Terror at Lake Walcott
It was just after 3 a.m. when the chaos began. A horrible sound broke the stillness of the night that was like an unopened bag of potato chips popping. It was not. Rather, it was a madman with a knife attempting to break the window of my car and rob me. I was camped alone...
The Greenhorn
I had just threaded my line through the guides, attached a fly to my tippet, and was ready to cast when the uninvited fisherman emerged from the curtain of alders near the river’s bend. In a rushed act of desperate deceit, I hooked the fly to one of the rod’s guides, tightened the line around...
Trout on a worm
My trail companion and I took the morning to fish a small trout stream. I would not be fly fishing today as the vegetation grew to the narrow water’s edge, leaving no room for a cast. Walking to the bottom of a steep waterfall, I dropped my line into a deep pool created by an...
Mountains in Hiding
At the very base of the Rocky Mountains, El Paso, Texas, was a borderland of countries and states, a mesh and clash of philosophy and diversity, kept constant and in check by the watchful, unceasing desert sunlight. This was my hiking ground, and like many El Pasoans, I took for granted the ease of the...
Spring Introspection
Categorically, each spring usually finds me whining of my ineptitude in the turkey field. Fall is usually filled with some manner of celebration over the outwitting of a great horned, antlered, or otherwise hoofed furry prize, but a 20 pound mess of feathers and a brain the size of a pea have eluded me all...
The Genius of Fishing
“The public is wonderfully tolerant. It forgives everything except genius.” -Oscar Wilde “If people don’t occasionally walk away from you shaking their heads, you’re doing something wrong.” -John Gierach In this world, there are two types of people—among myriads— who have always been on the fringe of society: Geniuses and Fishermen. These two may, at...
Water and Trout
Her world was water. Moving water. The rocks around her had changed little over the years, but the cold, liquid medium she existed in was forever morphing to the substrate through which it flowed. The water originated from snow pack, not far from her location at the headwaters of the stream. Cascading and rushing violently...
Big Fish Story
Water. A boat or a bit of shoreline. A rod, bait, maybe a net. That perfect fish. I’d place my bets that you’re already seeing it, that time when you pulled a slick, silvery body in. That time a surge that felt a lot like love came up with the end of your swallowed line....
Cabin Creek
In Connecticut, we are fortunate to have many small streams that have good populations of wild trout. These streams are located on state land and have good access. This is one such stream. A winding, tumbling crystal clear stream with lots of woody debris to make it a challenge to get your fly to its...
Cold Water Canoeing
I was excited to dust off my canoe today as the spring weather reminded me that it belongs in the water, not the barn. My trail companion helped me strap it to the truck, pack a meal, and we were off for a day of exploring. What a familiar feeling it is, paddling a canoe. The fresh...
The Mad Angler’s Manifesto
I speak with the voice of water, rivulet, brook, stream and creek, for the whitewater in lost gorges, boiling cataracts, every place where the souls of wild fish gather to remind us of the power of hydrology. I speak with the name of rain, with the soft lips of condensation, even the dew which gathers...
Smiling Like Fools
“Do you own a handgun?” Dave inquired. “Yeah,” I said hesitantly. “Better pack that along. Never know what can happen down south,” he said with a half chuckle. I had been invited by well-known quail hunting outfitter, Dave Brown, to join him on an Arizona Mearns hunt a week before the season ended. Guiding season...
