The Pregnant Fly-Fishing Case Worker.
Breaking the Rules for Trout

by Kaitlin Barnhart

I’ve always enjoyed a challenge, but when my boss handed me the Psychological Social Rehabilitation services case file for a 15-year-old boy who had already been through four caseworkers that quarter, I paused. “What am I going to do with a 15 year old? I’m certain he doesn’t want to drive around with an obviously-pregnant social worker, trying to help him make friends,” I thought.

I read through James’ list of casework goals– improve social skills, build self-esteem, manage anger issues, and develop coping skills for foster care. Since I was new to the community, I asked what other caseworkers used for tools in a small country town where everyone’s business was shared and the library was the size of my living room.

“Just teach him how to swing at the playground when he’s angry,” one caseworker suggested. I replied kindly, but knew James didn’t need expensive babysitters, he needed real-life solutions. My instinct was to help connect him to the outdoors, but the emerging idea could have put my job at risk.

My instinct was to help connect him to the outdoors, but the emerging idea could have put my job at risk.

I had been in Idaho for four years after spending a summer in a remote part of Alaska, working at a sportfishing lodge after college. During this time, I began fly fishing and learned how to use the outdoors to decompress after a hectic senior year of college working for Child Protective Services and Juvenile Detention in Tacoma, Washington. I became addicted to fly fishing since the friends leading me to the sport were guides, we could fish all night, and the trout in Alaska feasted abundantly. When I returned home, I found I could harness that same adventure by fly fishing in the lower 48, even though there was an adjustment period learning how to read hatches and fish on my own.

The experiences I had working for the Forest Service during college and fishing in Alaska, developed my professional ideals of mental health support services– I began to value the need for humans to unplug from the world and into nature often to heal trauma, develop self-esteem, and rest weary minds.

I began to value the need for humans to unplug from the world and into nature often to heal trauma, develop self-esteem, and rest weary minds.

Maybe my mental health support plans for James were guided by my desire to be near trout and water, and since I was working for a new company, I thought I should read the employee handbook to see their rules for using the outdoors as a therapeutic tool. I read,

“Fishing is not billable to insurance, so DO NOT take children fishing.”

With a smirk, I thought, “Whew, they didn’t say anything about fly-fishing.”

I picked up James the next day. He climbed in the car slowly, most likely wondering why he was up so early and dreading a random stranger telling him what to do.

James was reluctant to talk at first, but once I cracked a few jokes he eased into the conversations. We chatted about summer break and I carefully asked him about his life. We pulled up to the trailhead two miles from his town, and he sat up in his seat. Although he had grown up in a small town, he hardly left the city limits.

“So what are we doing today?” he finally asked. “We’re going fly fishing!” I said exuberantly. James looked at my belly, and I told him not to worry about it. (No doubt my excitement about fishing mixed with my huge belly were a bit confusing). For the next hour, I introduced him to all things fly fishing: how to put a rod together, tie tippet to a leader, and the basics of casting.

“I’ve always wanted a fishing pole, but I’ve never had anyone take me,” he said. I replied, “It’s a fishing rod.” This became our joke for the day– whenever he would say “pole,” I would yell, “rod”– and he enjoyed “getting my goat.”

The creek was a combination of pocket water and stretches of big pools, perfect for a beginner angler. I showed James how to mend his line before we reached the prime fishing spot. After the second drift, a small brookie attacked his Adams fly, but he didn’t set the hook.

“Wow! I had no idea they would eat the fly like that!” James giggled.

I instructed him how to set the hook and hold the line tight, then I talked to the fish in my mind, begging them to get caught. We moved upstream to find another untouched section of water where I could see trout feasting on the topwater.

James snuck up on the pool, casted upstream, and set the hook on a beautiful brook trout. I waddled up to help him net it, despite my limits in bending down. He excitedly kept saying, “I did it!” We high-fived and I taught him how to let the fish go properly, a term he had never heard before.

He excitedly kept saying, I did it!

Hearing him say, “I did it” and feeling good about himself choked me up a bit on the walk back to the car. Sure, I had cried earlier that week when a semi pulled over and let me pass, but this was the heart stuff that’s deep in my core, what I know to be true: children in foster care need rivertime, and they need opportunities to checkout of reality in healthy ways.

I did get in a bit of trouble for trying to claim “fly fishing” on my billing paperwork, but I knew what James experienced was worth more than anything money could buy, even if no one else understood. That day helped James and I bond and gave him a fresh perspective on pregnant social workers. (For example, some have hidden talents and get loud over fish).

When I discovered how beneficial fly fishing was for children in foster care specifically, I started to build a program in my mind–a dream of someday bridging the gap and supporting children in foster care in the outdoors, since the government and insurance agencies would not justify it as a necessity. I also took an oath to make sure my children had every opportunity to experience these sacred rivers I depended on.

After the re-adjustment period of having children, I came back around to bringing children in foster care fly fishing. I soon connected with Jess and Laura Westbrook, who had started a nonprofit called The Mayfly Project in Arkansas. We talked on the phone for hours about our similar goals and verbiage for the therapeutic value of fly fishing.

For the last year and a half we have been working to create a universal program, designed to teach children in foster care how to fly fish through what we call “projects”. A project consists of a group of mentors meeting with the children for a series of fly fishing outings. With mentors across the USA and companies and donors supporting our cause, this last two years we introduced fly fishing to over 90 children in foster care, and assisted in three children finding forever families through adoption.

We can’t change everything these children are going through, but what we can do is take them fishing– something every child should have the opportunity to do. I’m honored to be a part of the fly fishing community and to share the therapeutic value of the outdoors with the children I am thankful to serve. I encourage every angler to look beyond the difficulty and find a way to take a kid fishing, because if a big pregnant lady can do it, there’s no excuse.