I am not a famous fly-fishing guide that has traveled the globe, nor have I written any books on the subject. I am simply a man with a severe addiction to all things fly fishing. My first exposure to fly fishing happened in 1977 while camping with my family in Colorado’s San Juan Mountains. I had been needlessly drowning worms in a beaver pond for two days when a little old lady with a bamboo fly rod approached the next pond over and caught four fish in nearly as many minutes. I was traumatized, but luckily for me my father saw fit to finance my way into the sport by buying me a fly rod building kit and taking me to tying lessons.