I sit at the bench for hours each year. I don't say this as a complaint, just stating a fact. It is a love/hate relationship, fly tying.

I made the decision to tie flies probably six years ago or so when my father-in-law showed me how to tie a woolly bugger. After a half hour of destroying more maribou and chenille than I used, I had the finished product - black, size 6, and uglier than the proverbial mud fence. I showed to my father-in-law for inspection. He rolled it over a couple...

Up before the sun again. That's not saying as much this time of year. It is November 21, a full month before the Solstice and the darkest day of the year. Still, rising early is half the fun of a fishing trip. The quiet and solitude give you time to reflect and to think ahead to the day before you. To watch the daylight creep over the hill with fresh hope in its rays. It makes everything fresh.

Today we are heading to the Blue River in the heart of the Rockies. I have a love/hate...

I am not afraid to fish alone. In fact, sometimes I prefer it. I enjoy the complete solitude and hours of uninterrupted thoughts. I focus better not having to worry about where my companion has wandered off to or whether or not he/she is having a good time as well. I can move faster, cover more water, and enjoy the freedom of fishing to a greater extent.

However, on any given day, a fishing buddy turns a fishing trip into something more meaningful.

For starters, there...

The Magic Fly
By Gary Cordray

I am fairly sure that the most commonly asked question of any fly fisher on almost any river in the world is, "What are they bitin' on?"

We are obsessed with flies.

I understand this thinking, this desperate desire to control our circumstances and assure success in our pursuits. So much of fly fishing is out of our control. We can't really guarantee where the fly will drift once it has been launched into...

Fishing Roots
By Gary J. Cordray

I have lived in Colorado my entire life. I have been fishing since I was probably six or seven years old when my father and grandfather would wake me up at 4 a.m. and drive us 45 minutes west of our home in Grand Junction to the Grand Mesa, and its hundreds of small mountain lakes and streams. They would string a worm onto a size 12 Eagle Claw hook, top if off with a couple salmon eggs, put enough sinkers on the end to make the rod bow when...