My Wooley Bugger was missing. It was Sunday afternoon, the first day of a week-long vacation, and I planned to drive up to Lime Creek for a couple of hours of fishing. But I loved that old Wooley Bugger, and it bothered me that it wasn't where it belonged, snug in my little aluminum fly box. I'd caught at least four dozen trout with that Wooley Bugger during the last year. Even if I didn't tie it on the line today, I wanted to bring it along. You know, kind of like a good luck charm. It seemed like a necessary component of my vacation, during which...