It's snowing outside. It's April. I'm sitting in front of my computer with a cowboy hat on, in Belfast, Maine. I'm trying to get used to it. The truth is, thanks to eBay, I now own two cowboy hats when a month ago I had never ever owned even one. Out West, they wear cowboy hats when they fish, not ball caps. I've learned a lot about the John B. Stetson hat, its history; various stylings; how to steam and shape it; what all the XXXXXs stand for; and that you switch to your straw on the first day of spring. Both of mine are straw.

I was unable to decide between offerings from the electronic auctioneer and I couldn't imagine wearing a cowboy hat in winter around Belfast. So two straws, no 10X beaver felt. This all happened because I plan to fish my way from Santa Barbara, California, back to Maine. Ron has his ticket to fly to Reno. He'll meet me there and he's trying to figure out his hat size. This, of course, makes our wives and friends a little nervous. They've heard the story of Ron and I and a Ryder truck stuck in the middle of a prairie dog town in Arizona.

Several weeks ago, I wrote a piece asking for ideas about where I should go on that trip and I've gotten more suggested destinations than I could possibly get to. I've learned to tie a lot of western fly patterns. As well as the two cowboy hats, I now own DeLorme maps for California, Oregon, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, and Colorado. One of the most unexpected pleasures of this whole enterprise has been connecting with a bunch of fly fishers my son's age who travel faster and more widely than I ever could.

Henry Ginsberg wrote me all the way from Vietnam, where he assures me they've never even considered catch and release fishing.

Jake Payson sent me pictures of a couple of trout he'd just caught near Provo, Utah, after a day of skiing.

I could fish for the rest of my life on the list that Jesse Robbins sent me from Washington, where he has every fisherman's dream job: Testing and developing fly rods for the Sage company. Another Waldo county boy made good.

At the end of his list he added, "if you're that close to the coast, you might swing down to the salt.” Sure why not.

The response to my request for help that has given me the most to think about was from Danny Legere. He and his wife, Penny, own and run the Maine Guide Fly shop in Greenville.

Almost 30 years ago, he sold me my first fly rod, reel, and a handful of flies. He showed me how to tie a fly. He showed me how to save a few bucks with ShoeGoo, some felt soles, and an old pair of sneakers when I couldn't really afford wading boots. He knows a lot about fishing in Maine and is willing to share both his knowledge, stories, and his love for fishing.

Last summer, my dad, who was 87, Ron, and I fished the West Branch of the Penobscot with Danny and Chad Cray as guides. We floated the river in boats, which was perfect for my dad and got Ron and I to sections of the river that neither of us had fished. It wasn't just perfect for my dad. What a great way to fish, sitting high and dry, floating down one the most beautiful rivers in the world and catching fish.

We ate like lords and then fished some more. We learned to fish overlooked patterns and before we left the shop that night Danny had given me a couple of partridge wings to tie up the patterns that we had been fishing with great success. Did I say it was a perfect day?

And what was Danny's suggestion about where to fish between California and Maine? He told me that he'd spent the last 30 years fishing in Maine and he felt like he couldn't tell me too much about fishing out West.

I start fishing in April every year and fish into October. There are places I return to again and again, but every year I discover new and beautiful places to fish here in Maine. There's more than a lifetime's worth of water and fish right in my own backyard. How perfect is that? I'm going to have some fun in my cowboy hat if I ever get the hang of it, but I can't wait to get home.

Rick Cronin fishes in Maine and reports on why the big ones got away.

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