"The One That Got A Way . . ."

You’re standing in clear cool water up to your thighs, quartering your dry fly upstream, cast, mend, follow, cast again, mend, follow, mend, cast, POW!, the water explodes and you’re into the biggest fish of the season; he runs strong upstream, then turns and zooms past downstream; you get out of the water and follow; miraculously, he’s still on, and after shorter runs, he gives up and comes into shallower water, partially on his side.

Holding your rod up, you reach around to the handle of your net and... grab empty air! You pause, the fish sees you, gives one last surge of energy, and the chafed tippet snaps. You slowly sit down on the bank to regroup. The natural law of perversity dictated that this would be the moment when the eyelet on the end of your net handle will have chosen to come undone, leaving your net somewhere in the brush, or floating 1/2 mile downstream, heading for the ocean.

DON‘T LET THIS HAPPEN TO YOU!

The pinned brass tang on our nets will never work it’s way out, and your net will stay where it is supposed to be - on your back, and in your hand as the fish comes in. The gods of perversity will have to use another of their many tricks to foil the best laid plans of mice and (fisher)men.