As one who spends more than 90 percent of my time on the water on foot, a great pack is something I relish, especially for days that run up to 10 hours or more away from camp, the rig, or a drift boat. I need space for food, hydration, emergency items, rain gear, fly boxes, bear spray and more. And I need that space to balance well on my skinny frame, preferably keeping its extras out of the way when the hatch comes off and it’s business time.

When I was nine years old, my Uncle Joe and Aunt Doris gave me a fly tying kit for Christmas. It was boxed and wrapped and tied off with a big shiny red ribbon, and I opened it at the Tanner family Christmas party, which, if memory serves, was held the weekend before the actual holiday. This particular celebration was at Joe’s home (we rotated every Christmas; one year at our house, the next year at Uncle Jim’s, the next at Uncle Austin’s, and so on) and I don’t think I was ever so excited as when I pulled off that wrapping paper and saw the treasure I’d just received.