I’m not a fly tier. I’m a fly flinger. You create it and I’ll cast it. Even if it’s purple. I’m not picky, but I am ancy. I know the ice is off the river, but snow it still on the banks and because I don’t tie, I don’t have a winter timewaster. I resort to staring out the window at my buried boat. I’ve owned my drift boat for seven months. It’s been covered in snow for five of those months. A quick, March thaw is causing the white to recede rapidly and I can see my boat in my backyard again. It belongs on the water. So do I.

I’ve always been a bit intimidated by fast-action fly rods. I’m trout guy—a small-stream creek freak who is much more comfortable using a slower, more precise tool to make shorter casts into tigheter spaces. To me, fast fly rods translated into weapons of random destruction, and to use them right, they required longer casts, double hauls and often some compensation for the wind that was likely blowing wherever something so stiff and unforgiving might be necessary.

And then I learned how to chase bonefish on the flats.