3:30 AM – The alarm goes off. 3:33 AM – The alarm goes off again. You remember that you don’t have to go to work, but that you get to go fishing. This gives you a performance-enhanced level of energy compared to every other morning, and you get up. 3:40 AM – Getting dressed quietly …
Particularly on the east coast, popular fly fishing water gets that way because it is productive. Consequently, going to streams or rivers that provide a high probability of catching many and/or large fish also results in the high probability of fishing with company. Water in populated areas or with special regulations will always result in …
For fly fishermen, “sense of place” is defined as much by rivers as it is by any other cultural or personal aspects. A town might be where an aunt lives, but there is also a stretch of special regulation water close by. Your wife’s favorite antiquing may be in a particular region, but it is …
In baseball, a player that suddenly and unexpectedly loses the ability to perform a routine task (making contact with the ball, a catcher throwing back to the pitcher, etc.) is said to have the “yips.” It is a perfectly wonderful part of baseball, a sport filled with bizarre and nostalgic traditions. However, I think that …
The Great Lakes tributary system is a pretty remarkable fishery. Sure, the fish aren’t native and they don’t have an opportunity to run to saltwater. But they are big, fight hard, and are discerning. If west coast steelheading is like filet, then the Great Lakes offer up a hearty burger. It isn’t the same thing, …
The angler rises early, and has not time to dally He requires food and fuel from a warm and trusty ally. Across the Mid Atlantic lay the perfect place for gas and eats Every fisherman worth his flies knows the Ballad of Sheetz.
There are a lot of tense moments on the stream. Seeing a trout rise, and hoping that it – like most trout – didn’t see you the moment after you saw it. Making a bad cast to a spot you know holds a fish, and gritting your teeth knowing you screwed up. Hearing crunching in …
There we were. Two teenagers, in the middle of the woods, well below freezing, early in the morning… surrounded by snarling dogs. I can’t remember exactly where we were, but I do know that it was a medium-sized stream on the west side of the Shenandoah National Park. Alan and I had been canvassing the …
I’m guilty of judging a book by its cover. Or, more appropriately, a fly rod by its filthy handle and crusty blank. For nearly ten years, I’ve had a decorative rod holder with a number of rods displayed on it. They’re all hand-me-downs or yard sale, five dollar grabs. After all, as a fly fisherman …
