Breaking a 50-year bad habit is not easy. When I took up fly-fishing in the late 1950s, there weren't a lot of resources to help the beginner. My chief resource was my uncle, whom I tried to copy. My uncle was a lousy fly-fisherman, and the result was 50 years of a bad habit.

You've heard the adage, "A person who acts as his own lawyer has a fool for a client." Same goes for fly-fishing.

My only defense was that I was 9 years old and didn't know better. Occasionally, I even caught a few fish. I lived in this happy ignorance for five decades, pursuing my favorite sport with a passion that made up for my ineptitude.

To be honest, I wasn't totally ignorant of my limited skills, particularly casting. It didn't matter much, though, because I became a pretty good fisherman. I learned to tie many of my own flies and could place those flies, most of the time, exactly where I wanted them to go. That produced fish. That made me happy.

It also made me a bit arrogant and disdainful of all the so-called experts who gained notoriety catering to the demands created by the explosion in the popularity of fly-fishing. Fools, I thought, wasting their money learning a skill they just as easily could teach themselves.

The thing about ignorant bliss is that there is always someone to come along and remove the blinders. For me, that someone was Michael Maloney, of Camarillo. Maloney doesn't read newspapers, but his wife, who he affectionately calls "Murphy," is a devoted reader of The Star. It was Murphy who brought us together after reading a column I wrote about fly-fishing with my sons.

Maloney apparently liked the column because he contacted me to let me know he not only shared my passion for fly-fishing, but that he was a master fly-caster and instructor, in other words one of those so-called experts who helps fools part with their money.

Naturally, we became instant friends. It was a friendship built on the strongest of ties: mutual harassment. Maloney is a charming, gregarious, irrepressible guy and extremely confident in his abilities as a business consultant and fly-casting teacher. He probably sees me as much a project as a friend. From the first meeting, he was on my case to take a fly-casting lesson from him.

A few weeks back, I caved and signed up for a lesson for my son and myself. We met at a local park, and it was clear within a few minutes that I was as inept as I had secretly feared. Maloney tried to be gracious, as much as he could, which wasn't much. I wasn't embarrassed, but I was intrigued.

Since the lesson, I've been spending two to three hours a week practicing to cast properly. I go to a little park near my house and must look foolish to passersby as I cast to imaginary trout that only I can see among the blades of grass. I've been having a ball. It's not as much fun as actually fishing, but it comes close. And I know why.

It's not about fly-fishing, although that helps. It's about learning something new, facing a new challenge, and developing the skills necessary to overcome that challenge.

When I think of the really great times in my life, many of them are related to taking challenges head on and overcoming them. For me, the most exciting part of that process is learning something new, either by gaining knowledge or developing new skills.

I'm always amused by these sorts of revelations because they seem so mundane, almost cliché-like. Yet, they have so many layers of meaning, and I keep relearning these lessons, each time with a new perspective.

I am convinced that the well-lived life is defined by the willingness to keep learning and never accepting the notion of knowing it all, or worse, knowing all that is needed. Each time I go through the process of learning something new, I am stunned by the sense of joy and excitement it brings.

Learning how to properly cast a fly may not seem like much in terms of adding knowledge, especially because much of it would appear to involve physical activity and coordination. What fascinates me is the physics involved: the stroke of the arm, the arc of the rod tip, the propulsion of the line. These things I never thought about or understood until now.

The good news is that I have so much more to learn.

Joe R. Howry is editor of The Star. He can be reached by phone at 437-0200 or by e-mail at jhowry@VenturaCountyStar.com.