by Allie Murphy @a.m.u.r.p.h.y
“Bye Murph! We love you girl!”
Those were the last words I heard from some of the most important people in my life as I walked out of the fly shop where I worked in Colorado. A place that was my home, with coworkers that became my family. As I walked out the door, tears in my eyes and mad that I cried in front of “the boys”, a million thoughts rushed into my mind. The main one, “what in the hell am I doing?” I was moving to Montana in what felt like a spur of the moment decision.
Let me rewind for a second here. I was living in Boulder, Colorado working for Rocky Mountain Anglers...the greatest fly shop on the face of the planet...or something like that! I had fished all over the state, seen some of the most gorgeous landscapes ever and made some of the greatest friends of my life. Colorado is quite possibly one of the raddest states in America. The little over three years I lived there were by far the most fun years of my life. So why then did I decide to leave? The fish were calling and the timing was right.
For years I had discussed moving out of Colorado and heading North to “The Last Best Place”. The place felt familiar to me as I have spent plenty of time in Montana fishing, hiking and exploring. However, it was always just an audacious dream of “one day”. I visited Argentina on a fly fishing trip with my dad in January. My life changed, for the better, because of that trip. While floating the Rivadavia in Los Alerces National Park, I decided then and there that it was time to move to Montana. If I didn’t do it now I may never get the chance.
And, while sitting on a raft in the South American mecca of fly fishing I thought to myself, “who wouldn’t want to move to the North American mecca of fly fishing”...at least in my opinion. So, upon returning from that life changing trip, I hopped on the next flight to Bozeman, MT. Within a month I had signed a lease, packed up, said my “goodbyes” and headed north. It didn’t quite sink in until I was driving north following my dad in a U-Haul truck with bald tires and without 4-wheel drive. We were just outside of Casper, WY in 1 degree temps and a whiteout blizzard….that question popped up again, “what the hell am I doing?” The thought of fishing kept me going. Low and behold, I made it through the storm and into my new place in Bozeman, MT on a day with a -15 degree windchill.
I’ve been here for a few weeks and starting to feel settled, trying to stay warm and ready to find some intel on where, what, and when to fish!
