About 1985 while hunting deer with my son on a ranch in the Snowies, we found the remains of an automatic fly reel lying in the hay field. As a kid I used to help with haying there, and after long days and big dinners, the two brothers and I would go out to fish in the dark for big brookies in the beaver dams. One night my reel got hopelessly snarled for the the final time. In frustration I took it off my rod and flung it out in the dark. To come across it again nearly 30 years later brought back some good memories. I left it there.
