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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.
Purple mountain majesties get all the ink. But for every picture-postcard perfect acre of Tetons, Big Horns or Snowys in Wyoming, there are ten of high desert sagebrush steppe – and they do the heavy lifting. They never make the movies or the magazine covers. They just make the antelope, sage grouse and elbow, Read More
Folding neatly the greenhead splashed soundly onto the water. The old lady made quick work of the retrieve.
“Dada, is this one pokey?” “Yep.” “Um… cause it’s got a hook on it?” “They all have hooks son. Careful.” “Ok, I will. But then… if I get poked a little… then um… then I’ll just be brave. Ok Dada?” The next day would bring the year’s first fishing trip and we had some, Read More
Separated by a thousand miles, we head to church with the rest of our family. While my mother peers into the casket, we drop the boat into the river on a sunny January day. Water drips off the oars after every stroke. Tears of sadness and joy stain the faces of those in attendance., Read More
When I was a boy, I spent much of each fall and winter in the backseat, driving hither and yon with my parents to assorted sporting events. I went to hundreds of games, all over the country, and each meant the world to me at the time, but today I can’t remember squat about, Read More
The old lady gets all the ink. See here, here, here and here. But I actually do have two dogs. My 5 year old male, while lacking the flair for the ridiculous and the dramatic of his counterpart, has been consistently retrieving birds like a laser guided missile since he was a pup. At, Read More
“Dada, Dada I called the pheasant!” came the voice from the yard. I can’t call anything. To a passing flock of mallards, I’m as persuasive as a hitchhiker with a chainsaw. The most effective thing I can do with an elk bugle is leave it in the truck. I have my strengths, but imitating, Read More
Tears streaming down her face, I agreed to head back to the car and and hang out for the last 20 minutes of shooting. The sound, and even the thought, of shotgun blasts had her terrified. We had never had this problem before and the two younger kids were unfazed, simply wanting to shoot, Read More
“We don’t eat the feathers, cause see that would be silly, right Dada?” “Right.” “Yeah, cause we only eat the meat, and feathers aren’t meat and… and… um… cause see the meat’s on the inside!” The duck we were plucking had only hung for a couple days. I’d planned on waiting longer to breast, Read More
Bucking in circles like a rodeo bull, her enthusiasm belied her age. I was scrambling around the cold garage looking for duck hunting gear that hasn’t been used much lately. The temps started to drop, from a high of 20 F, as soon as the sun dipped below the mountains. Waterfowl was our game, Read More