Dear Huck,

I promise I’ll pull this down after you go to bed and have a time to read it. It sounds like you and your dad shared a special day in Ennis, yesterday. It also sounds like the fishing was tough. I wanted to take some time to write you a letter, because I’m a big believer in Huck!

Fishing is such a great metaphor for life. In life, so many of our circumstances simply are what they are; so many of our circumstances are out of our control. Well, you can say the same about fishing. We can’t control the seasons, the weather, the water quality (temperatures, clarity, flow), the wind, the hatch, and we sure as heck can’t control the fish. So, what can we control you might ask Uncle Mike? Well, there’s a few things we can do. We can control our effort, our attitude and our actions. And we can control to some degree, our perspective and mindset. I believe you’ve got the growth mindset woven into the fabric of your being, and the perspective will come with time (years).

Now let me tell you a little something as someone who’s been flying fishing for over thirty years and who worked for nearly a decade as a fly fishing guide. You Ignatius Hulton Bunkers are something special. And when it comes to your prowess, dedication, determination, and commitment as an angler, you’re in rarefied air my friend. I’m such a big Huck believer (as I know your mom and dad are), and I can tell you this, my pops has been fly fishing for over 50 years, and he’s never seen a little man like you. You’ve got it all Huck.

Ok, so that’s my hype for you. Now let me be really honest and blunt with you about the art of fly fishing. It’s just that. It’s an art. It’s a beautiful, brutal, rewarding, challenging, and dare I say, spiritual endeavor. One of the things I love about you is how you can go all day without catching a fish, without losing your love of the craft. But it’s ok to get frustrated. It’s ok to have a frustrated part, heck, it’s more than ok, it’s natural. We’ve all been there. That probably won’t ever go away, though it’ll become less and less as you continue to learn to appreciate the simple act of having a rod in hand and staring out at water. Fishing (like life at times), is frustrating. But that’s ok too. It teaches us patience and perseverance. It makes us a better person when we do it right (I’m convinced of that), and you are doing it right.

Now, the brutal truth. Fly fishing, for most of us, isn’t a year-round endeavor. Growing up as a kid, we only fished three months of the year (July, August, September). This is primetime. If you’re going to fish the shoulder seasons, there’s a lot of adversity and a lot of days of getting skunked. Ponds are tough. Those fish are challenging. They get hit hard. And they aren’t always moving yet. That water down there is cold. The fish metabolism keeps them pretty sluggish this time of year. Are there fish to be caught in the shoulder seasons? Sure. When I was at the University of Montana, I made a goal of catching a fish, every month of the calendar year, in the same hole, down the street from my trailer (a 1978 Tamarack single-wide). I never had big numbers days in the winter, but I caught fish every month out of that hole, except for one (February). That year the hole froze over for a month. Totally out of my control.

My point in sharing that story is that I battled hard, day after day, for one or two shots at fish during really short windows 3-4 pm when the trout would feed on midges and more days than not, I didn’t catch a fish.

I always said, If I could only fish one match, on one river, for one month each year it would be the Skwala, on the Bitterroot, in April. It was my favorite. I fished it every year for over a decade. Little secret if you end up at the U of M and find yourself fishing the skwala. They’ll start eating around 1 pm, and they shut off at 4 pm. But there’s a magic one hour window from 3-4, when the water is warmest and the fish get moving.

We live in an area (the east side of the divide) where the water is big (challenging rivers to walk wade like the Madison and Yellowstone) and they get hammered (by anglers). You’re a young (and inspiring dude) and I want to see you keep that fire burning in your belly, because I believe you’re going to be a transformative angler (if you so choose). Honestly, I think you’ll be great at whatever you do. But I don’t want to see you get so discouraged, that you let your love and passion and fire for fishing burn out.

So, here’s my advice. Keep reading. Keeping watching videos. Keep thinking about summer days, knee deep in a trout stream. You my man, just like me and my dad, are haunted by waters, and that’s a beautiful thing. Fishing (especially fly fishing) can be frustrating in the middle of the summer (peak performance), but the shoulder seasons (and stillwater aka lakes and ponds) can be flat out maddening. I’m not telling you you shouldn’t fish outside of those magic summer months, but just know that the best of us go out and get skunked (fishless day) during the shoulder seasons (often). Heck, I had some stressful days as a guide even in the middle of the summer where I simply couldn’t get clients into a fish. That’s what I didn’t like about guiding. Nothing about fly fishing should be stressful. It’s about the love, it’s about the joy, it’s about the process.

You are doing everything right! You’re studying, you’re working hard to learn, and you’re putting in the effort. I’m a big believer in fish mojo. Keep that attitude strong (despite the blows and challenges) and keep that fire burning little man. You might be taking the town of Twin Bridges by storm (I can certainly see it) not far down river. Ultimately, it’s all about the experience.

Trust the process Huck. Trust your process. Be persistent. You are doing everything right. Control what you can. Smile big. Study. Be mindful and grateful on the water. Cast far (or not). And believe in yourself, because I sure believe in the angler (and person) that you are.

Sorry this was so long buddy! Maybe it’ll put you to sleep.

We’ll get you back in the boat this summer!

Head up, eyes forward, feet moving.

With nothin’ but love, Uncle Mike