North Woods Fly Fishing

By A. Sayward Lamb

Spring is the time of year when we begin to think about fishing. While I do enjoy many types of fishing, my favorite method is fly fishing. If I remember correctly, I became interested in fly fishing during the winter of 1959. One evening I went over to visit with my neighbor, H. Stanley Andrews, at his home and he happened to be tying streamer flies to use for salmon fishing. I was fascinated and watched as he tied several different patterns of streamer flies using tandem hooks. This type of fly is generally used by trolling behind boats. Stan encouraged me to try tying flies for my own use. I told him I had no idea how it was done but it looked like something I might like to learn. He invited me to come over to his house and he would give me some instructions. A few days later, I was at his house learning the art of fly tying.

My first flies might be classified as “crude” because when it came to getting the feathers, hair, tinsel, etc., to stay in the right places, I found I was “all thumbs”. Stan told me to be patient and with practice I would become proficient at the art of fly tying. It took quite awhile before I could tie them without twisting the feathers around the shank of the hook and get them aligned properly with the right proportions. In time, I made some fairly decent looking trout flies that I could use. I had no idea how well the fish would like them, but at least I was on my way to becoming a fly fisherman. The challenge was discovering how well my own hand tied flies would work and the fun would come when I caught trout with them.

I had heard several fellows tell me that they would never get involved with fly fishing because it was too complicated and too expensive. However, the more I talked with Stan and other friends who fly fished, the more I became interested in learning the basics of the sport. True, there were many things that at first seemed very confusing. Such as: What did I need for a fly rod? What type of fly lines and leaders would I need? Where could I go to learn about tying the many patterns of flies? How would I ever learn the proper methods of fly casting? There were many other unanswered questions, but I knew that if others had mastered the art of fly fishing, so could I. I was not afraid to ask plenty of questions from friends and acquaintances that were experienced fly fishermen and all of them freely offered their advice. Of course all of their answers were not the same but the basic methods were and with their encouragement I began learning about fly fishing and all of its ramifications. One of my first moves was to purchase an illustrated book that showed patterns of flies for fishing trout and salmon. Of course I needed a fly rod, reel, and fly line, so I discussed the preferences of several fly fishermen. Most of them suggested that I be conservative with my expenditures when starting out, with the idea that as I gained knowledge, I could also decide what type of rods, reels, and lines, to select for the types of fly fishing I would be doing, and make improvements accordingly.

My first fly rod was constructed of bamboo, seven and a half feet in length and designed for use with number six fly line. I also purchased an inexpensive, single action reel that had an adjustable drag and could be used with the “click” or free running spool. My first fly line was an inexpensive number six, level floating line. By some strange stroke of luck, that bamboo fly rod was an excellent rod for the fly line that I used and before that summer was over, I had fairly well mastered the art of fly casting. The set-up I purchased was for dry fly fishing, or at best, using a wet fly on or near the surface of the water. It was about all I could afford at the time, so I made the best of what I had.

As the years went by, I mastered the art of fly tying and eventually learned more by attending Adult Education classes at our local high school. This was an excellent way to make new friends and exchange ideas of different methods and types of trout flies. Another bonus was the fact that time spent tying flies at these classes provided flies to be used when open water fishing season arrived.

New types of fly rods were developed and one of the first to replace the bamboo rods was made of fiberglass. Of course myself, like most other fishermen, always want to upgrade my tackle and over time I acquired other fly rods as well as new wet and dry fly lines. By this time I had also learned about tapered leaders for both dry and sinking flies, so I purchased a supply of those. My inventory increased with the additions of floating and sinking fly dressings and several floating fly boxes to hold the many flies that I continued to tie. It seemed like there was no end to what was offered for the fly fisherman and I believe the limit of purchases is determined by your own desires and the thickness of your wallet. When it came to fly tying, I learned that there were many types of materials available from sources other than a fly tying shop or sporting goods store. My generation was brought up to be frugal and with this in mind, I saved short pieces of wool yarn from remnants that my wife had left over from her knitting projects. I also saved tails and body hair from deer that I shot. I also acquired many kinds of fur, such as pieces of hair from moose, bear, mink, squirrel, fox, rabbit, etc. Many of these were given to me by friends or purchased at flea markets and yard sales. Anything to save a buck! My stock of material now fills several containers. Much of it is seldom used, but when I need a certain type material, I search through them and hopefully I can come up with what I need for the particular type of fly I am tying. Of course I still have to purchase hooks, leader material, floss, tinsel, etc., from stores but with a little bit of effort, the costs of tying your own flies can be held to a reasonable level. Hand tied flies are considerably less expensive when compared to what you have to pay for commercially tied flies. Tying your own flies can be fun because if you are like me you will dream up some “creation” that will never have a fancy name, but may still catch fish. I sometimes call these “bad dreams”. No matter what we call them, catching fish is the name of the game. If a particular fly does not work, you can always dream up some other patterns to tie and they won’t cost you an arm and a leg when you do it yourself.

After bamboo and fiberglass rods, came the newer graphite fly rods as well as others made of composite materials. These were generally lighter than the older types and yet offered more “spine” which made them easier to cast the fly line. After I acquired these newer types of fly rods, I sold the bamboo rod and it was a move I regret to this day.

They say we are never too old to learn and that is substantiated by the fact that even after more than forty-five years, I am still learning new methods and tricks when it comes to fly fishing and fly tying. You will also realize that if you become a serious fly fisherman, you will need to have fly rods of different lengths and weights, as well as the specific lines necessary for the sort of fishing that you plan to do. The largest fish I have ever caught with a fly rod was a King Salmon, in Alaska, and it weighed 45 pounds. It was quite a thrill, to say the least. The fly rod I used was a nine foot L. L. Bean rod, made for a number 10 weight fly line. When I purchased it, I was told this fly rod was guaranteed to hold a seventy pound fish.

Some of my most enjoyable fly fishing has occurred in remote areas of northern Maine, in what I often to refer to as the “North Maine Woods”. For many years this area has been largely owned by paper companies who harvest the wood and transport them to their mills over private roads that they have constructed throughout that vast area. Within these thousands of acres, are numerous lakes, ponds and streams. The public has been granted access over most of these private roads for many years. Some roads are gated and limited access is available by paying a fee. I have been fortunate enough to have been going up into those areas for more than forty years. Before I retired, some of my fishing trips were limited to three day weekends. I have always gone with members of my family or with other relatives and friends. At times we have camped out alongside or short distances from remote ponds and lakes. That way we would have easy access to fishing; mostly for Eastern Brook Trout (Red Spots). At other times we have stayed in commercial or rustic campgrounds that are available in the area. Most of these northern Maine waters are restricted to fly fishing only, so being a fly fisherman is a plus. After I retired, I was able to lengthen my trips to a week or more; usually during the spring and again in the fall.

One of the first things we learned when traveling to these remote regions, was to be prepared for any situation that might arise, whether expected or unexpected. The weather can be dramatically different than what we might be experiencing in the southwestern part of Maine, where I live. Whether it is June or September, we always take plenty of heavy clothes. One year, on the 10th of June, while I was camping at Nesowadnehunk Lake with several friends, it snowed five inches. We were there only for a three day weekend, so all of us went out in that miserable weather to try our luck fly fishing for brook trout. I know I wore heavy underwear, a heavy flannel shirt and wool pants and even wore gloves. Have you ever tried to cast a fly line with gloves on? It was so cold that I wore my buckskin gloves. This was not one of my smartest moves and I soon found out it just did not work. I have also been fishing on that same lake in September when we would have ice on the boat seats as we headed out for our early morning fishing. It would be so cold that we wore heavy clothing, in layers, so we could take off layers as the weather warmed up. It has been cold enough so the guides on the fly rods would freeze solid. The only way to continue fishing was to hold the guides under water long enough for them to thaw out.

Another important thing to remember was to bring medications and first aid equipment; as well as extra gasoline, outboard oil, etc. We planned our meals for the entire trip in order to bring the right amount of food. When you are anywhere from fifty to one hundred miles from the nearest store, it pays to be well stocked with food. I don’t remember that we ever specifically planned on trout for any special meal but believe me, we always made room for fresh, pan fried brook trout and “het over tater” on the menu.

When I go on an extended fishing trip, I take about one thousand of my hand tied flies. That doesn’t mean that I have that many patterns, but I do have a great variety to choose from. In spite of having this many flies to use, I learned many years ago to always bring my two fly tying kits along with me. Sometimes trout can be very finicky and I have seen times when they not only wanted a certain color of fly but it had to be the right shade of that particular color.

Milton (Milt) Inman and I have been lifelong friends. I was brought up living next door to Milt and the rest of the Inman family. Actually, we have known each other for over seventy years and we still enjoy fishing together. Both of us, along with our wives, have enjoyed many fishing trips, not only in Maine, but in Alaska, as well. It was many years ago when Milt became interested in fly fishing and I encouraged him to tie his own flies. He told me his hands were too big and clumsy to become a fly tier. I told him, “Nonsense! If I can do it so can you.” Milt became proficient enough so that he has taught fly tying at Adult Education classes at two local School Administrative Districts in Maine. I even attended some of his classes during the winter months and found them very enjoyable as well as educational.

For many years Milt and I have been making annual trips up to the North Country with our wives and sometimes with a group of friends or some of our siblings. The memories of these trips are extensive and no two trips are ever the same. One thing that Milt and I have learned over the years is this; when the weather is calm and the water quiet, I will almost always catch more fish than he does. When the weather is windy and stormy so the waves are rolling up whitecaps, Milt will out fish me. We still do not have the answer to this riddle. It might be for several reasons. First of all, I fish left handed while he fishes right handed. I tie a heavier fly than Milt does. By that I mean that my flies tend to have more materials tied into them, while Milt’s have less materials and are sparse, compared to mine. We have even tried trading flies when fishing together in a boat or canoe. This does not seem to be the answer. We also have even tried retrieving our flies at the same rate of speed, but that has not worked either. So, as near as we can tell, the weather determines who catches the most fish and we have learned that this is the way it is meant to be, at least for us, when we go fishing together.

A few years ago, Milt asked me if I would like to go on a fishing trip up north. It was September. Naturally, my first question was, “Where are we going?” Milt replied, “Sorry, but I can’t tell you the name of the pond because a game warden gave me a tip as to where we can catch some monster trout. I swore not to tell anyone where the pond is located”. He assured me that it sounded like a fun place to go, so after talking with my wife Cynthia, we agreed to go. All we knew was that we would be spending a week in the North Maine Woods. Milt also invited another couple who are good friends; Joe and Peg Perham. Plans were made for Milt and his wife, Eleanor, as well as Cynthia and I, to use Milt’s travel trailer on this trip. Joe and Peg would be coming in their own Hi-Lo brand camper.

The area where we went was a limited access area, so we had to register and pay a daily fee to camp within that area. We were told of several designated campsites but the one we chose was in a gravel pit. Milt told us the pond we would be fishing was only a few miles away but that access was over a discontinued wood road that required a four-wheel drive vehicle. I towed my fourteen foot boat along behind my four wheel drive ¾ ton pick up truck and this is the vehicle we used most of the week. Joe also had his four wheel drive pick up, so we also used his truck occasionally.

We had no trouble finding the pond and we also found many canoes and boats tied to trees along the shoreline of the pond. This meant that it certainly was not a secret to many fishermen but this was a place where we had never fished. We were anxious to try our luck on those big trout that supposedly lived in that body of water. I had also brought my sixteen foot cedar strip canoe. Milt and I fished from my canoe, while Joe brought along his own aluminum canoe. We had room to carry both canoes on the roof racks of our respective trucks. On the way in to the pond we learned why a four wheel drive vehicle was necessary. The road was hardly passable with deep ruts full of water, big rocks, partially washed out culverts and the bushes were growing nearly together filling in the roadway. We literally had to “plow our way” through the undergrowth to make any headway. Only the lure of catching really big trout made us continue the half mile or so to this pond. I was “sworn to secrecy” with respect to the location and name of this pond; even to my children. They were not the least bit happy when I told them that if they needed to reach us they could call the gatehouse on the Golden Road and the attendants on duty would know where to find us.

Every day we drove in to fish the pond and we took a lunch along with us. Even though it was in close proximity to where we were camping, we did not relish driving over that access road any more times than necessary. We did catch some respectable trout but they were few and far between. As a matter of fact, Joe fly fished on that pond all week long and never caught a trout. I caught four; the biggest one about nineteen inches long. Like all fishermen, “the biggest one got away”.

The first day I hooked on to a really large fish and although I never saw it, I know from the way it tugged on my fly line, it was a “lunker”. I played the fish for several minutes but never was able to start it off the bottom. It finally broke loose; much to my dismay. At least I had fun while it lasted. Milt ended up with three trout. One of them was about sixteen inches long and when he brought it in, he noticed a huge gash on its side. There were loons on this pond and we felt that a loon must have attempted to catch that trout. Milt handled the fish carefully and released it. A short time later, we saw the trout floating belly up, so we paddled our canoe over and retrieved it. Apparently the stress of being hooked and the battle that followed, took its toll on that beautiful male trout and it expired.

On a Sunday morning a Maine Game Warden came and knocked on our camper door. He had received a call to notify Cynthia and me of a family emergency. He was nice enough to come out of his regular district to find us. The warden finally located us by contacting the people tending the gate where we entered. We had previously registered when we entered that area, so they knew where we were located and how long we planned to be there. After talking with the warden, Cynthia and I drove seven miles to the nearest telephone so we could contact our family. We found it was not necessary for us to return home, so returned to our campsite.

One of the days we fished, we noticed how quiet it was. We never heard a plane of any sort; which was unusual because private float planes and commercial jets often passed over the area. I believe someone in our party mentioned that fact. Later that day when we returned from fishing, our wives told us that a fire warden had stopped by to let us know about the commercial airliners crashing into the Twin Towers in New York City. It was September 11th, 2001; a day I will never forget. Our location was so remote that we only had our radios for contact with the outside world. As it happened we had not heard a word about that sad news. The following day, our son Ronald and daughter- in- law Donna, arrived at our campsite to give us the news. Ron said he had a hard time locating us and it was only after he made several telephone calls, that he was able to pinpoint our location. The quietness in the skies was due to the emergency grounding of all flights throughout the United States.

In the end, we all agreed this had been a pleasant trip, in spite of the tragedy. We also agreed that we would not come back again in the fall because the fishing was so slow. I don’t know when, if ever, we will return to fly fish on those “Secret waters”. We later heard from other fishermen who have fished that pond, that it is better fishing in the spring, so sometime I may want to satisfy my curiosity and try it during that time of the year.

The ladies did not participate in the fishing and spent their time visiting, reading, doing crafts, etc. Another thing they did was to go hiking along one of the several wood roads in that area each day. One day I went along and we hiked on the Poulin Road. That name “rang a bell” in my head because I had driven over a Poulin Road several years before when I participated, along with five other friends, in a deer hunting trip during the second week of November. We camped out in a huge army tent in an area beside Shack Pond Road that connected to Poulin Road. We hiked in as far as that intersection and I was amazed to find the road, which was open when I was last there, was now completely grown over with trees several feet high where the roadway used to be. We did notice the “Shack Pond” road sign was still nailed to a tree. Seeing the sign brought back pleasant memories of that hunting trip.

A couple of years ago I took a friend, Jody Brooks, in to Tim Pond to fly fish for trout. Jody had never done any fly fishing and had heard me talking about fishing that pond and asked if we might try it sometime. He had purchased a fly rod and was eager to learn this method of fishing. I borrowed a canoe carrier from a friend that would enable us to transport our canoe and gear over some discontinued wood roads to gain access to the pond. There is a road that goes in to Tim Pond Camps but that is privately owned and for use of their clients. Others have to hike in to get to the pond. We were camped at a campground several miles away, so we did not arrive at the pond until well after daylight.

It was a beautiful sunny day with a slight breeze blowing small ripples across the surface. Soon we had the canoe launched and all our gear ready to go fishing. I had plenty of trout flies, so we selected what we thought might work and set out to try our luck. We only paddled out a short distance from shore before we started casting our flies. Of course, I was giving continual instructions to Jody on the art of fly casting. He made only a few attempts when he exclaimed, “I’ve got one on!” We both were very surprised that he had hooked a fish that quickly. I had been so busy helping Jody that I had not really started fishing in earnest. Jody played the trout and even though it was not a large fish, he exclaimed that it was more fun fishing that way than fishing with worms. Talk about “beginners luck”. Jody surely had it that day because he caught twice as many trout as I did, which pleased him and me, very much.

It was also a couple of years ago when Milt Inman and I were fishing on Nesowadnehunk Lake when we learned about others catching some nice splake in Thistle Pond. We had not fished that pond for twenty years. We used to fish it occasionally when we had access by driving from the “Hunk” up through the Baxter Park Road and went out of the park through an access gate making it a fairly easy trip. After the controversy between the Park service and paper company, access to Baxter Park was closed off and the circuitous route made it more difficult to reach Thissell Pond. Consequently, we had not fished that pond since that time. Now with this new information, our interest was renewed. It seemed that someone had introduced smelts into Thissell Pond and they multiplied to the point where the Maine Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife decided they did not want them in the pond. To help control the smelt population, splake were introduced. With all that feed, the splake increased in size very rapidly. For some unknown reason, Milt and I had not heard about this event, so we had not had any interest for fishing on Thissell Pond in recent years. After hearing the news, we decided to try our luck fishing there.

The day we drove over there we were surprised to see the changes in the access roads. Years ago when we had frequented that pond, there were active logging operations, so the wood roads were well maintained. Now the road was in very poor condition in many places. Luckily, we had our DeLorme copy of “The Maine Atlas and Gazetteer” to use for reference as we traversed the roads. We were unsure if we were headed in the right direction. When we arrived at the pond, we saw that some of the rustic camping areas were being occupied. At the launching site, we met a couple who were just coming in from fishing and they had a nice splake in their boat. We were encouraged to know that the trout were biting. Soon we had our canoe loaded with gear and paddled out onto the pond. The water was crystal clear, making it possible to see bottom easily in fifteen to twenty feet of water. I had my Buddy II fish finder attached to the transom of the canoe and in that manner we could not only locate trout, but also know what depth of water we were fishing in. As we fished, we noted the wind was blowing harder. It was a really nice day with a bright blue sky, white puffy clouds and plenty of sunshine. Really not the ideal kind of weather for good trout fishing but a real find day to be out and about on that beautiful, quiet, body of water.

When we found fish showing on the fish finder, we stopped and anchored the canoe and began casting our wet flies. The locater showed the fish to be down a few feet, so we used wet lines and let the flies sink toward bottom before retrieving in short jerky motions. Both Milt and I caught regular brook trout (Red Spots), and released them. When the fishing quieted down we moved to another location. I caught a trout just over a foot long and decided to keep it to eat for supper. A little later we decided to paddle the canoe towards the windward shore and then drift fish across the pond, casting our flies as we floated slowly over the water. The fish finder showed we were only in five feet of water when Milt had a very hard strike. He hooked the fish and by the way the tip of his fly rod was bending we knew he had on a very nice fish. He played it for several minutes, and in that clear water we could occasionally see the trout. It was indeed a very respectable fish and much larger than we usually caught. When it tired enough, he brought the trout in over the landing net and I lifted it into the canoe. Milt had himself a splake; which was the first one he had ever caught in his life. When he measured it he found it was nineteen inches long. We were amazed because who would ever believe it possible to catch a fish of that size in only five feet of crystal clear water during the middle of the afternoon when the sun was shining brightly? This is only another example of the unusual happenings that occur and are unexplainable when we are fishing. We ended the day by each bringing a trout home from Thissell Pond, along with pleasant memories of being there once again after an absence of twenty years.

There is a sort of postscript to this story. Milt froze the trout whole to bring home and show to his family. When they came down to their winter home in Florida, they brought the frozen splake with them. During the winter, Milt and Eleanor decided to eat the trout. Milt cut off the head and brought it to me. It just so happens that our winter homes are directly across the street from one another. I am a wood carver and Milt knew I was in the process of carving a large Eastern Brook Trout.

A year or so earlier, both Milt and I had to go on a “business trip” to northern Maine for the purpose of catching large brook trout, so that I could do an extensive study prior to my attempting to carve them. Milt also took many close-up photos with his digital camera. Every trout we caught was an object of intensive study by me as I memorized the details that I wanted to produce in my trout carvings. I was pleased to have the trout head available for reference when I carved the inside of the mouth as well as installing the two sets of teeth. There are six teeth on its tongue as well. I used thorns from an orange tree, lemon tree and a bougainvillea bush, to make the teeth; which were inserted in place individually. This was a very tedious job, consuming many hours of work. In the end it paid off, because I placed the carving of the trout in competition at the Maine Woodcarvers Show in Portland, Maine. It won first place in its class; as well as taking a first place in category.

Last May, my grandson Nathan Morse, graduated from college. Nathan is an ardent fly fisherman, and we had talked several times about the possibility of us both going on a fishing trip for a week up in the North Maine Woods. Now that his schooling was over, I asked him when he thought we might make that trip. He said that he had a full time job waiting for him immediately after graduation but that he had made arrangements to take a few days off to go fishing in June. With this in mind, I made reservations to go fishing up to the “Hunk” during the second week of June. My wife Cynthia usually likes to go along but as no other women would be going, she decided she had rather stay home. So, Nathan and I made plans for this week of fishing together. We had fished together before, but never had the chance for an extended trip such as this would be. We planned our meals and made sure we had everything we would need on this trip. When I was in Alaska, I fished more than eighteen hours a day, all summer long. My niece’s husband told me, “I don’t know if you are the most rabid or avid fisherman that I have ever known, but you sure love to fish”. I am happy to say that my grandson inherited my genes and I believe he is even more intense when it comes to fly fishing, than I ever was.

We arrived at the campground at noontime on Sunday and we used my eight foot pick-up camper for home base during our stay there. Nathan also brought along his pick-up truck and canoe. I also brought along my fourteen foot aluminum boat and outboard motor to use during the week. We had the canoe to use if we wanted to try the fishing in other places. We were all set up on our site and after a light lunch we headed out onto the lake for some enjoyable fly fishing. Nathan ties his own flies and the types of flies are much different than most of those that I use. Nevertheless, he is an outstanding fisherman and during the week he “showed up” his “old Grandpa” by catching more fish than I did. We caught a few fish that evening although the trout were not rising. I have fished that lake for forty years so I have a few preferred spots where I like to fish. I also have learned of some of the flies that consistently catch trout in that body of water. With this knowledge, I sort of served as the guide on this trip and passed on some of my knowledge to Nate.

The following morning we were out on the lake soon after daybreak and found the trout very cooperative. We caught several good sized trout. Nathan had on a big trout (for that lake) and when he brought it in near the boat, I made an attempt to net it. The trout passed by so close to the boat that I could not see it and apparently I hit the trout with the net, knocking it off the hook. Nathan told me, “Grandpa, I was going to release that huge trout but I did want to measure and take a picture of it first”. We still laugh about how I knocked off the biggest fish he had on his line that week.

One evening when we were out fishing, we began to see trout dimpling the surface. We were pleased to see this because the trout had not been rising either during early morning hours or in the evening. I told Nathan we might as well try casting near the places where the trout were dimpling. We tried this and were pleasantly surprised when we began to catch trout on dry flies. This is my favorite type of fly fishing. It is exciting to watch trout come to the surface and slam the fly with great intensity. Timing is of the essence because sometimes we see them approach the fly and set the hook too quickly. We stayed until after sunset when the trout quit coming to the surface.

The following day we were fishing in the same area. There wasn’t any surface action until nearly noontime. In no time at all we noticed several trout rising out near the middle of the lake. Nathan became quite excited and wanted to row our boat out near the rising trout. I told him that I thought it would do no good because as the boat approached the fish would either quit rising or move out of the area. Still, Nate was persistent, so I said, “O.K., lets give it a go”. Nathan grabbed an oar then stood up in the bow of our boat and started rowing us towards the rising trout. He found things worked exactly as I had told him but he was determined and we moved on to other places where the fish were rising. This went on several more times when I finally suggested that we watch the rising fish to see what direction they were moving and place our boat in position to intercept them if they passed by within casting distance of our fly lines. I was pleased to see that this plan worked for a short time because the trout were moving past us amazingly fast and were soon out of casting range. We did intercept other schools of rising trout and had fun for several hours that afternoon.

We caught a lot of fish that week but not as many large trout as we did that first morning before we came in to breakfast. We caught and released most of the fish we hooked, although we did keep enough to enjoy a feed once in awhile. Our days were long beginning at four a.m., and ended at about ten p.m. Not too bad for an old guy who was almost seventy-six years old. Even Nate admitted he was a bit “pooped” when the week was over.

When we were ready to leave, Nathan shook my hand and said: “Thanks Grandpa, for the wonderful time we have had together. I have never caught so many trout in all my life” Naturally, Grandpa was pleased and proud of his grandson. I only hope we can repeat this sort of trip, sometime in the future. Nathan had rather fish than eat, but he is taking that “big step” this summer, when he plans to get married. I have a feeling that may change his plans, because he will have other commitments. Still whenever we can get together for even a day of fishing, I am sure we will make the best of it. This is what fly fishing is all about—wonderful memories that will last the rest of our lives. What more can we expect out of life?

By A. Sayward Lamb