahogany Dun Parachutes.
I looked up from my vise and answered, "Paraleptophlebia. Can you say that?"
"No." He was serious and direct.
"I bet you can," I answered. His face brightened.
We broke the big word into parts. First he said para, then lepto, then flea-bee, and finally a resounding yeah! When he put them all together he marched around the shop with a grin on his face, clapping his hands and chanting, "Para-lepto-flea-bee-yeah! Para-lepto-flea-bee-yeah!"
The night before we fished mahogany dun parachutes at one of our favorite spots. He was eager to fish – we made some casts and when his attention began to drop off we chased little frogs in the shallows. He finally caught one that squirmed in his hand, then sat on it, still, before it hopped back into the water. We saw dragonflies on the willow shoots and swallows cruising overhead, waiting for the same thing we were: the return of the mahogany duns to the river.
When the flies came back the trout began to rise, and as the day darkened Matthew caught a pair of ten-inch rainbows. He did most of the casting and playing the fish by himself. Daddy only helped a little bit with the first one.
"Remember the flies we saw on the river last night?" I asked, "These are the same kind of bugs you caught your trout on." He understood, and beamed.
The scene was set for what happened next.
A pair of visiting anglers walked in, announced that they hadn't seen any hatches (they had just fished through the afternoon lull) and demanded to know: "Are there any hatches on this river?"
"Why, yes," I answered, a little taken aback, and before I could explain further one of they demanded in overlapping questions, "Are there any hatches going on now? What are they?"
Their demeanor was urban, assertive, and obviously accustomed to getting immediate responses, immediate results. The uncertain and unhurried pace of flyfishing in Montana didn't conform to their mindset. And in that moment, neither did I.
I couldn't resist. "Ask him," I said, motioning toward the four-year-old in red Oshkosh corduroy overalls standing near the fly tying bench..
They patronizingly readdressed their questions to the boy. He answers were direct and innocent.
"Uhh, tell me, young man, are there fly hatches on this river?"
"Oh yes," said Matthew.
The questioner turned to me. "What might be hatching? We haven't seen any..."
"Ask him," I said again, nodding toward Matthew.
He watered down his question and asked. Matthew knew it was time to say his new word.
"Paraleptophlebia," he proudly pronounced, looking the straight up into the man's face.
The guy was dumbfounded. He turned again toward me. "Well, uhh... do you have any flies to match this... para... whatever you call it?"
This time I only gestured toward Matthew.
""Do you have any of those para... flies?"
Matthew turned toward the tying bench.
"These ones are the paraleptophlebias," he said, pointing to the #14 Mahogany Parachutes I had just tied. Next to them was a row of #10 Brindle 'Chutes, a pattern I developed for the hecuba, or fall drake. Matthew continued, "And these ones are the big fall drakes."
"He's right," I told them, and then described the little boy's successful fishing the evening before. They bought some flies, thanked us and left – possibly a little humbled by their dialog with Matthew.
There's more to the story, but not sufficient space to tell it here. It had to do with Matthew telling them how to properly release a trout.
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