DOUBLE-HAUL CASTING AS THE PISCATORIAL WALKING AND CHEWING GUM 
by JOEL VANCE

It's tough for some of us. Walking and chewing gum, I mean. Doing two things at once.

The double haul is the quintessential walk/chew problem. Double hauling is the triple somersault off the high wire of fly fishing. It is a feat of hand-eye coordination as tough as going one-on-one with Michael Jordan. Both hands are in motion in opposing directions, obeying a law of physics as complex as the tax code.

When I tried the double haul it looked like a half-drowned sailor desperately clambering up a rescue rope while sharks nipped at his back end.

Some say it's as easy as falling off a log (I have no trouble with falling off a log and have done it many times), but these are people who not only can walk and chew gum, they can yodel and eat Wheaties at the same time.

They are blessed.

No fly angler can claim to be a finished fisherperson until he or she has double hauling in the bag. Without it, an angler is like someone claiming to be an astronaut when all he did was accidentally get blown across the back yard when the propane barbecue blew up.

Once I had an office slightly below ground level. Visitors parked at the curb outside could peer down and see me, feet propped up, belly lapping over my belt, doing intensive research (reading outdoor magazines). I began pulling the shades after the double haul incident. I was reading an article by famed fly fisherette Joan Salvato Wulff on the double haul. There were many illustrative diagrams, showing hand placement and arrows to indicate movement direction.

I positioned my hands around an imaginary fly rod and line and carefully followed Ms. Wulff's little A's and B's and arrows. I began with a power snap, let the imaginary line unfurl behind me, then power snapped again and brought my line fist up to the reel as the line curled over my head and settled to the water as delicately as the afterdinner belch of Queen Elizabeth.

And then I noticed a van parked outside with four tiny faces squashed to the window and I visualized them saying, "Mommy, look what the funny man is doing!"

I figured mommy was about to put in a call to the nearest authorities and abruptly left the office for an in-depth conference with the coffee machine.

Double hauling has threaded through my fishing life like a persistent cough. Once a guide on a famous trout river asked, "Can you double haul?"

At the time, I had never heard of the double haul and thought he was talking about the fear for the canoe. "Well, sure," I said. "If I can't get it all done the first time." He looked at me for a long time.

On that same trip, I assailed the water with a No. 10 Muddler Minnow and the guide cried in anguish, as if I had just stuck his earlobe with the hook (I waited until later to do that). "You're throwing wind knots!" he cried.

I looked narrowly at him, not sure if this was a compliment or not. "Is that good?" I asked hesitantly.

He looked at me for a long time.

I've finally achieved a bit of skill with double hauling, but no one is going to mistake me for Lefty Kreh. Fly fishing is a game of finesse. With me and fly fishing, it's like watching Hulk Hogan knit.