What a great day to be able to head out. I stopped at the Post Office to mail a package, and met a few people there and was invited to try a pond that I had not been to before. A few folks were going to fish the pond and told me that I could go with them.

The Tagarti is a modified Woolly Bugger. It's the result of my trying to get a bobbing up and down motion to the fly when using a short fast jerky retrieve. So we got a Bobbed Tail.

The way in which the tail material is tied on to the hook shank is an important part of the flies action in the water. Tying in the tail material in this manner adds buoyancy to the fly that allows it to be fished just below the surface and this seems to attract the trout. I believe the Bobbed Tail also enhances its appeal.

Nestled in Michigan's Manistee National Forest and only 30 minutes from the shores of Lake Michigan, the quiet town of Baldwin caters to sportsmen of all types; hunters, fishermen, canoeists, campers and snow-mobilers. The town is blessed with its proximity to dozens of lakes, and at least four major trout, salmon and steelhead rivers; the blue ribbon fisheries of the Pere Marquette, the Manistee, the Little Manistee, and the Baldwin. Baldwin is home to several sporting goods stores, fishing lodges and guide services.

The tires crunched to a loud stop as I eased into one of the ever so slight pull-outs along Cabin Road overlooking the Owassee Rapids on Big Pine Creek. The road was extremely narrow allowing for barely one vehicle to slip past a car parked along the mountain side of the road. Extra care was needed in getting as much use of the available pull-out as possible since to block the road leading to the private cabins ahead would bring the wrath of the owners and a tow truck. Neither of which would be a pleasant thought this far off of the beaten path. On the other side, was a 200 foot drop to the creek below as it entered into the area known as the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon.

Dalton and Emma stood on the river bank and gazed at the swallow-dipped ringlets expanding on the slack back water.

They never tired of the view or the whirring of wings overhead. It had repeated every season since they settled the hundred acre parcel fifty-two years this past spring.

It rained for three straight days, and we had at least two inches of rain each day. That could be true for many places in the country. It was a very wet spring in many places. Not a good time to try to drive into any pond.

I hiked into a pond, and went to one that I could get into at the dam end. I had no desire to hike through all the mud that would be in the area where the pond drains.

On Monday Joe stopped at the house early to pick me up for what he told me was going to be a special trip. We drove for a couple hours and then when Joe slowed the car and turned off the road I thought he was driving straight into the woods. The two track road that we were following was nearly obscured by the trees but it was apparent that Joe had been here before. We snaked our way along, crossed a small creek, went up a steep hill and when we dropped down the other side there was a big meadow and Joe pulled the car off the track and parked under some large pine trees.

Is there anyone out there that hasn't said, 'It's not like the good old days?' Unless you are just a youngster – anyone under 40 is suspect – you have a valid reason to utter those words since the times in which we live are nothing like the 'good old days.' However, some wag has been quoted as having said, "There's nothing like the good old days and there never was!" There is some truth in both statements.

I know that you have some; in fact you probably have a lot of it. It's hidden in the back of your closet, stored in a box in the garage, but you have it. Since my late wife died in 2007 I have had to sift through lots of it and recently I was reminded again that our lives are filled with it.

I suppose every fly fisher develops some sort of a way of choosing their favorite or best fly rod. The same for reels, fly lines, flies of course and all the other accouterments surrounding our sport. There isn't any way at all to explain those choices, it is a matter of personal taste, your opinion or mine. No great reason for it all, just the way it is.

A series of images taken from the same location on the Yellowstone River during the spring and summer of 2011 with a comparison image from the same location taken last September.