When it comes to me and water
I can say we are in twined
When it settles into evening
It’s the only place I feel alive

When it comes to making ends meet
It’s not the direction I am inclined
When I’m not drifting through these mountains
The Devil isn’t far behind

Dance with me between the willows
Across the stones along the tides
Drive with me across the Prairie
Cut the engine hear the night

Last night on the river, I was with a new client who had his priorities straight–in other words, what he wanted mostly was to be on the water with someone who had the same problem, or solution, depending on how you look at it. He informed me that he could care less about catching a pile of fish, and even less about landing them. We started late in order to be there for the sunset and the rise. This guy has been fishing with guides for the last twenty years and has never thrown dry flies, which means the guides he’s been with didn’t have their priorities straight. Once he got used to casting the line and not some ball of lead, the fish began moving on the fly. Some slashed, some rolled, some simply drew the fly down, but we got to eyeball them, which is the point. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no purist, but if the fish are posting the surface, that’s were you should be. My cast sucks as a result of all the nymph fishing I’ve done over the years. The two of us rose a ton of fish and landed a few. I showed him the trick of pressuring a fish with heavy tippet on a Tiemco 200R and flexing a hook out of the fish without opening the gap. Kris Suplee and I discovered this one evening when we were not in the mood to land every poor bastard that ate our bugs. The birds were dancing, heads were up, and we drifted into the dropping sun–just the two of us and God’s creation.

Live from the World Headquarters
Kea C. Hause esq.


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