An ode to lost fishing waders
I lost my fishing waders this past weekend.
That’s right, lost them.
Somewhere along the line on a weekend road trip to the Yaak River and Lake Koocanusa in northwest Montana, the only pair of quality fishing waders I’ve ever owned flew from the storage compartment atop the car and wound up roadside.
Those waders were the ones I wore when I caught the biggest trout of my life – a gorgeous Smith River brown. They were the ones I wore on the rivers of Patagonia and New Zealand and Alaska, fishing waters as clear as gin. They were the waders I marched through brush in, slid across rocks and bled in.
And they may just have been waders I built with my own two hands.
After college and before my job as a journalist, I work at Simms Fishing Products in Bozeman as a production employee. I spent eight hours a day for more than two years seam taping fishing waders. That meant sitting at a taping machine with my headphones on guiding GORE-TEX fabric through an incredibly hot jet that sealed the seam.
For years Simms had established a solid reputation by selling its Guide model waders to industry professionals, guides and demanding anglers. Then came the advent of the G3, the next generation in Simms product line. I happened to be working for the company during the transition.
The first G3s came off the sewing line and stood in stacks before myself and three other wader tapers. The new seams were intimidating, with broad curves that would be difficult to guide through our machines.
We had our doubts.
But, as with most tasks repeated over time, the seams became easier and easier to tape as each day passed. The thing about working in production is finding that perfect rhythm between accuracy and speed. To meet the demanding standards set by Simms a wader must be taped – as well as sewn, stitched, bar tacked and booted – to exacting specification.
It was hard work, but I enjoyed it. I took pride in doing my best and working hard to put out a good product.
And before I was through, I saved some money and bought a pair of G3s. I spent all day working with them, and I wanted to spend all day fishing in them.
They served me well.
My guess is those waders hit Highway 2 somewhere between Troy and the Ross Creek Cedar Grove. I backtracked over a 12-mile stretch of road twice looking for them, but they were gone.
Below Libby Dam that evening, I knocked back a Bitterroot Nut Brown Ale staring into the smoldering ashes of a campfire and listening to the meanderings of the Kootenai River.
Here’s hoping those waders end up in the bed of angler’s pickup truck.
Someone who takes pride in a job well done.
Someone who loves to fish.
Someone who fits a size medium.
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