Stalking the Conejos
"Creeks are 'dear to my heart,' as my grandmother would have said, and since I don’t have a spare heart to turn to, I’m glad to know there are hundreds of thousands of miles of them: more than I could fish in thirty lifetimes."
Atlantic Salmon fishing in New Brunswick...
Night of the Hex
Big bugs bring big expectations.
Food for Thought
I had one of the best steak dinners of my life on the outskirts of Valentine, Nebraska. It was at a family restaurant called The Bunkhouse, one of those places designed to feed the locals as well as snag passing tourists in season with the usual corny western motif and a “Little Cowpoke Special” on the kid’s menu. There were a few paved parking spaces out front, but my friend Ed and I were towing a bass boat, so we drove around back to the enormous dirt lot reserved for campers and 18-wheelers. A hot wind was blowing out of the east across a pasture and a truck stop and there was dust in the air along with the combined aromas of cow flop and diesel.
On the Beaches of Baja
A trip down Tennessee way
Haunted by the Skagit
There are plenty of stories about not catching steelhead, so why tell another? Maybe because fishermen have always been prouder of their successes than they deserve to be, but also more haunted by their failures. Or maybe because the unlikelihood of catching these things defines the sport and makes those
Firewood and fly-fishing
The Perfect Host
Topics: "Newer, better, stronger, faster... maybe, maybe not; fishermen tend to be sentimental about their gear" Season: Spring and fall