fish would jump around, go under the bridge, cut them off and take the whole fly line with them. They couldn't afford to lose the fly lines: each one cost eight dollars, more than the cost of a date. “We were not about to lose that money. But we also weren’t about to stop fishing for tarpon.” Between them they came up with the idea of taking 200-pound mono, stretching it out, and using sandpaper to sand the shape of a weight-forward fly line. It took forever, but they had the time and determination. They could make the mono lines for 50 cents apiece, so they didn’t care about losing them. They had to carefully carry them to the bridges outside of the reel in giant loops so they wouldn’t coil, and each time they lost one they would just tie another one to the backing and cast it out there. They realized much later that for what they were doing, they didn’t really need to put the shape in the lines, as it was the weight of the mono that helped them cast the big flies. But since they never figured that out at the time, they sanded, and sanded, and sanded. Norman remarked that they had no fingerprints after that and could have gone into a much more profitable business. They couldn’t really afford expensive reels—though Chico still has a beautiful Seamaster his dad bought for him in 1953—and mostly fished inexpensive ones like the Pflueger Medalist. Those didn’t have the needed drag, so they had a machinist help them improve the drags and often added a counter-balance to the other side of the reel so the reels would not vibrate too much when a big fish ran. Besides using regular feathers and bucktails, they tied flies from feather dusters and Christmas tinsel, and often used heavier hooks to get flies to sink, which they later realized made it harder to set the hook. There was trial and error in everything they did back then. “Learning that way,” Chico remarks, “I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. Nothing.” While he spent all his free time fishing, Chico worked hard during the week
in the business world, eventually opening an accounting partnership with his brother Mauro. By then he was married to Marilyn, who was from a one-stoplight town in rural Pennsylvania. Not only did they come from completely different cultures, but unlike him, she had had to work from a very young age. You can imagine her reaction when Chico came home one day and announced that he had quit the partnership, which was doing quite well, without another job lined up, because he needed to “find himself.” Both she and his father had some choice words about that, but he knew that he didn’t want to have a traditional 8 to 5 job for any amount of money. Only his brother Mauro was understanding about the decision. He started hustling: tying flies, teaching fly casting, and writing a column in Pleasure Boating, which paid $15. By then he had a name in the fly fishing world and could charge a premium for his flies, but still found he couldn’t make the money he wanted with piecework. In the late 70s, he started testing lines for Scientific Anglers and getting paid for it. He was the first person to get a free boat from a manufacturer, and later a different company gave him a boat and paid him to use it. His career in the fly fishing industry continued to progress after that. Chico laments the fact that everything in fly fishing is so easy today. “A good fly shop will hand you an outfit: rod, reel, backing, fly line, leader, tippet and all you have to do is take it to the dock and hand it to the guide and he ties a fly on for you. I understand that as a beginner you are eager to catch fish, but when you start out in this manner, you know little of the tackle you have in your hands. To become a better angler, you should strive to be more self-reliant because believe me, you’ll catch more fish and enjoy the sport much more.” As young kids in Havana, Chico and his friends would entertain themselves with kite fights (a tradition that persists there today, nearly 70 years later), painstakingly building their own six-sided kites out of balsa wood and a long tail made of string and ribbons, carefully tying in Gillette razor blades every three or four feet, using toothpicks to hold the blades perpendicular to the string. They would fight them from the rooftops, trying to cut the string of their opponent’s kite. If you lost your kite fighting on a windy day, it could soar several blocks, over the malecon and into the ocean, never to be seen again. Then you would have to start over, assiduously building a better kite from scratch so you could hopefully win the next one. Though he left his birthplace many years ago, his childhood roots in Cuba certainly contributed to making Chico an innovative figure in fly fishing, and helped foster his deep appreciation for every minute detail that encompasses the sport. Chico Fernández’s books Fly Fishing for Bonefish and Fly Fishing for Redfish are available in many fly shops and on Amazon. For casting lessons, he can be reached at jmchico@bellsouth.net.
Bio: Alex LovettWoodsum lives in Coral Gables, Florida, where she runs a consulting business for small businesses and non-profits. She has been the Consulting Editor for Tail since its print debut, and also helps run its social media and online marketing. She also works on numerous conservation causes including Now or Neverglades. When she’s not working, Alex spends most of her waking hours fly fishing her home waters around Biscayne and the Florida Keys, as well as hosting trips and traveling to fish as much as she can. You can reach her on Instagram @alexwoodsum.