- By: Bob Wyatt
- Photography by: Carl McNeil
WHERE YOU ARRIVE AFTER A LIFETIME OF FLY-FISHING depends to a large extent on how you start out. By the time I was into my late teens and tying flies that looked like the ones in the books, I reckoned that a fly riding half-sunk in the surface was at least as effective as a well-cocked dry fly, even if I didn’t know why. Over time, that hunch strengthened into a conviction that a fly in the surface film is far more deadly than one perched on its tiptoes.
- By: John Gierach
Reuben didn’t like the looks of the weather, and this is a man who’s squinted at plenty of threatening skies before climbing into the front seat of a float plane.
- By: John Holt
In a fly-fishing world where nymphing for carp is considered high sport, as it should be, actively seeking mountain whitefish, except in the winter months, is considered at best déclassé. Mention of trips to favorite whitefish holes generates expressions of incredulity and disgust. As the Doors so aptly said, “Faces look ugly when you’re alone.”
- By: Grant Wiswell
There’s a moment during any do-it-yourself trip when you have to wonder, Am I ready for this? I asked just that as a floatplane that delivered me and a few friends into the remote Alaska landscape disappeared over the horizon. That’s when the reality of our adventure hit me—for six days we would have to be self sufficient while searching for big leopard rainbows on the upper Copper River, near Bristol Bay.
- By: Greg Thomas
- Photography by: Greg Thomas
I was halfway through a pitch to fish two different rivers in two days, one of which flows through highly private lands, when my potential partner, Jeff Wogoman, asked, “Are we going to get shot at?”