I'll fish there until I can't

Anticipation nearly crippled me.

A week before my annual trek into the Yellowstone River canyon my knees began to ache. I hadn’t been running or biking or engaging in any unusual physical activity so I figured it was all in my head. Probably it was because I knew what was ahead.

I first fished the canyon in 1971 when I was working for an outfitter in Cooke City. An elderly couple from Ohio had rented saddle horses for the trip and I accompanied them as the wrangler. I don’t remember much about the ride in and out of the canyon. The fishing, however, was phenomenal.

Technique, proper presentati...