Wherever we wander these days, no matter how far afield we get from what we (in our biased as hell ways) consider to the current epicenter of modern fly fishing – the Northern Rockies – we’re always on the lookout for a fly shop.
There’s something about a fly shop that draws fly fishers like a magnet, overpowering their sense of time and space, forcing a quick stop to sidle in, kick the tires, dig through the fly bins, and shoot a little bullshit with whoever’s willing in the neighborhood.
Doesn’t matter if the shop is all fancied up like the new Orvis digs above in San Antonio, a tumbledown shack packed to the ceilings with gear in Laramie, or even ensconced in the old whorehouse like the Bozeman Angler in downtown Bozangles.
Shops score big points when they’re run by owner-operators, have a drift boat or raft for sale in the parking low, have a grill or smoker set up by the back/side door, have a messy and active tying station set up on the counter or a dedicated desk, have a pile of nifty-logo’d shop stickers free on the counter, and have at least one gray-muzzled, sleepy shop dog asleep on a damned-near-antique dog bed in a corner (a shop cat will do in a pinch).
We love a good fly shop.
