Why Fish, Part 1*

I have been fly fishing for just about 2 years, and within this particularly passionate world that means I am basically a beginner. Fortunately, I feel like a beginner, even in terms of understanding why I like to fish at all. Fishing is not an obviously fun thing to do: standing in a cold river, wearing practical but incredibly unflattering clothing, threading tiny pieces of nylon through tiny holes, tying lots of knots, rescuing snagged lines… Not to mention the

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Poppers!

Rollie Pollie Frog Popper

When I decided to take up fly fishing I knew, with no exaggeration, almost nothing about it. No one who knows me will be surprised to learn that I started with the gear: rod lengths, weights and flex, reels, lines, nets, flies, packs… I learned the knots, I learned about hatches, and creeks vs rivers, dry flies vs wet flies vs nymphs. Strangely, I never really thought about the fish. I assumed that fly fishing = trout fishing (and hey!

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The Story of Captain Black

I can’t honestly say that I have had a personal relationship with any trout that I have caught. Each one seems a small miracle to me, both in that I was able to catch it, and in its iridescent beauty. For the moment that I hold it, extract my fly and then release it back to river I am completely absorbed with it and grateful for the connection, but they remain somewhat anonymous even if I give them nicknames for

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