The first time I got on the river this fall I switched out the fly boxes in my vest and cleaned off the fly patch. It all still lies on my tying desk.
I hadn't cleaned off that patch since my first trip to Rocky Ford Creek last March.
So there, in one little pile, is the tangible record--minus the many flies I lost--of the entire trout season.
So many memories in one little heap of deer hair and feathers.