There’s no rhyme or reason to what I look for. Sometimes I’m looking for early editions of some of the classics on salmon fly tying, sometimes I’m on the hunt for some Gierach books to fill gaps in his bibliography. And sometimes I just purchase before I even know what I’m looking at.
I would buy this book for someone who was just getting into tying flies and taking their first steps into the big, wide world of fly patterns and the heightened opinions and emotions that surround them.
When I pull into a parking spot, when I finally see the stretch of river that speaks to me, I tend to lose my calm. The tailgate opens, my gear tumbles out, and I’m lost in trying to do three things at once, to get my waders on, pack my gear, and string my rod.
The first conversations before rigging up are a spell, something to conjure up a best-case scenario. We want dry fly fishing. We’d accept swinging wets. We’ll nymph if that’s what the day offers, but we won’t go home and brag about it.