EVERY FLY-FISHING SUBSPECIES CONFRONTS ITS own particular version of the same predicament—how to carry flies on the water in some reasonably organized and easily accessible fashion. For trout anglers, who tend to accumulate more flies than a Dumpster collects bags of trash, the storage problem stems from the sheer number and variety of patterns. For saltwater fishermen, it comes from oversized streamers on big irons; for bass folks, from bulky popper and divers. Every season, it seems, begins with a clever new storage scheme and ends with the same two thoughts:

Over the past decade or so, I’ve tried just about every alternative to felt soles that has appeared on the market. The results were always disappointing; in my experience, felt surpassed them all by a comfortable margin, and studded felt was the very best.

Here’s the perfect chance for those special people in your life to show how much they really love you. From the classic Art Deco styling—decidedly retro yet still strangely futuristic—to the cushy interiors, Airstream trailers are an authentic American icon. And the Sport 16 is the ideal road-tripping model; at 16 feet long with a GVW of 3,500 pounds, it’s compact enough for easy towing and set-up, but large enough for two or three people. With a polished aluminum skin and signature rounded corners to cut drag, it’s your personal fly-fishing rocket ship, your portable fishing lodge, and the coolest thing on the road. It’s estimated that 60 to 70 percent of all Airstreams ever built are still in use—truly the gift that keeps on giving. Expect to give a little in return, though; this silver bullet runs about $40K. www.airstream.com

The expanding popularity of winter fishing, even among anglers who don’t habitually throw around the word “extreme,” is beyond dispute, as is its chief obstacle—the weather. To stay on the water, you have to stay warm. The alternatives—hypothermia or existential despondency—are unpleasant to contemplate and potentially lethal.

Most sporting art, especially angling art, has a practical purpose or function. Painters, photographers and printmakers try to capture a moment in time and preserve memories. Sculptors recreate objects cherished by anglers, be they fish or fly. Rod makers, net makers, boat builders and fly tiers create the tools with which we pursue our passion.

The cree cape is a vibrant tweed, splashed with tints of red, white and black. Finding the origin of the term “cree” is nearly as difficult as finding a quality cree. Apparently, the truncated word was, at times, applied to creel. Creel (or crele), a label given to a rare Old English game fowl, is a bicolor hackle with white and red bars. Today we call the creel color a ginger grizzly. Evidently, through time the cree became a tricolor, a creel with black bars. Cree is a coloration, rather than a breed of bird. A simple description has worked in fly-tying: A cree is a tricolored hackle, with red and black on a white ground.

There are plenty of fly fishers who plunge boldly into swift and treacherous rivers without the aid of a wading staff. Indeed, there is a widespread sentiment that only a weenie or an overly cautious old fart uses one. I may fit both categories. It’s true that I have less to lose at this age, but I am also more loath than ever to lose it.

With a few simple techniques, and someone else’s curling iron, you can build welded loops and any fly line you might need—on local waters or at the ends of the earth.

At some point, every serious angler confronts the naked truth—no matter how many fly rods you own, the prospect of a new one is irresistible. Part of the attraction undoubtedly owes to an unspoken suspicion lodged in the fly-fishing heart—that a “better” rod will make you a better angler. This comforting (if vain) thought gives us hope, which is a primary component of fishing generally. Sometimes, however, the allure is less easily explained. A few seasons back, I somehow embraced the groundless conviction that the ideal trout rod was eight-and-a-half feet long, and my nine-footers were now insufficient. Time to replace them. Still, there’s often sound logic in the appeal of the new. Over time, your casting style or tempo may change, and you want a rod action that better fits the way you fish now. Or you might seek an all-purpose rod that performs all of its purposes with less effort and greater control. Conversely, you may need a rod for a particular water type or angling technique or fishing circumstance. Or maybe you just want to fish something that feels different from what you use now, just for a change. Sometimes it’s that simple.