July 4th, a day of independence not only for America but also for the women of fly fishermen. For days, months and years we have sat and heard stories of big steel, rising bows and slurpers. Numerous dinners have gone cold waiting for the fly fisherman to return home. There were times we’ve woken up lonely, merely to return to bed that same night alone, only to be woken in the middle of the night by the “stink mitt”. But not today! Whippa and Mooncaster decided to take us to learn the art of casting a fly rod. As mentioned before, having heard of all these epic battles with frozen guides, bent rods and screaming reels. We thought we would never catch a fish on the fly. With a quick lesson and a demonstration, our casts were surprisingly decent. We started hammering one fish after the other. That was epic! Yes they might not have been the enormous Chromers of the Salmon River or the amazing Brownies of the Delaware, but simple Blue Gills of Mooncasters family pond. We now see why the men love to go fly fishing. It’s peaceful, the scenery is spectacular and the joy of reeling in a fish is unbelievable. Now, while waiting at home for our men to return from their grand m?lée, we can sit and wonder when we will be welcomed to go fly fishing again.