Holler

The Bulgarian

This happened about a month ago.  I’d been out gallivanting late the night before, and was groggy on the Saturday morning I got a call from my pal Barry, the Executive Director of the First Best Place Task Force.
I answered the phone, “UhHuuhm.”
Barry said in his typical cheerful-yet-up-to-something tone, “Hellllooooooooo.”
I said, “Ug.”
Barry said, “Can you take The Bulgarian fishing today?”
I said, “Mmm, yeah, bye.”

I hung up.  I went back to sleep.  A few minutes later my phone buzzed again with a Facebook message from Barry saying to wake up and come to his house right away to pick up The Bulgarian.  Who is The Bulgarian?!  My curiosity is fierce and always wins.  I asked my six-year-old daughter if she wanted to come.  She said, “No, but I’ll make you a sandwich.”  A few minutes later I was out the door with my fishing gear and a huge spaghetti-and-meatball-with-bacon sandwich.  Barry’s front door was open, and I saw a big handsome guy in a serious conversation with Barry about who swilled the most dark brew the night before.  Ah, this must be The Bulgarian.

I was barely at the doorstep when he saw me and said, “Is this what you eat?  You eat this sandwich now?”

I looked at my sandwich as it plopped a bit of noodle and sauce on Barry’s welcome mat and said, “Yeah, I eat a sandwich right now.  Let’s go fishing.”

The Bulgarian nodded and said, “Good. I show you new way.”

Still slow and groggy I said, “A new way of eating a sandwich?”

He said, “Of fishing.  It is good way and it is maybe BEST way. We will see.  And you learn it.”

A rogue spaghetti noodle went down the wrong tube and I nearly coughed it up my nose.

The Bulgarian grabbed his spinning rod and headed for the car.  Barry and The Bulgarian’s wife, Mitzi, decided this fishing expedition would be too good to pass up, so they quickly decided to come along.

I asked Barry if his wife, Krista wanted to come, and he said, “No, but she made me a sandwich.”

We stopped at Glacier Outdoor Center for some bugs, and I was impressed by the confidence with which The Bulgarian chose some great Montana Fly Company patterns.

By the time we got to the river I had learned that The Bulgarian and Mitzi know Krista from way back and had stopped by on an extended roadtrip from Oklahoma to San Francisco via Canada.  (Now that’s a route.)

I asked The Bulgarian if he wanted to learn how to flyfish.  He said, “I will fish that way today, YES.  But right now I will fish Bulgarian way.  Do you think Bulgarian way is Better Way?”

I said, “Um, yes?”

He gave one sure nod and said, “It is Better Way I think.  We will see.  I have this pole.  I have this fly.  And you give me…round….floating…., ”

“A bobber?” I volunteered.

Another strong nod.

I had a Thingamabobber strike indicator in my pack and put it on his spinning rod line above the fly then looked at him for approval. Big nod.

With a decidedly funky and effective flick-of-the wrist, he started chuckin’ that spin/fly setup smack dab in the middle of the rapid.  And I’ll be damned if he didn’t lay into some lunkers.
I caught a few dinks, as he continued to catch big fish.  Each time, he looked over at me and raised his eyebrows in a silent statement: “Better Way.”

Finally, he came over and nodded to me, “I will learn your way now.”

So, I started in on the lesson.  But after about 20 seconds, he put up a hand and said, “No more talking about this.  You do fishing and I observe.  Then I know how.”

Ok.

So I just started false casting.  And every time I looked at him, he nodded and twirled his hand in a circular “keep going” motion.  After a few minutes he said, “I did watch you and I know that way now.   I will do that way now.”

So, I handed over my flyrod.

And I’ll be damned once again.

It started a bit rough, but he caught on more quickly than anyone I’ve ever instructed before.

At one point, the wind picked up and he said, “This way is no good in wind.” And he put the rod down on the rocks and waited.  Then, the wind died down and he started up again.
After a few minutes he was casting as if he’d been doing it for years.  And I wondered if I’d been hustled.  But no, his wife Mitzi insisted, he had never picked up a flyrod before.

He’s just a natural-born fisherman!

Soon, he said, “This is good way.  Yes.  But I already catch all the fish with Other Way.  So we are done.”  Not the Better Way, I noticed, but the Other Way.

And so, we were done.  We all packed up and headed back to town, happy with a beautiful fall day, new friends, and new ways.  Thank you Demeter.  (aka: The Bulgarian)

Holler,

Hilary