I wish I could give a lesson, with my week old beard, overalls, dark green vest with 50 pockets, cigar or blade of grass hanging from my lips, waving my air fly fishing pole with a graceful swoop as I pass by all the hipsters and ask "hows your cast?" I wish I could be this guy. Alas, I have never even touched a fly fishing pole, much less skipped one over the streams and rivers of the big sky country. Come July all this is going to change. my chillest roommate and I are going on an adventure to the "Big Hole" down south of Butte, MT. The true outdoors, the true wilderness. One week of living off the earth, eating what we catch, and kerouacing around a state which is ranked 4th in the U.S. for open space, and 44th in population. That makes even hanging out at the secret speakeasy in Crif Dogs look lame. One simply fails to compare to the other's unbridled open spaces. So let New York throw up it's "cloud of dust and brown steam," while I sit back and thrust into the stream.
By the way, the guy in the picture attached to the link above is Dan Bailey (1904-1982), father of fly fishing and owner of a little shop in Livingston, Montana, which he started in 1938. Yes, the shop is still in business today, and we'll surely be stopping by for our flies.
By the way, the guy in the picture attached to the link above is Dan Bailey (1904-1982), father of fly fishing and owner of a little shop in Livingston, Montana, which he started in 1938. Yes, the shop is still in business today, and we'll surely be stopping by for our flies.
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