 OWAA Legends
My Father: A Tribute to Tom McNally
By Bob McNally
Tom McNally, my father, died July 29, 2002, at Madison Valley General Hospital
in Ennis, MT, from what was believed to be a stroke. Dad was in ill health for
some time. He had a number of heart attacks, dating back to the 1980s. When he
retired and moved to Montana, his health grew worse, and he suffered a couple
more heart attacks and strokes.
Dad was cremated, and his ashes were spread over the Bighole River near the town
of Twin Bridges, MT, his favorite brown trout water. This is a river I remember
fishing with him as a kid when I was too small to wade. He’d carry me on his
back through chest-deep water at dusk. The best fishing was at dusk, and the
best pools always seemed on the other side of the dark, deep water. I remember
closing my eyes because I was so scared.
Some of my earliest recollections of fishing with Dad were while attending
gatherings of the Brotherhood of the Jungle Cock back in the early 1950s. It’s a
conservation group that takes kids fishing in the Catoctin Hills of western
Maryland along Big Hunting Creek, not far from the presidential retreat at famed
Camp David. The Brotherhood was started in 1940 by J. Hammond Brown and Van
Campen Heilner. Dad joined the group in the early 1950s, and it helped mold his
fishing life – as well as mine – and my children too.
Fly-fishing was his forte and long before it was in vogue. He may have been the
first angler ever to hook a billfish on fly, a white marlin out of Ocean City,
MD, in the very early 1950s. The fish hit, took line and a loop of backing line
somehow caught around Dad’s index finger, cutting it to the bone. He would have
lost his finger if the fly leader hadn’t broken. But, as he was fond of saying,
if he’d lost his finger, he would have at least caught that first fly-rod
marlin, estimated to weigh about 100 pounds.
Dad was very well known in the Chicago area as a top and pioneering pike
fisherman. He was at the cutting edge of fly-fishing back in the late 50s and
60s. This along with spoonplugging with Buck Perry, and what later became
popularized as “structure” fishing.
Dad was also a long-time bowhunter, starting in about 1950. I still have the
long bow he took his first deer with in Maryland around 1954-55. He bow-hunted
Africa twice in the early 1960s and was close friends with Fred Bear. Bear loved
to fly-fish the AuSable River, and Dad was deadly with flies and trout (fishing
behind him for trout in a river was like fishing behind a net). Bear learned
from Dad about flies and trout; Dad got more of the bow-hunting fever from Bear,
and I learned from them both.
Dad and writer Erwin “Joe” Bauer were the first modern anglers to fish Costa
Rica’s east coast, at the invitation of the government, to learn if there was
fishing good enough to build camps. They lived with the natives in thatched huts
and caught many tarpon weighing well over 100 pounds – on flies.
He was a tough old guy; a World War II paratrooper with four combat jumps,
decorated, wounded, etc. He was in the Italian campaign, at Anzio and Monte
Casino, and was on a troop ship for the Japan invasion when they dropped the
atomic bomb. He told me many years later that his time on the Japan-bound troop
ship was the most depressed he ever was in his life – he knew he wouldn’t
survive it. By then he was the old man of his 101st Airborne outfit – and about
the only one who had survived.
Dad very seldom discussed his time in the service, and didn’t much like to hear
others talk about their war heroics. Dad had nightmares about the war for many
years, even when I was a young adult.
One wartime memory he did pass on – I was named after his best friend Bob, who
was killed while serving with my father. Dad, Bob and four others jumped behind
German lines to kidnap Mussolini from the Italian underground. The six
paratroopers, including Dad, got there, but the underground had already killed
Mussolini and his mistress. Dad later saw them hanging by their heels in a town
square. While going back to Allied lines, four of the six troopers were killed,
including Bob. Dad and one other were the only ones to make it back alive.
Immediately after the war, Dad was a welterweight professional fighter, having,
I believe, 10 professional bouts. He started boxing in the service, and after
the war he boxed for money. He attended Loyola College in Baltimore on the GI
bill where he finished in three years, then met and married my mother. He worked
at a tackle store in Baltimore and wrote an outdoor weekly column for the
Baltimore Union News, while still in college. He stayed at the tackle store
until 1950, when there was an opening at the Baltimore Sun Papers for a
full-time outdoors editor. In 1956, the outdoor editor job at the Chicago
Tribune opened, he interviewed, took the job and we moved to Skokie, IL. A year
later, we moved to Glenview, IL, and remained there until Dad’s retirement took
he and my mother to Ennis, MT, near the Madison River. For 15 years prior to his
permanent Montana move, he had a summer home in Ennis.
Few people accomplish much in life unless they work hard, and Tom McNally was
among the hardest working, most dedicated writers ever. He’d take a newspaper
lunch break in a diner in Chicago, and while eating a sandwich with one hand he
would edit magazine features with the other. In Glenview, my bedroom was on the
first floor of our home, directly above my father’s basement office. Countless
nights I’d fall asleep at very late hours listening to the tap, tap, tapping of
his typewriter as he worked on magazines, books and other outdoor musings.
Over the years he wrote 29 outdoor books and thousands of magazine outdoor
features and newspaper stories and columns. He also did radio, television and
some videos. For years he was on the field staff of Field & Stream magazine,
helped form and get Fly Fisherman magazine off the ground, and was a columnist
for Fishing World magazine for 20 years. He is in the Freshwater Fishing Hall of
Fame (trout were his primary fish, and he fished all the great trout rivers
worldwide, from Chile to Norway, and everywhere in between).
Dad was also a highly skilled fly-tier. When he and my mother lived in Baltimore
in the early 1950s, they both tied flies professionally to earn extra income.
Dad designed and originated many unique ties, including the well-known McNally
“Smelt” streamer, the McNally “Magnum” streamer and the McNally “Frog Popper.”
His interests were extremely varied. His photography was excellent. He was an
outstanding artist (pen and ink), a remarkable pocket billiards player (playing
with Minnesota Fats and some other pool luminaries) and had the best left-handed
golf swing I ever saw, playing frequently at Medinah Country Club outside
Chicago. One of my fondest golf memories is playing with him and the late
outdoor writer Pete Czura on a magnificent course outside Rio de Janero,
Brazil.
When he fell and broke his shoulder before his death, my brother took him to the
hospital. He was in great pain but could take it. What he was most upset about
was that he’d broken his right shoulder, his casting arm. My brother told me Dad
was more worried about his casting abilities in the future than the fracture or
the pain. He was truly a world-class flycaster and angling innovator, having
fished with the best and given casting lessons to many well knowns. He was close
friends with many world-class fly-rodders and anglers, including Joe Brooks, A.J.
McClane, Charles Ritz and Dan Bailey.
When it comes time to paddle my canoe into the sunset, I can only hope to
leave a wake a small fraction as high as that of my father’s, Tom McNally.
Bob McNally of Jacksonville, FL, is the owner of McNally Outdoor
Productions. He is a free-lance writer and photographer and has written over
5,000 magazine features. He is also a co-author of 13 fishing and camping
books.
More Tributes to Tom McNally
I was sorry to hear of Tom’s death. I didn't know him personally, but I did
meet him once. I really enjoyed hearing about his life. I knew him by name and
reputation as all of us in the outdoor industry knew him. He had done so much
for so many people. He came into the outdoor world at a time when he could have
a tremendous impact and he made every second count. - Bob Knopf
The outdoor world suffered a terrible loss with Tom McNally’s passing. I knew
him only briefly in my earliest days as an outdoor writer from Detroit. He was a
hero to all of us struggling scribes. - Jerry Chiappetta
I remember years ago, when Tom was in Chicago, he and I were talking about
Central Wisconsin trout fishing. We had a mutual friend, Russ Gaede, and I
remarked demeaningly, that ‘Russ was getting old and forgetful…” Russ had lost
his way to the “Shack” and it took him 8 hours to get there instead of 3-1/2.
“We’re all going to get old and forgetful!” your dad told me in an
admonishing tone. I think of this often as the years pass by. Balance.
Coordination. Endurance. Strength. The mind, too. All these things leave us
slowly, not so noticeable at first, but they do leave us.
I’m sure that Tom McNally has already hooked up with Al McClane, Charles Ritz
and others and is working on solving various angling challenges. - Jim C.
Chapralis
I have a copy of Tom’s "Fly Fishing" outdoor life book on my shelf at home,
and I think it was among the best of its time. A couple years ago, he wrote me a
note complimenting a piece I did on the history of saltwater fly-fishing in
Florida, and that certainly meant a lot to me. He also sent me a McNally Magnum
streamer, which I have in a treasured collection of classic flies. Tom was a
pioneer in saltwater fly-fishing, no doubt among the true luminaries. - Mike
Conner, Florida Sportsman Magazine
Tom was always so active and in such good health that it seemed he would go
on forever. I met Tom on what I believe was his (and my) first visit to Ennis,
MT, a press trip in the late 50s (I think) organized by Bill Browning and with
Al McClane. I do recall that he really liked the place. We also had some lively
times fishing (briefly) around Grand Cayman and much longer in different parts
of Costa Rica when no sportsmen had yet discovered the place. This much can
certainly be said: Tom enjoyed a life of adventure like few others. And how can
you measure his influence on so many others to do the same. Or rather try to. He
will be sorely missed. - Erwin Bauer
Unlike most men who go through life looking at their feet, Tom McNally
charged through life with his head up and eyes wide open. - Bob Brandau, Brandau
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