The danger a modern angler faces is not physical, but is every bit as real.  Perhaps you will encounter this peril while playing a shoulder-wrenching, rod-bending brown on the Beaverhead or the Big Hole.  Perhaps it will happen as you land your umpteenth trout- all over fifteen inches- in just a couple of hours on the Ruby.  Or perhaps it will occur as you sit watching the setting sun dapple the mountains with a Monet-like palatte of lavender, old rose, orange, burnt gold and eggshell blue.  I can’t predict when the danger will come over you, but you’ll know when the nagging, persistent questions start to assault you.
            Why do I live where I live?  Why do I get up and go to work each day?  Why don’t I just say to hell with it all and move to Montana, to live forever among these dramatic buttes and purpled mountains and fish all day long?  How could life possibly be any better? < previous - next >