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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.
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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.
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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.
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Banded
Folding neatly the greenhead splashed soundly onto the water. The old lady made quick work of the retrieve.
“Look Dada a clue, a clue!” Live water is an hour away this time of year, and viable bird hunting is nearly as committing. With only a two hour window to spare, Everett and I had opted instead to creep around the sage and look for small game. Maybe the dog would kick up, Read More
It’s not the where the meat of the adventure takes place, but it’s often where it begins or ends. The tailgate. A launch pad and a landing zone. Gear is organized and prepared for what lies ahead. Waders or boots are pulled off upon return and exchanged for sandals and loose sneakers. It serves as, Read More
Kindergarteners are loud. “Hey, Dad, hey! Look it, a prickly pear cactus!” They’re slow. “Can we take another candy break? Pleeeeease!” And they’re poorly suited to the brush. “Um, Dada… animals live in habitat, and that’s not habitat. That’s a pricker bush.” These aren’t qualities that’ll help you find game birds. But it’s not, Read More
The Talisker 10, from Scotland’s Isle of Skye, has been one of my favorite single malts for quite some time. It has a one of a kind flavor that is complex, slightly smoky, yet extremely smooth. So when I heard of the limited edition Talisker Storm, that was supposed to accentuate all the traits, Read More
It all starts innocently enough. Sundrenched summer afternoons wiled away beside childhood rivers. A stringer of bluegill here, maybe a bass from the frog water there. Sometimes you crawl through the rhododendrons looking for brookies. You’re with friends; everyone gripped by the same hopeful sense of adventure. Who knows what lurks below the surface?, Read More
Thanksgiving leftovers are still in the fridge. My wife is hanging christmas lights and adorning our home with other assorted holiday decorations. But with a full freezer and winter settling in my thoughts are turning to next year’s river trips. Sure it’s a bit early, but then again maybe not. Depending on what you, Read More
It’s Black Friday, the national holiday of acquisition and consumption. I bet attendees of the original Thanksgiving set about finding and collecting assorted provisions after their feast too. It was called hunting back then. Team STS may find time for some old-school shopping this afternoon, but first we need to finish counting our blessings., Read More
By Kirk Billings We had discussed it and we’d agreed. We were upland hunting and not waterfowling. Besides, we had never seen ducks in the area, so why would I spring for an out of state license to play to an outside chance? We were looking for pheasant and the birds already knew it., Read More
“I sure hope we find some greasewood thickets today,” said Kirk. At least I think it was Kirk. It sounded like him, and came from the general direction of where he’d been swallowed by the brush. The dry sarcasm was a pretty good clue too. “Bound to be a few around here somewhere,” I, Read More
My fingers were almost numb inside gloves that had been left in the truck all night. Cold metal from the trailer hitch and scraping ice off the windows had quickly taken their toll. Feeling was slowly coming back as the defrost blasted. Headlights guided me through the darkness as I headed to the put in., Read More