So here’s the premise. Matt and I go fishing, with each of our sons. My wife and daughter are at some type of ladies event and Matt just wants to get out. For the record, Matt’s son is 3 and mine is 2. Our kids are intermittently walking, playing with various found implements of, Read More
My wife and I had the opportunity to go on a real vacation for the first time, and without the kids nonetheless. Remembering the value of getting a break when I was little my parents wanted to give us the same gift. Thanks are in order to my grandparents for setting the stage! With the, Read More
The submerged root-ball looked like a horror movie prop. Its deepest mysteries were hidden in shadow, but what reached the light was pure menace. Meaty shrouds of river gunk waved from grabby tentacles over crevices pregnant with evil possibility. No one yelled “don’t go in there!”, and they didn’t need to. I knew I wanted, Read More
We stared at each other for two minutes in the crisp morning air as the sun peaked over nearby hills. The adolescent moose made the first move, circling around knobby knees, nose to the ground, like a dog setting its bed, once, twice… Then it charged. With a two year old on my back, Read More
He wants to catch a fish. That’s great, right? Well, let’s set aside for a moment all the warm fuzzies – connecting a boy with nature, passing on our proud American sporting heritage, igniting the light of wonder in a child’s eyes, forging resilient father son bonds through blah, blah, blah etc. – and, Read More
Have backpack rides and fish shows lost their appeasement power? If demands for greater participation are chipping away at your USOB, consider deploying a faux fly rod. This bit of DIY stream-side gear can provide the time and elbow room you need to put the sneak on that rising rainbow around the bend. Here’s, Read More
During the gap after the shotguns are put away and the water is still frozen over I get restless. Thoughts go to summer days with fish rising to dries or wading in ankle deep water in saltwater locals. As the water opens I jump at the opportunity.
I’d never seen a strike like it. The turbid water was sluggish all afternoon, and the action slower still. Glide after riffle, run after pocket, pool after hole, each held its silence in turn. Top water? Zip. Dropper rig? Uh-uh. Deep drift? Nada. Strip a bugger? Swing a bugger? Bugger and a worm? Whiff,, Read More