If you fly fish long enough, you’re bound to experience a breath-stealing moment now and then. Years ago, not long after I moved to Idaho, I remember my first such moment spent with a fly rod in hand. I’d hiked into a little creek not too far from the Wyoming border on a spectacular June afternoon, and, from the trail that led up the creek, I spied perhaps the sexiest little stretch of stream I’d ever seen. The creek meandered through a willow-choked meadow and, as it rounded a deep, undercut bank, it tailed out over a pool of deep, green water.

My good friend Kirk Deeter has given me several really good pieces of advice over the years when it comes to fly fishing, not the least of which was before my first-ever trip to fish the flats some 16 years ago: “Be sure to wear quick-dry underwear. You’ll be a lot more fun to be around back at the lodge.”