After a long day of traveling from the west entrance of Yellowstone National Park, we finally arrived to the northeastern corner for some fly fishing. Being Yellowstone in the summer, we encountered long lines, dodged endless buffalo (nearly hit one), and made our share of stops at designated attractions. With all the amazement of the day, I however couldn’t help but think about tossing a line to native cutthroats in one of my favorite national parks. Pictured is my dad, a dry fly purist instructing my wife and I on the intricacies of dry fly fishing. I slapped on gink and tossed dries to willing cutthroat until the sun crested the mountain. Sharing this experience with my old man and wife was a moment I’ll never forget.