I Am Haunted By Waters.

Many Of Us Would Probably Be Better Fishermen If We Did Not Spend So Much Time Watching And Waiting For The World To Become Perfect

Of Course, Now I Am Too Old To Be Much Of A Fisherman, And Now Of Course I Usually Fish The Big Waters Alone, Although Some Friends Think I Shouldn't. Like Many Fly Fishermen In Western Montana Where The Summer Days Are Almost Arctic In Length, I Often Do Not Start Fishing Until The Cool Of The Evening. Then In The Arctic Half-light Of The Canyon, All Existence Fades To A Being With My Soul And Memories And The Sounds Of The Big Blackfoot River And A Four-count Rhythm And The Hope That A Fish Will Rise.

It Is Those We Live With And Love And Should Know Who Elude Us.

He Told Us About Christ's Disciples Being Fisherman, And We Were Left To Assume...that All Great Fishermen On The Sea Of Galilee Were Fly Fisherman And That John, The Favorite, Was A Dry-fly Fisherman.

In Our Family, There Was No Clear Line Between Religion And Fly Fishing. We Lived At The Junction Of Great Trout Rivers In Western Montana, And Our Father Was A Presbyterian Minister And A Fly Fisherman Who Tied His Own Flies And Taught Others. He Told Us About Christ's Disciples Being Fishermen, And We Were Left To Assume, As My Brother And I Did, That All First-class Fishermen On The Sea Of Galilee Were Fly Fishermen And That John, The Favorite, Was A Dry-fly Fisherman.