The mountain men called it the Rendezvous. They would come down from the Rocky Mountains where they trapped beaver in ice cold streams and avoided being scalped by Indians. Much of their life was alone. Coming back to the world was a time to reunite with their lot of men and tell lies about where they had been and what they had seen. Excessive drinking and hollering was the norm. Overall hell raising would ensue for weeks. Their story is the birthplace of the name Shemchuk Rendezvous --- only ours entails less hell raising and more fly fishing.
It had been too long since I made it to the river. I was at a new job with the airlines and had been living in Kansas City for about a year. It was high time for a fly fishing trip to re-cage. I set my mind on some good old fashioned, summer dry fly fishing in the Rocky Mountains.
I was twenty-two years old when I put the chapel spires of the USAF Academy in my rearview mirror for the last time, pointed my burgundy Volvo North, fly rod sticking out the window, and set out for the Rocky Mountains with my best friend in trail formation.
Imagine you have planned your next fly fishing adventure for three days in Bozeman Montana. Pretty darn good choice of locations. Fish the Madison, the Gallatin, and the Missouri, right? Or maybe take a day and go fish the Yellowstone. Why not? They are legendary rivers. Sounds great, but let me tell you why this might not be the best idea.
I know what I need in life, and I don’t need much. Turns out packing for a fly fishing trip is no different.