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It's often said that days of cold, wet, and clouds can turn into some of the best fishing days. I always tell myself this before I leave the house on what I know is going to be a foreboding day.
"It's okay that you won't be able to feel your fingers, the fishing is going to be great!"
Let's just say this isn't always the case.
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The sun came out, and you could feel the warmth radiate through you. There was no need for puffy jackets or beanie hats or gloves. A baetis hatch lit up the afternoon and the rainbows ate voraciously.
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From tiny brook trout in the Blue Ridge to giant lake trout to more cutthroat than we could stand; adventures around the corner to road trips across the country; the ability to create custom rods and a whole rod bag business.
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Fly fishing is not an industry in which you'll get rich or famous (not counting "internet famous"), but a thing from which you just can't back away. It consumes you, at every possible level, even during the most hectic of guiding season, when you feel like you're on the verge of burning out, you don't.
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There's a river that flows not far from the house. It's the one that Jacob and I fish most often, mostly due to proximity and easy access. Not all days can be spent on hour long hikes, although I wish that they could be. We've followed this river for years now, trudging from top to bottom, in sun, rain, and snow. I guess it's appropriate to call it our home waters.
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