Search Month: October 2017

Beads are the Best

  Hatch Magazine published my article, "Beads are the Best," with some candid thoughts on when, why and how beadhead flies work. Here's an excerpt . . . -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- . . . I’m not trying to catch all the fish on all the days anymore. More often,...

Fifty Fly Fishing Tips: #14 — Tippet Rings — Thank you, tiny circles

“Those tiny rings change everything,” said my father. He stood in the water beside me, looking curiously through his glasses at my little metal circles. “Sure do.” I replied, and I neatly swapped out a double nymph rig for a two streamer rig in about a minute. Dad...

Streamside | 86,000 Miles and the Unassessed Waters Initiative

  Protecting our rivers and the fish that live there — that’s the mission, isn’t it? That’s what so many good people and anglers work toward. Trout Unlimited has partnered with the Pennsylvania Fish & Boat commission to search for and protect undiscovered...

Fifty Fly Fishing Tips: #13 — Fish with Friends

People are different. We aren’t compatible with everyone else, and I guess we’re not supposed to be. My nature isn’t a great match for some anglers, and that’s obvious as soon as we hit the water. I don’t need to fish with a clone of myself to be happy, but I do need...
Fifty Fly Fishing Tips: #13 — Fish with Friends

Fifty Fly Fishing Tips: #13 — Fish with Friends

People are different. We aren’t compatible with everyone else, and I guess we’re not supposed to be. My nature isn’t a great match for some anglers, and that’s obvious as soon as we hit the water. I don’t need to fish with a clone of myself to be happy, but I do need...

Fishing with a Camera

Fishing with a Camera

  UPDATE: (Oct. 2017) -- Two summers ago, I wrote this short guide for choosing a fishing camera and carrying it on the water. The point is simple -- select something that you can accept losing, because whatever camera you fish with will eventually be destroyed....

Fishing Alone

Fishing Alone

I swear I fish best when I’m alone. I can’t prove it without a witness, of course, but I guess I don’t care to verify it anyway . . . and that’s the point.

In what seems like another lifetime ago, I fished the mountain streams alone and often, and I miss it now. In daydreams, I sift through memories of small water, the infinite brown-green variations of spruce and ferns, moss and bedrock. I see the variance of shadows oscillating in the wind among tree branches and impeding the passage of sunlight, from the deepest blacks to the hazy flickering shade marbling a maple leaf canvas on the forest floor, with its fresh but dying colors of fall. I miss the brookie streams.

Fishing mountain water is how I first defined my fishing self, and I long for that adventure and discovery again. I guess I stopped fishing the mountain water once my life became more about other people and less about me: marriage, a real job, kids. I had more time before all that, more days for dedicating to the miles and efforts it takes to reach lonesome places, to fish a while and then just walk back out . . .

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