Where's the Bear?

At left a fly box loaded for bear.

I'm tying for an expedition so of course I have nearly full boxes. The right flies? Soft-hackles of course so: yes.

I'm at the desk tonight tying small dries. A friend wrote about travel for trout. "Destination trout" he called them. They might become my favorite.

I've never been one for the casual afternoon of fishing.

I have a river full of smallmouth only a couple hundred yards down the hill yet I'm not often there in the park fishing. I like the flavor of distance, the anticipation, the special sense of the unknown when I travel for trout.

I like the camping, the morning campfire, and coffee too hot to guzzle as the biscuits start their slow bake.

These events echo the magic in my trout fishing. They're intangible comforts that are intensely personal. I will share a hot biscuit if you stop by my camp, however.

I seldom find the fish rising behind the sweeper in the foam seam. I fish to habitat and take my share of unseen fish. I'm seldom sure the fish is there. The anticipation and uncertainty brings me onto the game.

I'm excited about a New York outing and before that my own state's opener.

I'll be a little more cautious about the conditions I'm willing to chance this year.

Last year's opener:

I'm hoping that we experience a little less immodest weather.

Prost.

UPDATE: There I was tying along when I think I broke the jaws on my Peak vise last night. I'm so disappointed.

I'm having a little trouble finding an exploded diagram of the thing to diagnose. I'll take it to the Grotto tonight and see if it is actually broken or if something came undone inside. Somebody there will know.

I feel like I broke a favorite Christmas present!