I saw a brown trout rise to eat a blue-winged olive in a riffle, and I immediately set the camera down. I was on the water to shoot some content for an upcoming video, but work has to take a backseat to fishing sometimes.
I’d expected a hatch when Alex and I stepped out of the truck and into a 70-degree day with no wind. But it was still early enough in the year that the hatch would likely come off in fits and starts, and the fish wouldn’t take much notice.
That brown was the dozenth rise in a few minutes—a telltale sign of a hatch. I swapped the camera for a fly rod, tied on a parachute BWO, and waded into position. Just as I was lining up my first cast, the wind showed up. It blew hard enough to almost take my hat.
I’d consider myself a middling caster, and less so when there’s wind. I have a tendency to forget important casting mechanics when the wind picks up, so I compensate for bad timing with huge double-hauls and loops that always end up wider than they should. I know it’s a problem, but when am I supposed to find the time to fine-tune my casting? Especially now, when I’ve been fly fishing for the better part of 20 years. My piano teacher, growing up, always said, “Practice doesn’t make perfect; practice makes permanent,” and that’s especially true for fly casting.
The Problem
So, I resorted to my double-hauls and huge loops and largely failed at fighting the wind. My casts were awfully off-target, my long leader wasn’t rolling out, and I was getting frustrated.
This fly rod is garbage, I thought. It can’t handle the wind; it’s too soft. I shouldn’t have left my six-weight at home.
I was fishing a five-weight that’s an objectively good rod, but that doesn’t have the same appeal of the sticks I’ve used for the past decade. Since the fishing wasn’t going like I wanted, I obviously had to blame the rod. It’s always the gear, and never the user—right?
I knew that wasn’t true, and I knew I needed to figure out this casting problem. That’s when something I read a few weeks ago popped into my head.
I place my index finger on top of the rod to stop my wrist from breaking too much, and it really helps with loop control.
I’ve never cast that way, and I’ve always thought the way you held a fly rod didn’t matter when it comes to accuracy.
But I had nothing to lose, so I gave it a shot.
The Solution
The new grip felt awkward at first, and it worked different muscles in my wrist and forearm than I use when typically gripping my rod. But when I tell you it was a night and day difference, I’m not overstating it enough.
I typically fish smaller water, throwing 20-40 foot casts, and often in places where laser-like accuracy isn’t required. I’ve gotten lazy with my casting technique, and when I need to put flies in tight windows, I often can’t do it. A lot of those problems feel like they boil down to my wrist breaking too much during the cast, which likely introduces more side-to-side movement in my rod. That oscillation means my line isn’t traveling in a straight path, which is the number-one killer of accuracy.
Putting my index finger on top of the grip and reducing how much my wrist moved made a world of difference. Suddenly, my casts were on target, my leader rolled out even in the wind, and I stuck a couple of decent browns.
If you’re in a similar situation where you feel like your casting isn’t quite up to snuff, give this tip a try. It made a difference for me, and I know I’ll be watching my wrist movement like a hawk this year.
And if you have any other casting tips, feel free to drop them in the comments!
Nice article! I use a variety of grips depending on the cast (distance, etc). I find that when I put my index finger on top, I tend to punch the cast a bit, causing tailing loops….another challenge.
Something I always try to remember when my casting isn’t going well is that the fly follows the path of the rod tip. So if the fly is doing something weird, I need to find what I’m doing in my cast that makes the tip travel in that weird path. It’s always a good start to diagnosing a casting problem.