Call ‘em caddis, sedges, dancers, grannoms, shadflies, peters, makers, millers, micros, travelers or whatever your local dialect has adopted. Just don’t overlook them.
With a deftness that defies his five years of age, my son thrust the net forward at precisely the right moment and corralled our quarry. We knelt in water still frigid and stained with sediment from winter snowmelt. Grinning from ear to ear we were mystified at what we were witnessing.
Torrential rain pelted us like a prize fighter. Electricity in the air caused our rods to buzz. After 14 hours it looked like our hopes were dashed as we retreated into the forest. On any other day I would have packed it in and headed for home. But we huddled amongst the conifers in, Read More
“Matt!” called Steven in his best stage whisper. Grizz I wondered? No, he probably just needs the net. “Matt!” came his voice again, more urgent this time, but still softened to accomodate the sleeping toddler. He’d wake her for a bear I figured, and besides, he’s got the bear spray. “Busy here.” I whisper-yelled back with, Read More
Recently I was on the phone with my brother. He told me he had been reading the blog and enjoying it. Pleasantly surprised I asked if he had any feedback. He said something to the effect of “You know that living in New Jersey I don’t get to hunt and fish much these days,, Read More