A love of nature and a life-long passion of fly fishing are the reasons why I created Troutdogs. As a gangly kid, stumbling over slippery rocks with fly rod in hand trying to keep up with my Dad, we would approach our favorite riffle or deep pool with a new feeling of excitement and anticipation, no matter how many times we had visited the same spot. Every restless night before our trip together, a false dawn would creep into my bedroom window and arouse me from my dreams of hungry trout feasting on mayflies in the foam lines, riffles and tail outs of our favorite stream. I could see their purplish blue spotted backs, holding in current seams just beneath an undercut bank, slowly rising up to sip an unsuspecting Caddis or Pale Morning Dun or Blue Winged Olive or any of a hundred other insects emerging from their watery cradles, their lives often no longer than a human heartbeat, but long enough to matter, then slowly slipping back beneath the surface, with a slight undulating movement of body and tail fin, disappearing into the dark shadows, ready to repeat the cycle in another instant. A half century later, I still see fish in my dreams. I've come to understand that the places my passion takes me is a piece of a larger whole, a place I call nature. Watching a sunrise break above jagged peaks in a fiery blaze of reds, smeared like a streak of paint across a newborn sky, or marveling in the moment of a doe and her fawn standing silent in tall grass, sheltered by a barn door carelessly flung open, alert to the smell of a new season that lingers on the wind like camp fire smoke, I am grateful and fulfilled. These sensory experiences fuel my approach to create. My first cast with my father fifty years ago and my next cast today are no different. No matter how much I think I know about what's ahead, it's what I don't know that holds the mystery of surprise. For me, every cast is a new beginning.