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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.
Mother Nature plays a cruel game of cat and mouse this time of year in the Northern Rockies. After three or four months of sustained cold and dark, she tempts hope with a few deliciously gentle spring days, then bares her claws and swats us back into winter. It can be a frustrating process, Read More
The sun peeks over the canyon rim, providing light for a few short hours. In the cold and dark hardly anyone visits. But the trout are still there.
“Daaaaadaaaa,” calls the three year old over a barely repressed giggle, “it’s baaaaack.” He’s spotted the pheasant again. That used to be reward enough for him, but now he’s grown to expect a show too – the Keystone Kops routine of his father trying to snap a half-decent photo. I’m pretty sure he’s rooting, Read More
Snagged on the second cast I break off my rig. A tailing loop catches my indicator, creating a rats nest I can’t undo. I clear ice from the guides for the tenth time. Coils in my running line catch on a rock. The trend continues all afternoon. On occasion I have a day where, Read More
She is dog-ugly, but I’ve dreamed of getting into her bed for months now. Who am I to judge if she lies right next to the highway, downstream of town and in the middle of an oilfield? So her banks are intermittently lined with junk cars and half-submerged industrial debris… let he who hath, Read More
We found ourselves a few hours from home, needing to kill some time while my wife was in a meeting. The local fly shop beckoned. “What’s that?” I asked. “Uh…I don’t know…pheasant tail?” “Nice, that’s right.” “Can we buy this one?” “Ah, not sure we can catch a trout with that.” “But I love, Read More
“Interested in fishing this afternoon?” asked Steven. Knowing from experience that Steven’s enthusiasm occasionally outpaces his judgment in these matters, I gave his question serious thought before answering. The idea had some obvious shortcomings…most notably that the thermometer read 9 degrees. On the other hand, the day was young, sunny and still. Standing there, Read More
Pea soup fog slowly gave way to a vast expanse of asphalt grey water. It felt more like the Outer Banks than the flats of Texas’s lower Laguna Madre, let alone the turquoise waters of the Bahamas that many compare it to. Squinting into the darkness an occasional tail pierced the surface. Working to, Read More
“Why is fishing line marketed like condoms?”
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