06/30/2026
Some of my earliest memories in fly fishing were on the spring creeks around Livingston with my dad, Michael B. Agee.
About 40 years ago, he taught me that a natural drift wasn't luck. It was earned. There were broken tippets, wind knots, flies in the bushes, missed fish, and plenty of frustration. But he stayed patient, and little by little I learned.
Today, it came full circle.
Instead of him untangling my messes, I was changing tippets as fine as human hair, picking flies out of the grass, helping him across a tricky creek crossing, and tying on a fly that finally fooled a rising trout.
It reminded me that some of life's greatest gifts aren't fish. They're the people who take the time to teach us, encourage us, and eventually allow us to return the favor.
My dad was fishing these legendary spring creeks back when a knock on a rancher's door, a handshake, and a respectful conversation were enough to earn permission to fish. Those lessons about respect, humility, and treating both people and the land the right way have stayed with me far longer than any trout ever could.
Thanks, Dad, for showing me the way. Being able to help you today meant more than you'll ever know. I wouldn't have had it any other way.