I am not going to lie — these days I spend most of my time fly fishing, and fly fishing only. It wasn’t always like that.
I grew up fishing with a little Zebco spincaster, worm on a hook, and a bobber — just like most of us. From there I gradually leveled up: moving to spinning reels, catching trout on spoons and Rapalas, casting flies behind a clear bubble, running assorted baits on three-way swivels, ice fishing, and everything in between.
By age seven I was already catching Browns and Kokanee Salmon while trolling flasher rigs with my dad and brother on the high country lakes of southwest Colorado. Over the years my path took me through soft plastics, baitcasters, and eventually fly fishing — where I’ve been happily stuck ever since.
For me, fly fishing just fits. Honestly, it’s almost more about the fly tying than the actual fishing. I love sitting at the vise, and by now anyone who fishes with me just shakes their head at the sight of box after box — thousands of flies — for what’s supposed to be a quick outing.
But over the past several years, something unexpected has happened. I’ve slowly started picking up the spinning rod again. I’m not entirely sure if it’s because some really good fishing is so close and accessible, or if it’s pure nostalgia pulling me back to my roots — but I’m enjoying it more than I expected.
The funny thing is, after such a long break, I’m having to relearn a lot of what I used to do instinctively. It’s an interesting feeling — almost like meeting an old friend after many years and realizing you both changed, but the connection is still there.
There’s something refreshing about it. Fly fishing will always be my true love, but spin fishing has reminded me that fishing — at its core — is about being on the water, paying attention, and enjoying the simplicity of it all. Maybe the best anglers are the ones who never fully close the door on any method. Whether I’m casting a dry fly to a rising fish or throwing a spoon into a deep pool, the river always has something to teach.
