Ken Stock is simply the most savvy, enjoyable, intelligent good-guy guides I know. In one trip we became friends. He works his heart out to give his clients a great adventure. All there is too it!
Spend some time with him … I did
Ken was eleven and looking through the small fly shop for his prize, an Orvis rod. I had lost the bet and he was dancing in the aisle.
He next explored the art of tying flies. Again he danced, not in the aisle but around the desk in his room where he spent hours perfecting his craft and creating patterns from the raw materials found in his mothers favorite craft store or on the back of his cat.
His home was near a river. Just a small tail water that tumbles down a canyon surrounded by homes, people and traffic. As a kid he worked on his casting, knowledge of lines, bugs and fish. He learned to read the water’s flow; over, around and along, the parts that make the puzzle of a river. He evolved from thrashing and splashing to observing, thinking and becoming a master of his favorite river tool, the fly rod. He got good. Real good.
Ken has found his life in Montana. He is happy and fulfilled. He is truly a son to be proud of, a husband, a father and one hell of a fly fisherman and guide.
May his river tool be strong, his fly just right, no drag on his drift, and the net full as are his days.
Spend some time with him. I did … and I cherish the sight of him enjoying his passion.
The day that I spent fishing with Ken was one of the most memorable and enjoyable adventures that I can remember. He got me into some big fish, which was nice, but what he really gave me was a phenomenal experience. He is a down-to-earth person, a passionate sportsman, and has a sixth sense for fish. It was a reel privilege that I can’t wait to relive. Thanks Ken!
Ken Stock is simply the most savvy, enjoyable, intelligent good-guy guides I know. In one trip we became friends. He works his heart out to give his clients a great adventure. All there is too it!
Spend some time with him … I did
Ken was eleven and looking through the small fly shop for his prize, an Orvis rod. I had lost the bet and he was dancing in the aisle.
He next explored the art of tying flies. Again he danced, not in the aisle but around the desk in his room where he spent hours perfecting his craft and creating patterns from the raw materials found in his mothers favorite craft store or on the back of his cat.
His home was near a river. Just a small tail water that tumbles down a canyon surrounded by homes, people and traffic. As a kid he worked on his casting, knowledge of lines, bugs and fish. He learned to read the water’s flow; over, around and along, the parts that make the puzzle of a river. He evolved from thrashing and splashing to observing, thinking and becoming a master of his favorite river tool, the fly rod. He got good. Real good.
Ken has found his life in Montana. He is happy and fulfilled. He is truly a son to be proud of, a husband, a father and one hell of a fly fisherman and guide.
May his river tool be strong, his fly just right, no drag on his drift, and the net full as are his days.
Spend some time with him. I did … and I cherish the sight of him enjoying his passion.
The day that I spent fishing with Ken was one of the most memorable and enjoyable adventures that I can remember. He got me into some big fish, which was nice, but what he really gave me was a phenomenal experience. He is a down-to-earth person, a passionate sportsman, and has a sixth sense for fish. It was a reel privilege that I can’t wait to relive. Thanks Ken!