Pine Dale/Wind River Mountain Range

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.