A man is blessed with many things in life, one of which is having good friends. A best friend is even better. I am lucky enough to say I have one, Matt. He is a trout angler, always by the fly, as am I. We live in different states, however we're close enough to make it to each other's home water at least once or twice a year to bond over what is possibly the greatest past time known to man: casting a fly.

This was one such weekend, Matt and I met up on one of Washington State's Blue Ribbon Trout rivers: The Yakima. Each year thousands of fly fisherman cast to rainbow and cutthroat trout on th e Yakima, and for good reason. It is Washington's premier major trout river. The flow is regulated by dams due to the river being an irrigation source for nearby farm land which creates a haven for not only the trout themselves but for the food they eat creating a near perfect ecosystem in which the fish thrive. Paradise. It's also a fly-only river, open year round. Heaven.

This was Matt's first trip to the Yakima, the last time we had a get together was on the Oregon Deschutes which is more or less his home water, so now it was my turn to show off (and hopefully get us into some decent fish)

I showed up on Friday and spent the evening poking around a few holes that I frequent with moderate success. After finding a place to park the car to crash and a fitfull night of chill-induced sleep I rise early to chase more fish. Matt had gotten up early and was on his way and we were to meet up right after sunset. Due to his inability to read a map and follow directions we finally found each other at about 9am. The rest of the day was spent chasing fleeting hatches of Blue Wing Olives and trying different nymph rigs to induce a strike. By the end of the day we had each had moderate success again.

That night we scrounged up some green wood and sat around a smoky camp fire telling stories and reminiscing about past adventures. It was then we decided to hit up a different river for change of pace and on the way we would stop at a local fly shop.

The next morning, after a half an hour of talking with the owner we decided to try a different stretch of river on his recommendation. Robert Frost had it right with "I took the one less traveled by and that has made all the difference". We fished that stretch of river all day and I was at the point of convincing myself that even though it was a fairly fish-less weekend, we still had a blast (which we did) when I hooked into an 18" rainbow. It was aljost dark and we were fishing sub-surface on a nymph and dropper rig when this good-sized fish snatched my size 12 black hare's ear nymph. It made for a great ending to a wonderful weekend.

One thing that I continue to struggle with (however I'm getting better at) is remembering that fly fishing is not about catching, but about being -- in the wild, in the presence of such amazing creatures, connected with the fish and the river. Standing in the river, feeling it's power run over your legs knowing it's might is endless and that it will continue to run over and through that land even when you've left is something I never grow tired of. It's something we can hold on to, an anchor to a world that is greater than us, everlasting and stable. Something that is not here today and gone tomorrow. It's a feeling of permanence.