If memory serves me, the first time I met John Randolph, under brisk, gray November skies, he could have passed for a hardscrabble Vermonter, head capped, bib overalls covered by a dark sweatshirt and insulated vest. The morning was frosty. He was scurrying to get chores done with his family together for Thanksgiving at his ancestral East Colrain farm.

From where we stood along a fence on the eastern slope of the Berkshire foothills, proud Monadnock would have beckoned over Randolph’s right shoulder on a clear day, but the faraway New Hampshire landmark was hidden by unfriendly sky. In the hollow below, out of earshot, Workman Brook babbled through the wetland on its way to the Green River. Randolph cut his teeth as a fly fisher on those two streams. They left indelible marks on an accomplished, worldly angler who’s fished alongside and edited fly-fishing icons.

Today, settled in Harrisburg, Pa., as editor/publisher of Fly Fishing Magazine, the 63-year-old Randolph is far removed from his days as a Franklin County schoolboy, first in Colrain, then at Arms Academy in neighboring Shelburne Falls. But Randolph hasn’t forgotten his roots, and that’s apparent when reading his new book: “Becoming a Fly Fisher: From Brookie Days to the Tenth Level.” The book chronicles Randolph’s evolution as a fly fisher, one whose bedrock was formed during his brookie days along the loamy banks of that brook called Workman which runs through Randolph’s lower pasture.

Locals may remember Randolph as a rugged, All-Western Massachusetts Arms lineman who co-captained the 1957 squad along with Ronnie Scott, or a power-hitting cleanup man on a potent Arms baseball team coached by Jim Butterfield. Randolph has come a long way since then, graduating from Williams College in 1962 before following his father’s footsteps as an outdoor writer and editor.

Father John W. “Jack” Randolph was the New York Times outdoor editor from 1956 to 1960. Randolph says his father hunted or fished until 2 p.m. daily, then penned his Times column six days a week from his Colrain farm until taking ill with cancer and succumbing as a young man in 1960. He was followed to the Times by outdoor scribes Oscar Godbout (who died in a barroom brawl) and Nelson Bryant, a retiree whose columns still occasionally appear in the Times.

After a short stint in the Marine Corps (1963-66), young John landed his first writing job as a technical writer for General Electric (1966-68) before joining the Brattleboro (Vt.) Reformer as a reporter in 1968. Within a year, he had moved up the ladder to county editor of the Bennington (Vt.) Banner, then founded Vermont Sportsman, which he edited and published for 15 years, until selling in 1983. Randolph’s Vermont Sportsmen days overlapped his career with Fly Fisherman Magazine, which began in 1978 as managing editor and led to his current position.

Over the years, Randolph has developed a passion for fly fishing felt by many unable to describe it with his deft touch. So, if you want to understand why it is that people fly fish, let Randolph explain it. If you’ve been there, you’ll nod your head in agreement. If you’re a beginner, it’ll give you something to shoot for. If you’ve never handled a rod, Randolph’s book will encourage you to buy one.

It’s not for the party-boat gang, sipping martinis and dragging a line through the water behind them. No, this book is for the fish hunter who creeps softly along a mountain stream, always observing and learning about trout and the aquatic insects and baitfish that make up their diet. It’s about a lifetime of seeking and absorbing all there is to know about fly fishing, then pulling it all together to attain the “tenth level.” It’s about casting and imitations and presentation and philosophy. It’s about patience and ethics, fins and fur and feathers, tippets and tapers and 10-weights; and it’s about East Colrain, where a brook called Workman led Randolph to a river named Green and a lifetime of pleasure. It was on the Green that a youthful Randolph observed his first fly fisher catching trout. Although he doesn’t pinpoint the location, anyone who’s fished the northern Franklin County, freestone stream will know he was standing on Ten-Mile Bridge, connecting East Colrain and West Leyden.

You’ll place Randolph’s book next to treasured volumes in your fly-fishing library, alongside Schwiebert, Bergman, Borger, Arbona, Krieger, and the other masters. From time to time on a cold, quiet winter night, you’ll remove it from the bookcase to read a chapter or two beside a warm, relaxing fire with a glass of wine. The language will inspire you to tune your equipment for spring and explore the inner sanctum of your sporting consciousness.

The passion is there.