Pre-Season Jitters

 I call it stress tying. You know: that period between when you really want to be on the water and when the season opens. That's stress tying season.

At left, a highly buoyant Coachman. I've concealed a strip of closed cell foam down his spine.

Yea, looks like it too. Call it a Royal Porkman fly.(well, need some true white and ...)

 My size 17 BWO soft-hackle. Yes, I have  a ton of CDC soft hackles in five (!) colors lined up ... not that I have a clue on the colors. I can't see color so I have no idea why I even bother. Usually, I can remember if I sort my fly box which is where. With five colors all tied on a snowy Saturday in January, I've no chance at all.

Nevertheless, a soft-hackle BWO. Yea, I'll work on it. #17 though. With the right presentation it will work.

 Soft hackle hare's ear flymphy tung-head.

I might need 'em and so I tied 'em. I am not a real fan of contact nymphing. Yes, I can freestyle nymph pretty well. Yes, I'm always rusty on the first outing. Always.

Why is that?

Anyway, I might need something if it is cold and dreary and my fish want something ticking on bottom.

That's not going to be my opener, though.


I've got a bug up my ass about making a couple epic trips this year.

I'm going to Wabakimi and one never knows if it might be my last trip. One of these days, I'll be flying in to spread some of Mike's dad's (also know as Old Guy) ashes in lower Wabi. He stopped going when he turned 80 and couldn't pack his own gear. He didn't need to pack gear at all but you try telling that to one of those old hard as nails bastards. Go ahead. I dare you.

Anyway, one day I'll be flying-in to spread Old Guy's ashes.

Then I'll be flying in to spread Mike's. We've had some of the best days of our lives sitting in aluminum islands on a place damn few people ever go. I love the Ontario wilderness. Stunning.

I fell in love with Wabakimi on my first day there in a boat with Reagan. His last Canadian trip at 78. My first.  Thank you Reagan, where ever you are.

I want the Amber Liquid guys to have this joy. Now, I'm too much of a hard-ass and an asshole-first-class for these fellows to listen to me. Different lives.

Nevertheless, I want them all to know "epic."

Yellowstone offers some of that. I want them to go to Yellowstone.

I want the Lamar. The Yellowstone. The Madison. The Gallatin. The Firehole. Cache creek. Soda Butte creek. Slough creek. The Gardner. There is a decade of fishing there for me.

There's a decade of fun for them. How many evenings around campfires are wasted evenings?

None.

No worries about bears. We share the same temperament. Best to give us both a wide birth.

Opener is next week. I'm building a heavy camp. I'm feeding breakfast. I'm fishing. I'm thinking good thoughts about the fellows who can't make it. Who knows how long any of us might have?

I miss my buddy Dean every week. Maybe I can get Mike to come to Yellowstone, too. I won't let him fish with leeches. I promise.

Prost.