The yin and yang of fly fishing.
A few months ago, I posted a grip-and-grin selfie with a spunky little rainbow I caught near Livingston. It was the last day of a 14-day trip, an excursion that forced me to ask myself if I really enjoy fly fishing. Or has it become a life-consuming obsession filled with hours of confidence-crushing refusals, mercifully pocked with occasional bouts of elation? While that mental road is one we all must go down once in a while, my frequent paying of that toll left my spiritual tank riding near “E”, and the thought of donning waders for another cold, windy, and underwhelming day of nymphing didn't exactly have me firing out of bed in the morning.