pgw
01-05-2017, 04:45 PM
Ken Heimbecker who opened The Midge Fly Shop in San Jose in the mid '70s passed away in Rancho Murieta early in December, 2016.
In May of 2014, I wrote the following as the "President's Message" in the Mount Tamalpias Fly Fishers newsletter.
My Mentor
Mentor: A trusted counselor or guide, a tutor or coach; to counsel, guide, tutor, or coach.
A lot of us can look to a fishing friend for help and encouragement which provides us with assistance necessary to cast, match the hatch, tie flies, read the water, or any other skills believed essential to the sport of fly fishing. I have learned about fly fishing through classes, books, time on the water, and from information provided by fishing acquaintances who are both famous and unknown. The quality information came from my “mentor” Ken.
I met Ken when he was engaged in a labor of love, owning a small fly shop in the South Bay. Ken was an engineer by trade and when he got tired of the 9 to 5 of design, he opened his fly shop. I spent a lot of time in the shop, refining my tying technique, listening to accomplished fly fishers who stopped in for coffee and to win a few cribbage games from the guy. Ken became my mentor through association. We started fishing together in 1978 and over 35 years, we fished in California, Oregon, Nevada, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, and Utah. From Ken, I learned patience when working a pod of feeding fish; I learned the value of sitting and watching how the water moved and the reason why the birds were working the trees and the air above the water. When he handed me his custom made rod and coached me to a 20 inch Cutthroat on that rod I finally understood how a different casting stroke as well as the difference in rod action worked to present a fly in a feeding lane in a manner that tricked the fish into taking the artificial when there were plenty of naturals from which to choose. Ken and I got chased by a Bison Bull in Yellowstone Park, which is normal for a lot of fly fishers, but the casual manner that he announced, “Paul, we got company,” when we were knee deep in the river provided me with an additional example of how to remain in control and how to put things that effect your fishing in perspective…when (and if) we finished getting away from the bison, we could resume fishing, it was just a minor interruption.
Ken got me involved in Federation of Fly Fishers Northern California Council activities (he was the awards chair and somehow I ended up as treasurer) and introduced me to folks who were able to further develop my casting ability which led to me being able to qualify as a Certified Casting Instructor. I learned that when Ken was a fly fishing instructor in the Adult Education Programs in a couple of South Bay cities, he bought each of his students a membership in either the local club or the Federation of Fly Fishers. Ken was always giving back to the sport, another thing I hope I’ve learned to do because of him.
Early this year during one of our monthly “catch-up” calls, Ken suggested that we (and our similar non-fishing wives) fly to Utah to fish the Green River again. We fished this river a couple of times before during road trips together and the last time was in 1991, we were due and the last time we fished together was on the Truckee a couple of years ago during a frantic Crawfish Molt, so we were due for a couple of days on the water. We settled on dates and I made the arrangements for lodging and a guide. Claudia and I flew to Salt Lake City, rented a car, and joined Ken and his wife in Dutch John at Trout Creek Flies. Ken and I enjoyed a day on the Green River where we both caught Browns and Rainbows between 16 and 21 inches. At breakfast the second morning, Ken let me know that he just didn’t have the strength for fishing the second day indicating that he didn’t think he could help if either the guide or I got into trouble. When I helped Ken and his wife load their car for the trip back home I hoped that we hadn’t had our last day together on the water. The last day we fished together was fun, every day we have fished together, shared “bug scratcher” motel rooms and destination lodges, or shared a drink in any number of bars, was fun.
Because of my mentor, Ken, I understood the words of Robert Traver in Anatomy of a Fisherman, “I fish…not because I regard fishing as being so terribly important but because I suspect that so many of the other concerns of men are equally unimportant—and not nearly so much fun.”
I hope each of you can think of a mentor who has helped them develop their skills and understanding of fly fishing and putting things in perspective.
Thanks Ken,
Paul
In May of 2014, I wrote the following as the "President's Message" in the Mount Tamalpias Fly Fishers newsletter.
My Mentor
Mentor: A trusted counselor or guide, a tutor or coach; to counsel, guide, tutor, or coach.
A lot of us can look to a fishing friend for help and encouragement which provides us with assistance necessary to cast, match the hatch, tie flies, read the water, or any other skills believed essential to the sport of fly fishing. I have learned about fly fishing through classes, books, time on the water, and from information provided by fishing acquaintances who are both famous and unknown. The quality information came from my “mentor” Ken.
I met Ken when he was engaged in a labor of love, owning a small fly shop in the South Bay. Ken was an engineer by trade and when he got tired of the 9 to 5 of design, he opened his fly shop. I spent a lot of time in the shop, refining my tying technique, listening to accomplished fly fishers who stopped in for coffee and to win a few cribbage games from the guy. Ken became my mentor through association. We started fishing together in 1978 and over 35 years, we fished in California, Oregon, Nevada, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, and Utah. From Ken, I learned patience when working a pod of feeding fish; I learned the value of sitting and watching how the water moved and the reason why the birds were working the trees and the air above the water. When he handed me his custom made rod and coached me to a 20 inch Cutthroat on that rod I finally understood how a different casting stroke as well as the difference in rod action worked to present a fly in a feeding lane in a manner that tricked the fish into taking the artificial when there were plenty of naturals from which to choose. Ken and I got chased by a Bison Bull in Yellowstone Park, which is normal for a lot of fly fishers, but the casual manner that he announced, “Paul, we got company,” when we were knee deep in the river provided me with an additional example of how to remain in control and how to put things that effect your fishing in perspective…when (and if) we finished getting away from the bison, we could resume fishing, it was just a minor interruption.
Ken got me involved in Federation of Fly Fishers Northern California Council activities (he was the awards chair and somehow I ended up as treasurer) and introduced me to folks who were able to further develop my casting ability which led to me being able to qualify as a Certified Casting Instructor. I learned that when Ken was a fly fishing instructor in the Adult Education Programs in a couple of South Bay cities, he bought each of his students a membership in either the local club or the Federation of Fly Fishers. Ken was always giving back to the sport, another thing I hope I’ve learned to do because of him.
Early this year during one of our monthly “catch-up” calls, Ken suggested that we (and our similar non-fishing wives) fly to Utah to fish the Green River again. We fished this river a couple of times before during road trips together and the last time was in 1991, we were due and the last time we fished together was on the Truckee a couple of years ago during a frantic Crawfish Molt, so we were due for a couple of days on the water. We settled on dates and I made the arrangements for lodging and a guide. Claudia and I flew to Salt Lake City, rented a car, and joined Ken and his wife in Dutch John at Trout Creek Flies. Ken and I enjoyed a day on the Green River where we both caught Browns and Rainbows between 16 and 21 inches. At breakfast the second morning, Ken let me know that he just didn’t have the strength for fishing the second day indicating that he didn’t think he could help if either the guide or I got into trouble. When I helped Ken and his wife load their car for the trip back home I hoped that we hadn’t had our last day together on the water. The last day we fished together was fun, every day we have fished together, shared “bug scratcher” motel rooms and destination lodges, or shared a drink in any number of bars, was fun.
Because of my mentor, Ken, I understood the words of Robert Traver in Anatomy of a Fisherman, “I fish…not because I regard fishing as being so terribly important but because I suspect that so many of the other concerns of men are equally unimportant—and not nearly so much fun.”
I hope each of you can think of a mentor who has helped them develop their skills and understanding of fly fishing and putting things in perspective.
Thanks Ken,
Paul