Seeing that pure and wild cutthroat trout roll its olive back out of the water and sip in a #18 humpy yellow triggers my adrenaline and memory to set the hook into its soft mouth. This setting and scene is simply impossible to beat. For me, its about being on the water, simply getting out there and being creative and innovative with the fly rod.
Casts become art. The fly: my medium or pallet. The water: my paper.
There’s something therapeutic in watching the river tumble and roll upon itself before my very eyes. I could not ask for more. The river dost gift me more though. To then, all of a sudden, be holding a beautiful and shimmering creature from the river’s depths is, to me, unexplainable.
It isn’t work, perhaps you’ll call it play, but more than likely the art of fly fishing is love.
Love of water.
Love of fish.
Love of determination.
Love of catch and release.
Love of nature: all of her sights, sounds, elements, and pure beauty.
It isn’t work, one may call it play, but more than likely the art of fly fishing is LOVE.