“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
“Interesting,” said Steven. “Rock worm below the Ray Charles?” “Yeah. Why?” I replied “Just not how I’d have rigged it, that’s all… Do you usually tie your trailer so close to your lead?” “Never. But it was expedient. And it worked last night.” “Interesting.” We were huddled behind my truck in a cool pre-dawn, Read More
“Dada, Dada I got a big, BIG one! Look!” “Sweet. Don’t lose him.” “The red breasted robin wants to eat him, but I won’t let him cause it’s mine and the trout’s gonna eat him when we CATCH it and he must be real yummy cause everyone wants to eat him cause see Dada?”, Read More
He hung in there for six hours. Fueled by gummy worms, twizzlers, and blue gatorade, he flogged the water with a thrift store rod and an indicator. Taking occasional pause to point out a seagull, cow, or family of geese, his focus was unwavering. For the first time all year sun screen was more, Read More
The river is a master storyteller. It gives cold weight to the tug at your calves, voice to the broad, gentle riffle, tang to the shower freshened air, and mystery to the sliding greens and blues of the long, glassy channel. Before the subject of its narrative is introduced – a tiny yellow puff, Read More
It’s the second largest state in the union, yet contains only two percent public land. High fences abound and expensive private leases are often required to hunt or fish, making it easy to write off Texas as a destination for the average sportsmen. However this winter my eyes were opened to another side of the Lone, Read More
“Alright Bud, pick a winner,” I said. Despite George Daniel’s best efforts, I often shoot from the hip when selecting nymphs. I have a handful of go-tos for each of my home waters, but once they’re exhausted, so too are my ideas. Sure, I roll rocks and I reason backwards from recent hatches, but, Read More
Spray from the river and your jacket collar take turns slapping you in the face. Wind pushes waves upstream. After driving a couple of hours and dumping the boat in the river the options are limited. Keep pushing. Spring is fickle. Calm bluebird days are interspersed with harsh winds, snow storms, hail, graupel, and nearly every, Read More
Lately the underbelly of less heralded waters has garnered my attention.
“Dada Dada there’s um… there’s um… you have a dragonfly on you!” announced my four year old as though I’d won the lottery. “Coooooool,” I said, humoring him but not bothering to look. I know better than to take my eyes off a half-tied blood knot. “Yep, on your special wader pants that give, Read More