Southern Utah Fly Fishing Report.
I always seemed to be attracted to water, ever since I could remember, I suppose that’s what found me on the banks of a canal in Idaho watching for fish to rise, my family after all had come here to camp, visit friends, and fish: when it became to dark to watch the water any longer I went back to the house, my Fathers friend Chris sat at a desk in a dimly lit room where my siblings and others sat watching TV and playing. my attention was drawn to Chris, he had a desk lamp perched above a vise and was busy tying mosquito patterns and Adams, I remember the tv holding little interest for me, and became fascinated by this man who could make something to catch fish out of feathers and fur, as he finished each fly he carefully placed it in an old film canister and would start another, I was curious but it meant nothing to me till after we had left; there were 11 of us kids and we all piled into the back of a old blue ford truck with a shell on it, that coupled with all the camping gear made for a snug ride as we bounced down dirt roads looking for that magic spot that Daddy always seemed to find, it was there camped against a old fence that we stopped, I remember the old green Coleman cooler, and momma putting together sandwiches for everyone with a loaf of French bread. then going to bed. the next morning it all came together for me, we crossed the fence, crested a small hill and there on the other side was a river, far more beautiful then the canal I had watched, my father took the time to take each child and help them catch a fish from a beautiful run with the flies from the old film canister, upon making the connection I could hardly wait for my turn to catch a fish, naturally I believed mine would be the largest, I just knew it, it was there, with my fathers arms around me, the prickle of his unshaved face, the soft hiss of the fly rod, and the rise of a trout that I knew that fly fishing would always be in my heart.