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Photo: Chuck Solomon
In the classic film A River Runs Through It, Brad Pitt pursues trout with dreamlike ease, casting his line across a Montana river in an elegant, shimmering arc.
My first attempts at fly-fishing took place in a grassy field behind a Passaic County strip mall. My casts flopped to the grass in wimpy squiggles. It was hardly cinematic.
I began my fly-fishing education at Tight Lines, a fly shop in Parsippany. In addition to stocking all manner of gear, Tight Lines offers instruction and guided trips. I signed on for Fly Fishing 101, a two-hour introductory class taught mostly in the shop, amid the rows of rods, reels, pre-tied flies and assorted outdoorsy accessories.
There were seven of us in the class, including a father-daughter pair. After introductions and orientation, our instructors, Erik Barton and Francis Ryan, took us to the triangle of grass behind the shop and handed out practice rods. It was a brisk and drizzly day, the sort of morning a fly fisherman might love.
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First, we learned to thread the polycarbonate line through the loops in the 9-foot-long graphite rod. Then came the basics: stand square; use your arm, not your wrist; swing the rod evenly back and forward; let the weight of the line do the work.
Our first casts were unimpressive; some were laughable. But, with continued attempts and guidance from our instructors, my classmates and I began to catch on.
“It’s a never-ending process,” offered Ryan, addressing our shared frustration. “Guys who have been doing this a long time will tell you it takes 30 years to get a perfect cast. And if you’re still alive after that, it takes another 10.”
Back in the shop, we plunged into the details. There were knots to learn and a dizzying variety of flies and fish habits to understand.
New Jersey has numerous popular fly-fishing streams, including the Musconetcong, Pequest and Flat Brook rivers and the South Branch of the Raritan at Ken Lockwood Gorge. The state stocks each annually with a bounteous supply of rainbow trout. Brook and brown trout appear naturally in the waterways, although only the brook trout is native to New Jersey.
The essence of fly-fishing is to attract the trout with lightweight lures that mimic the insects and crustaceans that the fish prey on. A big part of the hobby is making your own flies. For our lesson, we used prepared flies made with synthetic or natural materials, including feathers, hair, and bits of animal skin wrapped around a small hook.
The flies have goofy names like the wooly bugger, a small lure made with turkey feathers that imitates crayfish. The hare’s ear nymph (made with rabbit fur) mimics insect larvae; it’s meant to attract trout at the bottom of a stream. Conversely, dry flies float and attract trout at the surface as they hunt for the Mayflies, caddis flies and stone flies that flit atop the water.
Schlager dons waders for his first crack at trout fishing. Photo: Chuck Solomon
Ten days after soaking in all this knowledge, I arrive at 7 am at the Point Mountain section of the Musconetcong to reconnect with Francis Ryan for a private lesson on the river. Ryan, 21, grew up in Denville, where he started fishing the Rockaway River with his father at age six. He still lives in Denville and has been working at Tight Lines for three years.
Ryan has brought along all the fishing gear we need for the four-hour lesson, including rubber waders. As we hike upstream on a trail alongside the river, Ryan describes how to “read the water.” Riffles are fast-running, agitated sections; runs are steadier, smoother flows; pools are deep pockets behind logs and boulders.
Schlager walks a trail along the Musconetcong River as instructor Francis Ryan reads the water. Photo: Chuck Solomon
Throughout the lesson, we move from spot to spot, reading the water and hoping to stumble upon the places where the trout are biting. For starters, we wade shin deep into a gentle run. “Fish are very lazy,” Ryan says. “They like slack water.”
On the grassy field 10 days earlier, I had learned two types of casting: false casting (an overhead motion) and roll casting. Fishing on the river calls for roll casting, a sideways motion used to avoid overhead branches. With my right hand on the cork handle, I swing the rod back toward my left shoulder, then forward across the river.
My initial casts go nowhere. I’m lifting the line too quickly, Ryan explains. I slow down and let the weight of the line carry itself farther across the stream. After a few tries, my casts travel a respectable distance.
Ryan ties on a sculpzilla, a fly made of rabbit fur intended to mimic a sculpin, a bottom-dwelling bait fish. Photo: Chuck Solomon
At the end of the line, Ryan has attached two weighted nymphs about three feet apart. “I like to give the fish lots of options,” he says. “It’s like a buffet line.” He has also attached a red plastic float called a bobber or indicator. Once the line is in the water, it drifts with the river into a horseshoe shape. The goal is to keep the cast aligned with the rod, manipulating it to help the fly float in a more natural manner, a process called mending. Holding the rod in my right hand, I pull the slack back with my left hand to mend the line, a technique known as stripping.
Ryan offers a refresher on line management. Photo: Chuck Solomon
After mending the line once or twice, I cast again. And again. And again. With no luck here, we step back on the bank and trudge upstream to try another hole. Now we’re looking for seams where fast water meets slower water. “Fish love seams,” Ryan says.
At each new hole, I continue casting, targeting the seam. Finally, the bobber disappears under the surface, indicating something is on the line. Following Ryan’s commands, I pull up on the rod and strip the line until it is taut. With luck, the hook will set in the trout’s mouth. But when the bobber stays under and the line doesn’t move, it’s clear all I’ve caught is a rock.
We repeat this process for several hours, trying different holes. “Each day is different,” Ryan says. “Each day, the fish want something different.”
I get a few bites, but fail to set the hook and haul in the fish. Ryan tells me this is not uncommon. “Trout are experts,” he assures me. “If they recognize it’s not a fly, they spit it right out.”
Schlager tries his luck again from the edge of the river. Photo: Chuck Solomon
But mostly, I’m hooking rocks. Freeing the line from the rocks often means losing a hook. Thank goodness Ryan is standing by, cheerfully pulling new flies from his plastic fly box. As the river rushes around our legs, Ryan expertly ties the flies onto the thin extension at the end of the line, known as a tippet. I’m impressed and a little deflated. Could I do this without Ryan’s assistance?
We try a swifter, deeper section of the river, wading in with our boots pointed into the current. The bottom is strewn with slippery boulders covered with slime. “Rock snot,” Ryan calls it. I walk gingerly through water up to mid-thigh, grabbing Ryan’s arm to avoid toppling into the drink. The waders are working. Amid turbulent waters, I remain bone dry. We pick a spot to cast. No luck. We trudge farther across the river and try again. Still, nothing.
Back onshore, I’m exhausted and dejected. All I’ve hauled in so far is a Y-shaped branch. Lesson time is running out, so we start downriver toward the cars. Ryan chooses a wide run for my final stand.
Noting the bugs on the surface of the water, Ryan opts for a dry fly. He ties on a chubby Chernobyl, a large white-and-purple fly made of foam. I continue with repeated casts as he calls out commands: “Recast. Don’t drop the rod too low. Big mend, up and over. Mend again. Feed it some line. Good drift.”
Then, much to my amazement, I hook one. I set the line, strip it tight, and swing the trout out of the water and into Ryan’s waiting net. It’s a rainbow, about 14 inches long, Ryan guesses. I’m relieved to see it has come off the hook by itself. I cradle the fish in my hands for a few seconds. It appears unperturbed. After a photo, I toss it back.
Finally! After hours of casting, Ryan nets his student’s first catch. Photo: Chuck Solomon
More amazement: On the very next cast, I hook a smaller fish. Ryan identifies it as a creek chub, native to these waters. Back it goes. I cast again. And within five minutes, another rainbow is in the net. Ryan hands it over so I can feel its heft. This guy seems sad, as if I had ruined its morning.
As we walk back to the cars, we encounter a rugged-looking fellow unloading gear from his pickup. “How’d you do out there?” he asks. And for the first time in my life, I have a fish story to tell.
Schlager shows off his second rainbow trout before releasing it to the river. Photo: Chuck Solomon
GET HOOKED
Fly casting is not difficult, but there’s plenty to learn. Tight Lines offers lessons in fly casting and fly tying at its Parsippany retail location and on various New Jersey rivers.
Tight Lines’ introductory class, Fly Fishing 101, is held in the store on specific days throughout spring and summer. The two-hour class costs $59.95. Visit tightlinesflyfishing.com for dates.
For fly-casting instruction on one of several rivers, Tight Lines charges $60 per hour. Wader rentals are $35; all other equipment is included in the hourly fee.
For further information and reservations, call 973-244-5990.
TROUT RULES
New Jersey freshwater lakes, rivers and streams are generally open for trout fishing year-round, except when stocking is taking place (this year, between March 17 and April 5). In 2025, the official spring trout season opens April 5, following three weeks of stocking. Close to 600,000 trout, raised at Pequest Trout Hatchery, are stocked each spring in New Jersey’s public waters; additional trout are stocked in the fall.
Permits are required for anyone aged 16–69. An annual permit is $22.50 for residents 16-64, and $12.50 for those 65-69. An additional trout stamp ($10.50) is required for all permit holders. Buddy discounts are available for family members.
Each year, New Jersey conducts two free fishing days, when no permit is required for freshwater angling. In 2025, those days are June 7 and October 18.
Catch-and-release regulations vary by location and season. For example, at the Point Mountain section on the Musconetcong River, the daily limit for most of the year is one trout of at least 15 inches. Additional catch and all brook trout (an indigenous species) must be released immediately.
For additional information or to apply for a permit, click here.
Ken Schlager is a lecturer at Rutgers University-New Brunswick and the former editor of New Jersey Monthly.
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