Fair enough. Nothing wrong with the eyes being in touch with the imagination and the taste buds. However, I was expecting to hear his specific impressions of the stream--which might bring us in turn to a discussion of approach and strategy. I played along.

"Why a glass of scotch?" I asked.

"The water is sloshing all around up there, just like when I roll the glass in my hand to mix the ice up a little."

"And where would you taste the fruits of this ambrosia?"

"Right at the edge of the rocks, of course." He was right: one does, after all, have to drink from a glass at the edge of it, just as one fishes most productively at the edge of a current.

"What do you see when you look in your glass?" I queried.

"Something delicious," he replied.

Although the experience reeked of suspect metaphor, my companion was coming to spontaneous conclusions based on observation. I was impressed. Memories of too many anglers walking up to countless fishing holes, stripping off line and rushing to get a fly onto the water have faded into dulled memory. I have seen such behavior so many times, I cannot numerate them, or remember a face. On the other hand, the few anglers I have come upon who are watching the stream, patiently observing, waiting for signs of fish--these anglers I do remember, all of them, and quite distinctly.

Some years ago I came upon my friend Lowell Gennrich (who was featured in the winter 1996 issue of MFF) sitting at a favorite hole of mine on a stream in coulee county. We exchanged pleasantries and he told me he had been sitting there for 45 minutes, trying to decide how to catch the big one he knew was in that hole. There was a big one there, indeed, and I knew it, too.

It was a lesson in formulating fishing strategy, I thought, that an awful lot of anglers could learn from. Lowell had the experience and knew the value of observation, and he was willing to wait until the trout told him how it could be caught. In a sense, Gennrich was playing the game according to his opponent's rules, and enjoying the surrounding scenery in the process.

Observation isn't just about catching fish. It's about all the little and big things that give us the upper hand in outsmarting the fish. It's the watching of the eyes and mannerisms of your poker opponent. It's the ability of a good football coach to look not just at the opposing team as a whole, but to look for the smaller details that he and his team can take advantage of, including the assessment of every opposing player. It's the noticing of shadow, light and color that a great photographer sees when waiting for the right exposure.

So basic is the power of observation that it is often overlooked. Once we assess the fishing situation, why shouldn't we get to the business of casting? Because if we wait and watch we are likely to learn more about what we need to know about catching fish, and patient anglers will always catch more fish. Patience also rewards us with a pace that is deliberate, giving us time to notice our surroundings.

I am particularly attached to the binoculars I own, and I keep a small, quality field glass on stream with me and use it for all kinds of examination, from hatching bugs to migrating birds. I keep a bigger, more powerful binocular in my car, and it has proved its worth many times over. Frequently while driving I pull the car over and scan the rivers, pastures, trees and even other anglers.

Whenever I observe birds flying over a stream and back to the trees, I assume that there is a hatch of insects. A short walk and closer surveillance may reveal the hatch, perhaps even fish feeding on emerging flies. What an advantage, knowing that the fish are up and eager before I'm into my waders. I can use the time to figure out a strategy.

Several years ago, another fishing lesson hit me square in the forehead. I was wading a rocky little river, scanning the surface for bugs as I moved upstream. I changed flies and kept on the prowl for hours, changing patterns every time I saw a new insect. Then it dawned on me: as I waded, I had been kicking up crayfish. They were everywhere. I took a brown Woolly Bugger from my fly box, weighted it, and skipped it along the bottom in crawdad fashion and I caught fish, a lot of them.

The lesson, of course, is to be alert to the possibilities and not be tunnel-visioned. There is much to be learned about the environment of the fish you're stalking by turning over rocks and evaluating the fish foods you find here. Checking out the grill of your car, spider webs and the back eddies of moving water also can reveal secrets of insect life that will help you decide which flies fish are eating and which artificials you should use.

Knowing what to look for while you are presenting an artificial fly to fish is also a critical skill. How your fly lands on the water, whether it floats or sinks and whether its drift is natural or unnatural can make or break your fishing experience.

Observing and understanding drag and how it occurs and manipulates the drifting fly is crucial to better fly angling. Drag is often very subtle, but it is always important, and it almost always puts fish down. Recognize it when it happens and you'll be able to change your presentation or your strategy to eliminate or minimize it.

Contemporary fly fishers should know that their angling community is growing and as more folks take up the sport the fish we chase become harder to fool. It's a fact of life. The astute angler must always be looking for ways to gain the upper hand. Enhance your powers of observation. Sit down and watch the stream and the fish before you fish for them. Get a good pair of binoculars, a set of clip-on magnifiers and pay attention. Observation is the glue that binds success to strategy. And while you're fishing, take time to notice what's around you: the changing seasons, raptors on the hunt, burning sunsets, spiders weaving webs. The rewards of fly fishing are limitless.