Seekers always looking for a magic potion, a bullet. Betting the farm on a color, a size, a shape of fly. Carrying an arsenal of what if’s & maybe’s. Sometimes their face bears the glassy eyed true believer’s look as they finally meet the divine. Almost sacred, yes actually sacred, a mystique is built upon the entire pursuit of the sea run trout…the steelhead. Pick a color…your color? Or the fish’s color? Gear tuned, fortunes spent, easily rationalized…what price Nirvana? Not the warm, up canyon winds of Summer now, but rather the hammer smashing frozen fingertips of Winter. Rods, lines, loads, casts and in the end the most important: presentation and voodoo magic.
