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Futzer

My last day to flyfish, who, what, where and how

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I have to say so far the women have gotten to my flyfishing soul, Claudia and Flygirl, you said it. I am still holding out on my comment, it will be worth the wait. Now is it the adventure of unknown glory or the familiarity of a loved place?

 

Anyone ? Cheers, Jeff.

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Give me a month to tie every Pike, Muskie and Bass fly conceived by man. Give me Helios Rods and Loop Opti reels in every size and weight, to accommodate for all conditions and presentations. Then, during first week of September put me and my wife (If we're dreaming here, she would need to grow an appreciation for Fly Fishing) in a Ranger Boat on Lake of the Woods in Northern Ontario. We would fish for Smallmouth, Giant Muskie and Suicidal Pike from dawn till after dark. The perfect day! Me, my best friend, great gear, phenomenal game fish all set on one of the greatest fisheries in the world.

 

I'm sure I'm going to add a few more to this thread

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That is easy for me.

 

An unnamed creek on the Blackfoot Reservation in Montana where I got an invitation and permission to fish ...one time....once.

 

 

20 or more beaver ponds spread out over a couple of miles on the creek in a pristine mountain valley. Each one packed with 1 to 11/2 pound bright wild brookies, 12 to 14 inchers. Fish so eager that often they jumped clear and took the fly on the way down. The one time I came even close to saying "I've had enough."

 

Who would I take? Nobody. Everyman should have one delectation during his lifetime that is his alone...right?

 

Why not go for trophy trout? Nah. I've never wanted anything more than to fly fish coldwater streams for 8-14 inch wild speckled jewels. When trout grow to "trophy" deminsions they seem to transform into another thing entrely. though I do admit should I find a 24 incher at the end of my line I wouldn't break him off on purpose.... :unsure:

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Either the Argentine marshes for Dorado on big streamers, plenty of wildlife viewing.

OR

The Rio Colorado in Costa Rica banging the banks with popping bugs for Guapote, Machaca, Mojarra and Snook.

AND

I would take Playboy Playmates & would'nt even care if they are shallow!

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If it were my last day on earth and the possibilities were endless, then I would have to say: Fishing with my Son, Dad, Uncles and Grandfather. Anywhere in Idaho on any body of water. Fly Fishing or Spin casting. (No live bait allowed). Every dog I ever owned would be waiting patiently on the shoreline of whatever lake, river or stream we would be fishing on for us to finish. My Wife, Mother, Aunts and Grandmother would be watching and commenting on the number of fish that we claimed to have caught knowing full well that the only person catching fish was my son. I would finally be home and all would be as it should be in the world.

 

If were just talking my last chance to fish with unlimited funds. Then I would take my son to Alaska or Canada and fly fish a river as far away from civilization as possible.

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The headwaters of Spring Creek in the Black Hills, where I caught my first brookie. Where the creek is so small that if you pass it from the highway you might never notice it. Where a running jump could get you easily from one bank to the other. Where you won't see another fisherman let alone another person all day.

 

Where you're as far away from guiding and competitive fishermen and yuppies and clients and the fish don't care what your fly looks like, as long as it looks edible. They're the only ones you have to impress, and they're an easy audience.

 

Where the fish are small but so eager to inhale a stimulator that they literally fight each other over it. The pools are barely knee deep but clear and shimmering and you have to crawl on hands and knees and you don't cast, you just dapple your big dry fly into the pool and a instant later you lift up a wriggling flash of orange and green.

 

The fish you catch is barely longer than your hand but the size isn't the reward it's the color. Its back is deep green with spots of blue and red. Its belly and fins are on fire, sharply contrasted by stark white edges.

 

It's so small and delicate but through your hand you can feel its energy and see stubbornness in its eyes. It is then that you realize it's a survivor. It has seen drought and flood, fires, blizzards and predators, but still it persisted in that tiny little pool, in that tiny little stream.

 

It makes you feel excited and privileged for witnessing such a beautiful fish but at the same time you realize that you've tricked this little thing and interrupted it in its daily struggle for life and it makes your heart ache.

 

So you gently release it and as it hurries back down to the comforting dark water of the pool you say a little prayer for its safety.

 

Spring Creek and its brook trout are always in my dreams. It's one of my fondest memories and I would be lucky to spend my last day on earth walking its banks.

 

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