“He’s comin’ to you Pop.” My brother yelled it as he reeled in his line and I barreled towards him. I was slipping, sliding, wading and floating my way downstream while I fought to keep the rod tip up, but out of the overhanging branches and tall grass along a high bank that hugged waist-high water on the Yakima River. I had a big fish on and was moving downstream quick to keep it that way.
In this episode we Wadeoutthere with Kelly McAlister from Saratoga, Wyoming. Kelly was born and raised in Wyoming and learned to row as a child on…
Podcast
Veterans, Healing and Community with Will Cannon from The Iron Freedom Foundation. Podcast Ep 94 – Part 2 of 2
When Will talks about the importance of including the spouse in a veteran’s fly fishing journey, it hits home for me in a way I didn't expect.
Is there a fish in this water? Will I catch one? It’s these questions that bring hope and wonder to the process of fishing. Sight fishing changes things. We see a fish, cast to it, and because we have eliminated the one giant variable that we are constantly dealing with when fishing, we expect to catch the fish we see. Or at least our frustrations peak when we don't. It's called sight fishing for a reason, but the observation has just begun once we find the fish we’ll cast to, and there’s wonder in hope in that as well.
Podcast
Veterans, Healing and Community with Will Cannon from The Iron Freedom Foundation. Podcast Ep 93 – Part 1 of 2
Will picked up a fly rod when he was eight years old and fished his home waters in Texas until he turned 17 and joined the Army as a scout. After leaving the profession of arms, he found himself struggling with PTSD and battling cancer. At his lowest point he returned to fly fishing and found relief. Determined to share the powerful healing he experienced through fly fishing with other struggling veterans, Will started the non-profit organization, The Iron Freedom Foundation (IFF).
The river rolled over boulders and cut through the sounds of the afternoon so all I heard was its powerful consistency roaring in my head. Listening to the song I took one more cast and one more look at the water I had fished downstream that continued on through the canyon, then I walked up the embankment to my truck and drove along the river towards my house or back towards the water churning in my head. As I drove I caught glimpses of the river and of the day’s fishing trying to think of a lesson I could take away. I had fished hard with no fish to show for it. There was still time left. Should I fish all day?
Dry fly fishing in Pennsylvania with the Mono Rig was one of the most lasting memories of my fly fishing journey. Casting blue winged olives in the silent, snowy, solitude of a beautiful river I’d never stepped foot in before was remarkable. I had never fished dries in the snow, let alone on the Mono Rig. Both proved to be deeply rewarding.
It’s not likely any of us will escape our fly fishing journey without arriving at the river having forgotten something. It’s more likely that, if you are reading this, you already know the pain. If not, remember there are those who have and those who will. Sometimes it's no big deal. Forgot our water bottle? Fish thirsty. A box of dry flies? Fish nymphs. Raincoat? Fish wet. But some items cannot be fished through. Some things are deal breakers. I’ll admit it’s been more than once I have reached a trout stream without a critical piece of gear. It was after one of these exceptionally deflating days that I finally decided enough was enough. I committed to solving the problem in the only way I knew how. Applying mental checklists in the way I did during my time flying fighters for the Air Force.