• 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.

  • 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.

  • 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.

  • Banded

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

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

A blood red sun is about to dip below the horizon.  Dogs are in their kennels, collars off.  We head down the dirt road, about to put a great trip in the rearview mirror.  It takes a couple of minutes but I notice my old man, riding shotgun, still has his vest on and, Read More

Finding the seam between currents, and threading your fly just there, is the difference between playing with Pisces and enjoying the view. As hard hunting and fishing fathers, we’re stalking a similar sweet-spot – the balance between passionate pursuits and happy home-lives. Sometimes we nail it, sometimes we miss. Weeks go by when we’re, Read More