A bloated, dead cow bobbed by, accentuating that the river meant business. The river had begun its annual cleansing ritual.
At the Murray, Lefty Kreh, George Anderson and a who’s who of the fly fishing world look down upon the patrons. It’s mid afternoon and the bar is lined with seasoned guides, young fishing bums, and a few more well to do anglers who have long since retired from their day jobs.
“Dada, um… Dada is it raining again today?” asked the five-year-old who’d come to wake me. “I don’t know man. You tell me.” Little feet jumped to the floor and trotted to the window. I knew from the pause what his answer would be. “Yeah… still raining,” he said finally, sounding too solemn for, Read More
“Uh… Dada? The fishing river is too fast!” It’s been said (way too often in my opinion) that God doesn’t close a door without also opening a window. I’m not much for religious platitudes as a general rule, but like most clichés, this one is overused largely on the strength of its applicability. It’s, Read More