All my life I have participated in outdoor activities; backpacking, hiking, fishing, camping, skiing, and packing with my personal horse into the High Sierra of California. Of all the outdoor activities, fly fishing is my first love. I live in central California near the King and Sequoia National Park, and over the last nine years I've spent countless hours honing my skills on the many streams and rivers of the Sierras. But in the world of fly fishing anglers, I'm an anomaly. I am an African American man with a passion for fly fishing. Here's one of my fish tales... It was 6:30 AM September 13, 2006 and I was sitting at my desk checking the weather for Ennis, Montana. All week I'd been checking the weather via the internet. It wasn't looking too good. The reports called for 40% chance of rain on Thursday and 60% chance of rain with a mix of snow on Friday. I kept hoping there would be a change, but this worried me. Tomorrow I'd be flying to Montana with my fishing partner Dr. Michael Boone. We'd been anticipating this fishing trip for months. We weren't worried about the snow or rain, only the affect the weather would have on the fish.

For the last three years, Dr. Boone and I spent several trips floating the Ennis' Madison River to fly fish. Each trip we floated on a drift boat, probably the most popular and best method to fish the world renowned Madison. As with previous trips we booked guide, Vince Pettit through The Tackle Shop. Vince, a fly fishing guide with fifteen years experience handles about 80 to 90 trips per year, 1200 trips total. Having been the second African American he has lead, Vince reported African Americans have only been on four of the guided trips through the Shop and I accounted for three of the four. And truth be told, in all the years I've been fly fishing, I never have met another African American fly fisherman in California or Montana.

On average, the Madison Valley experiences rain throughout the summer. This summer had been dry, and because of this, fishing had been slow due to the dry conditions. Of all places, the first storm of the season had arrived in Ennis. The following morning we met Vince at the Tackle Shop and discussed the weather conditions. The forecast still called for rain and snow, but we were still eager to get our shot at the fish. Vince decided to fish the first two hours from Burnt Tree Hole to the Ennis Bridge, about two miles. We then fished from the Ennis Bridge to Ennis Lake, which was five miles and wade fishing only. We drifted down river, anchored the boat and waded to selected shallow locations on the river. Vince suggested that we rig our rods with a two-fly combination of a streamer and a nymph.

Within minutes of casting, Dr. Boone landed the first fish on a Gurttle Bug with a Lighting Bud dropper, a nice German Brown Trout. Soon, I landed a couple of small trout and a large whitefish. I persisted to mend my line up river and watch my strike indicators. Suddenly my strike indicator moved, so I set my line. Splash..."Fish on!" I shouted. The shadow of a large fish ran down river with my line. Vince yelled, "You hooked a hog...keep your rod tip up." After a couple of minutes of fighting what appeared to be a large fish it escaped my line. Although I lost a trophy, I had no sense of disappointment about losing that fish. We had only been fishing for about twenty-minutes and I had all day to land another big one. Dr. Boone was off to a great start with a nineteen-inch Cutbow (half rainbow and cutthroat trout).

The river ran through the town of Ennis banking nearby riverfront houses. It almost felt as if we were fishing in someone's front yard. As we drifted further south we settled in front of a blue fenced house and I found myself once again in a fish fight with a twenty-inch German Brown.

This time I was careful to keep the rod tip up and tension on the line. I finally land the big trout. We continued to catch nice fish throughout the day. Dr. Boone and I both land a couple more large fish. For some reason, I seemed to have a knack for catching whitefish, a silver-colored fish with large scales, fleshy dorsal and adipose fins, no teeth, and a small fleshy appendage at the base of the pelvic fin. They fought hard but they just weren't trout. As we continued drifting down river, we were fortunate to see a pair of bald eagles circling a nearby nest, a simple reminder that the trip was more than just fishing. Like many anglers it was a moment to enjoy the great wildlife and natural beauty of Montana. Countless deer, antelope, elk, bull-moose, a moose cow with calf, bears, sand hill cranes, and more eagles added to the value of the trip.

While wading in the river that late afternoon, I hooked a very large brown. As I fought the fish I realized that Vince had walked up river to scout a location and left the net ten feet up the bank behind me. I really needed that net. This fish was large. The water was cold and it began to steadily rain. I didn't want to get wet trying to land this fish. I managed to stay dry and warm all day despite the temps, so I decided to let the fish run, while I make an effort to reach the net. I walked backwards in three feet deep of rushing water, up the bank while trying to keep the fish on the line. I finally grabbed the net and waded back into the river. Working the fish to get close enough to net it, I was finally able to net the biggest fish of the day... but the story doesn't end here. As crazy as it may seem the fly became disengaged from its mouth and the fish flopped clear out of the net and back into the river. I just stood there looking at the empty net and laughed. No pictures and no witnesses. I regretted telling this story to my circle of fishing partners... for obvious reasons.
I practiced catch and release all day as I did back home in the Sierras, with hopes of securing a similar experience for my family when we traveled to Montana. My son Drake who is seven years old has practiced fly-casting. Drake has a good feel for the sport and has traveled with me to fly fish since he was born. But I'm also aware that just as I am the only African-American fly fisherman on this river, as a father/son pair we're just as rare as a pair of golden trout. I'm proud to pass down this experience as part of Drake's heritage and our goal is to be ready for this year's trip back to Montana.