Like the imperfect sentence that almost conveys an elusive bit of truth, this particular run can’t be left alone. Something rare and universal is lingering there, just beyond the periphery, so you turn to it again, and again, and again, finding it just gone each time… maddening.
The buck, an honest thirty incher, now hangs in my garage. Grandpa is gone. So now I tell the story to my kids… when they’re not out building their own memories with their grandpa.
It’s a big world, and these places, small and unlikely, sown far and wide, are indifferent to our discovery. They can’t be manufactured and they don’t come to you.
Lucas Carroll is passionate about family, fishing and photography, in ways that can be matched by few.
The next few hours are a blur. Yet they might have been the highlight of the trip.
You live in a proud community which is chock full of admirable institutions and civic virtue. In all likelihood I’ve never been there, but I’ve experienced enough places to make that claim with confidence. I’m equally confident asserting that the local fly shop does more for you and your corner of the world than, Read More
Her head and neck were covered in feces. The color and consistency led me to believe it was human. In a panic I made several wild motions complimented with a few guttural utterances that let the dog know I didn’t want her anywhere near me or the truck.
I’ve kept pretty quiet about my favorite winter pursuit. But as the mercury rises, rainbows start to move, and larger groups of anglers begin to awake from winter slumber, I’m ready to fess up. For the last couple of months I’ve spent my spare time swinging a two handed rod in relative solitude.