Going, Going, Gone

My wife Ginny is taking a growing interest in flyfishing. Years of photographing our trips to rivers both close by and far away like the Blackstone and Olgilvie in the Yukon have fueled her interest in catching fish on her own, I’ve noticed that many of her photographs are now focused on prime holding water of the streams we fish. She seems to be subconsciously homing in on where the fish are. And she watches closely when I cast to likely-looking spots as she tries to see how I do things. I’ve suggested that this is a mistake of honest proportions but she smiles and continues her observations. In that spirit I try to stay nearby as she works the water and offer advice gained from decades of modest successes and robust failures – all well intentioned but short lived. In the photograph above I’ve already worked my way one-hundred feet upstream from where she’s casting. In another minute or two this distance will have grown to two-hundred and shortly after that I’ll be around the bend as it were fishing a nice looking corner pocket and away we go. Rivers and fish override my attempts at angling generosity with the ease of spring wind gliding off high country snowfields and flowing on downstream.


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