When I was a kid, chasing Kings on a Kenai river bank with a fly rod in one hand and my aluminum Perrine fly box in the other, I remember vividly how those brutish critters would run my drag to the backing and I would chase them down the river bank to catch up.
That sound; a harmonic balance of a fly reel smoking drag under the load of a fish, and the kicking over of river rock as an angler scurries after his hunt, and the thrashing of cold freshwater as the massive animal breaks the surface in a fit of rage and desperation…
It’s a melody sung by nature, in her most hospitable form. When I moved my family to the wild Rockies, I thought I might never hear it again.
How wrong I was. On this Spring evening, an entire campground heard that tune and came to watch as one of my best pals and I wrangled this Goliath hybrid to the bank, hundreds of yards from where we started.
Thanks for playing, friend. Now, back to your world, to return with a little more wisdom and maybe a little more purpose.
Posted by AWOW_Wyo