Gatekeepers

We sometimes encounter those who guard the traditions with perhaps too fierce a devotion. You might notice them at the local fly shop, raising an eyebrow at a beginner's choice of tippet, or on the stream muttering about proper presentation technique. Their hearts are often in the right place—protecting the sanctity of a sport they deeply love.

But fly fishing's most beautiful traditions center on mentorship and shared knowledge. The stream has room for both the artisan who crafts their own bamboo rods and the novice learning with modern gear. There's space for traditional dry fly purists alongside those exploring new Euro-nymphing techniques. The magic of this sport lies not in rigid adherence to convention, but in the joy of discovery and the willingness to share our passion with others.

In this week’s edition:

i

Tie and Image by Erik Clymore

IN THE RIFFLES

Howard took off his straw hat and tipped it to an ear. He said he heard something. We waded to where a plunge, or short waterfall, poured over a beaver dam.


“What do you think?” he asked.


“There’s only room for one of us.”


Howard’s a sportsman. “You try it.”


I tied on a big tungsten bead, the kind with a green and gold, iridescent body. I had to be careful. The fly would drop through the water fast. There would surely be a tangle of logs at the bottom of that plunge. I’d rather not lose my tungsten fly. But I also wanted whatever was hunkered down in that hole. Waving the rod back and forth, keeping the line in the air, I dropped the bead right into the falls. I waited a second. Then two. Then hauled back.


Snag. I shook the rod tip. Gently.


“You’ve got a fish!” Howard yelled. Sure enough, the rod dipped and jerked…


 Keep reading here

GEAR GUIDE