I once caught an Atlantic salmon that moved to or at least showed interest in the first cast for 10 consecutive fly changes.  I finally hooked her 60 minutes later on the 11th, which oddly enough was the fly that I originally found her with, a silver doctor.  That was about 25 years ago on the Stewiack River in N.S. and I recall that fish and every detail of the event as clear today as I did back then.  That’s what fish like steelhead and Atlantic salmon do to you.  Not only do they make your day, collectively they can make a lifetime.

Sometimes I just wander off in my head and try to find fish that I’ve temporarily misplaced and if you should ever catch me daydreaming and then see a pleasant little smile come over my face, you’ll know that I found one.  When I was very young my father told me fish stories of when he was boy growing up on the west coast.

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Dad and I have three things in common; a love for baseball, pheasant hunting and fly fishing, so he could keep me occupied for hours talking about steelhead, gun dogs and hits into the gap.  I’m not sure that my father is a good storyteller but I remember his tales as if I were there.

I look forward to the day when my daughter digs this stuff like I do, and she and I can lie in a tent and talk about the days behind us and those to come.