Where NOT to step, and why waders are optional for you
We covered the broad cold-water discussion last time, so this one is narrower. This is about your feet: where to place them, where absolutely not to, and then a little on why I won't pressure you into buying waders.
Where not to step
River bottoms in Utah County look solid from the bank and then reveal themselves once you're in. A few specific spots to avoid.
Slick, rounded rocks with a greenish coating. That's algae, and on the Provo especially it converts a rock into a bar of soap. Flat, mossy rocks are worse than round, rough ones. If a rock looks as though it belongs in a Japanese garden, don't put your weight on it.
Drop-offs you can't see because the water's moving. Moving water conceals depth. A spot that appears knee-deep can be a hole over your head two feet farther in. This is exactly what befell my neighbor Bradley, and I'll come to that shortly.
Fast seams immediately beside slow water. Those current lines where fast water rubs against slow water are excellent for fish. They are poor for your balance, because your feet want one speed while the water pushes at another.
Undercut banks. If the bank appears carved out underneath, stay off the edge. It can give way. I've seen it.
The Bradley story
Bradley, my neighbor, borrowed a pair of my waders one summer because he wanted to try this with me. Pleasant fellow, no fishing experience, abundant confidence—a hazardous combination in cold water. He stepped off what he took to be a gradual slope into the river, and it was not a gradual slope. It was a hole. He went in to the chest. Instantly. The water up here stays cold longer than people expect, even in July, because much of it is snowmelt still working its way down from higher elevation, and it nearly knocked the wind out of him.
He was fine—wet, humbled, and laughing about it twenty minutes later once he'd warmed up. But that is exactly why I now devote real time to this, more than I once did. Waders make you feel capable of going anywhere, and the river is indifferent to how capable you feel.
Why waders are optional for you
Here is my actual opinion, somewhat contrarian for a fly-fishing class: I'd rather you fish from the bank in old tennis shoes than buy waders you can't quite afford and then feel invincible in water you don't yet understand.
Waders are a tool, not a costume. They let you wade out and cover more water—that is their entire purpose. But they also insulate you just enough that you stop respecting how cold and how strong the current actually is, and that is when people get into trouble, Bradley being exhibit A.
For this class, you do not need waders. You need:
- Shoes with real grip, already wet or ones you don't mind wetting. Old running shoes are fine.
- The willingness to stay on the bank, or to wade ankle-to-shin deep at most, until you have a season or two behind you.
- A walking stick, or your rod tip used as a third point of contact, when testing footing. Tap before you step; don't simply step.
I caught my very first fish—well, I caught nothing my very first time out, and I want to be honest about that. Three hours, nothing. I drove home grinning like an idiot, and when Tricia asked how it had gone I said, "I didn't catch anything and I want to go back tomorrow," and she just looked at me as though I'd lost something upstairs. I never once got past ankle deep that day. I didn't need to. I was simply standing in moving water, paying attention, and that counts as a good day. You can have an excellent first season without ever owning waders.
A plain safety note
If you do wade, even shin deep: face upstream or angle across—never stand sideways to strong current with your feet parallel to the flow, which is how you get swept. Move one foot at a time and keep the other planted. And if the water is above your knees and pushing hard, that is your answer: you're too deep, come back.
Before next time
Dig out a pair of old shoes you don't mind getting wet and bring them. We'll be right at the river's edge, and I want everyone's feet ready to go.