• Steelhead, Dean River British Columbia.

    The Steelhead With A Thousand Faces

    Maybe if I take five more steps, throw one more mend, skate one more fly, a hero will appear, armored in chrome, and dance to the music of my singing reel.

  • Grey Reef section of the North Platte

    The Birth of A Fishing Town

    Calf deep now in the cold river, Trent’s completed his prelude of silky false casts and is ready to start the show in earnest.

  • Commercial: Authentic imagery makes your story come to life and connects you to customers.

    In The End, Style Might Be All We Have

    Over the course of 6 trips, in and out, and nearly 40 miles, I question whether or not it’s worth it.

  • Photo by Steven Brutger


    Folding neatly the greenhead splashed soundly onto the water. The old lady made quick work of the retrieve.

After fifteen minutes, three fly changes and a complete rotation of casters the plan was looking dubious.

Then the line came tight. A large swirl followed and I got my first glimpse of what was on the line. This wasn’t your average trout. My son had the net at the ready and forgot all his previous reasons to go home.

Let’s face it. Shooting clays is to hunting birds what Game ranch is to Wilderness Sitcom is to Shakespeare Veggies are to venison Friend-zone is to first kiss Randy Savage is to Rulon Gardner Coffee-mate is to cream Teddy is to grizzly Gas is to charcoal Fluorescent is to full sun Pool is to, Read More

Needing to clear the guides for the 40th time I snap the tip off my rod.

Who cares how they get there, so long as they get there?

Hazard lights flash in the middle of the road. Car doors are left open. The passengers are nowhere to be seen. Everyone seems to be following suit as rental cars, RV’s, and people of all ages and nationalities are scattered in what looks like an apocalyptic scene. But no one is running for their, Read More

Somewhere deep in the unknowable past one of our ancestors looked at this creature and thought… I’m going to eat that. God bless him.

I was standing in the worst looking duck habitat I had ever seen and I didn’t even have decent waders. That was fine. I was chukar hunting. I didn’t need waders. Or ducks. It was January, the end of upland season was looming, and I had been wrecked by a cold for the last, Read More

Legend has it that William Carlos Williams left a masterpiece of American poetry by way of apology and thank you note to his hosts after raiding their icebox. We should all be so kind.

Cruising down the two lane highway the world lights up with colors only seen during the first few moments of the day. Looking back I take a final look at the sunrise as I pull the boat towards the river.