
This time I wasn’t simply fishing. I found myself explaining why I was doing what I was doing. Not how to cast. Not why a dry fly. Why. The reason why I was fishing. For someone who writes and talks about that very subject three times a week, and who has been doing so for nearly six years, I found it surprisingly difficult in the moment.
He’s astute. So I shouldn’t have been surprised that he was asking such questions. Furthermore, he’s well aware there are bigger fish in more accessible locations. But I had driven him two hours away and lead him four miles into the woods for these fish. Smallish fish; and small fish manifesting a rare discerning palette. And I had just told him that I was about to scale a cliff and drop down into a cave to make an attempt at one of these picky, diminutive brook trout.
Again, I can’t blame him for asking the obvious question. My fly fishing has the tendency to dangerously veer towards the illogical.








