There are so many factors that go into considering a river
or a mountain range beyond just great, but at that level that you would call it
fantastic or “as good as it gets.” For the fly fishermen of course it has to
have fish, because that is actually the name of the game. If you don’t have a
chance of catching a lot of fish, or a few big fish, then well, its not fly
fishing. But unless your that guy that
has to count every fish he catches, and measure every one, then get a pic with
you pushing it out in front of your chest with that dumb ass grin on your face
so you can show everyone how cool you are at work on Monday morning well maybe
it is just about the fish.
But a select few guys get that it’s about immeasurable fine
details that make fishing the West like nothing else in the world. A chosen limited
people get that fishing its rivers is about having a complete love of the West
from the high timber river with pure water gliding over mountain boulders to
the delicate stream running through desert red rock.
This love of the West and worship for its river and streams
comes about from years and years of having fathers, grand pa’s and uncles
taking us to these holy places. It develops when we see their faces light up
when they approach its waters, and climb its peaks. And all of these men have
those select areas cut deep into the bone, and in a strange sort of way they
are sort haunted and tormented by these destinations.
These men have oracle like qualities about them, and when we
are lucky enough to get them to take us deep into the rings of their cache of
knowledge, we see them at work. There is no exact recipe they have for
enjoyment, but it always starts with the drive. Fishing does not start when
your line is in the water, it starts on the drive. Once you get out of city limits
and on your way the devotion begins.
These people get that the delight is in the details. It’s
looking for wild life on the road while driving. It’s knowing where to stop and
get that jalapeño burger at a family owned business. It’s about chewing the fat
with the old lady at the gas station; it’s about knowing which hotel to stay at
along the way. It’s about knowing which little street to turn down in that tiny
forgotten town to see the first building erected by the first settlers west. It’s
about knowing which rivers have just a little more magic in them then one ridge
over. The list doesn’t stop and the pursuit lasts a life time.
I have analyzed this topic infinitely, and I will probably
spend the rest of my fishing days blathering on and on about what makes fishing,
and what makes a river and a mountain range worthy of being placed on that list
of “must fish before I die!” I pray that the blathering last a long time and
that I have the good fortune to spend it standing knee deep with all those
people that get the journey and the reason.
