Early in his latest book, Tom Reed is fishing the Greys River in Wyoming with Chris Hunt, who lands two wild Snake River cutthroat trout, then turns to Tom and says: "I love blue-lining." "Blue-lining?" (Reed) asked. "You know, fishing those blue lines on a map, those thin blue lines."Chris, like me is a small-stream guy, a guy who would rather be on a creek somewhere in the forest, far away from trails and people, than on the glorious Madison in a drift boat surrounded by rising brown trout. When he gets to new country, he pulls out a Forest Service map and finds those lines of blue. They start in the far-back country and cascade through canyon and chasm. A few have trails, but if you walk far enough from your vehicle, if you push into the depths and move those muscles, you will put people behind you and find trout ahead. Then there are the blue lines that have no trails--where a fisherman bent upon catching must stumble and slip through thick timber, or scramble down rough canyons, or thrash like a wallowed Hereford through patches of willow.
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