Stepping off the path along the road and onto the greenway trail I picked my way along the stream while looking for a likely place to enter the water. Having gone only a short 100 yards or so I already had my fill of trail-crossing spider webs and skeeters. I needed the water. Water would be my relief, both for the cooling on my legs and the cooling down of my psyche. A few more yards brought me to the edge of a small clearing where the stream s-turned through the corner of a horse pasture. Pausing to watch the water I could see a small ball of midges dancing over the head of the first pool. In a few more moments the much appreciated snout of a rising fish appeared below the dancing flies. Now came the hard part; casting to them.

Mike's latest book, The Founding Flies, is a testament to his skills as an author, tyer and photographer but, more importantly, to his skills as a researcher and historian of the highest magnitude.

It was a good day to go out. The temperatures had warmed up and I had most of the things that I wanted to get done finished. Cleaning up fallen limbs is a never ending task. Besides that, they will be there tomorrow.

I grabbed two rods and a few hook boxes of flies. I would be walking in because it was to muddy to drive. I had some new patterns I wanted to try and some old favorites in the hook boxes. With the fish basket and a lanyard with clippers and forceps on them I was set.

Grayling, Michigan was a major player in the logging industry until around 1920. This once thriving metropolis, built on sawdust and woodchips now had only the railroad and a budding trout industry. There were just enough jobs and light industry to support a small local population for those who chose to stay. Among those families who stayed were Liland and Jessie Smock who, in the grips of the great depression raised their family of five children. During those years, Liland found work at a local lumber mill and at a hardwood flooring company and eventually opened his own, 'Smock & Son's Watch Repair'. Among the Smock children was Robert Charles (Bob), born November 23, 1926.

Finally, as a guide in Livingston, I'd like to discuss our biggest concern - winds. I have discussed wind problems and solutions here and there in previous chapters with case-studies at DePuy's. Those can be applied to different waters and other fishing situations. Here I'd like to discuss one basic matter - casting. I'm not a certified casting instructor or anything and there are many other better casters than I am. However, guiding lots of clients with different skill levels on windy days, I have developed something to say. I don't use super technical terminology. Rather, I will quote what guides say and do right on rivers and creeks on windy days.

Over the years I have had some great adventures fishing the waters of Yellowstone Lake; as a matter of fact 50% of the total angler use in the Park is centered on Yellowstone Lake.

Yellowstone Lake is the largest lake in North America sits at 7,732 feet above sea level and covers 136 square miles with 110 miles of shoreline of which 30 miles is accessible by motor vehicle. The lake is normally frozen over by December and normally thaws during late May to early June, and during the winter the ice cover can be as deep as three feet except in the areas of the hot springs. The deepest place in the lake is 390 feet with an average depth of 139 feet.

When I was a kid growing up on my parent's farm in upstate New York I heard some of the old timers talking about wrongheaded decisions. The idea was that the decision was foolish and unwise. Over the years I have made my share of wrongheaded decisions and I have certainly witnessed many others that have made similar mistakes. Recently the fisheries folks at Yellowstone National Park made just such a decision involving the management of salmonoids. Before you decry my conclusions I urge you to look at the facts.

Hopper season is probably my all time favorite time of the year to fish trout.  With late summer over and early fall approaching the trout always seem to be overly cooperative.
This is the only time during the season when I switch boxes in my vest.  The only thing I carry during hopper season is attractor patterns and hopper patterns.  The three or four dozen patterns I carry (in everything from a #4 to #12) fill several fly boxes.

Amber's last day was spent on the Thompson River embracing nature's joy.
She was fly fishing with an elk hair caddis at her employ.
Though death is a finality that cannot be untied,
It is not the fly landing but the cast that defines the ride.