Hard going for big trout
Over time, and especially now that my life includes family, I’ve learned that each extended trip to some fresh fly-fishing turf ought to be lived like it’s the last time you’ll ever see the place. I used to say to myself, “Well that was cool, but now that I know the deal, next time will be sick!” I’d fully expect Continue reading
Editor’s Note: Troy Letherman is the best writer you’ve never heard of. His fly-fishing writing, which is limited in abundance, is absolutely kick-ass. Letherman “gets it” as an angler and his interpretation of a day on the water is no different than his consideration of any day in his life—in other words, Letherman is keenly Continue reading
Recently, I was standing on the banks of Washington’s Skagit River, lamenting the merit of my spey cast.
In contrast, three seasoned guides traded off with Winston’s new Boron II-MX switch rod, saying things like, “This isn’t fair! Now Continue reading
Sometimes I get mired in the negativity and I need a release. Cake’s Pressure Chief offers that. This nor-Cal band provides flippant tunes in a funky way—an appealing mix of Continue reading
If you’re looking for some Irish punk to get you down the long, straight road, or if you just want to piss-off your campground neighbors—as in, no sleep for anyone tonight!—Flogging Molly’s Swagger is a great buy. This Continue reading
One of the rarer books on angling I’ve ever encountered, Tarpon Quest is perhaps most remarkable for its lack of affectation. While in his mid-60s author John N. Cole sets out to catch a tarpon, one of fly-fishing’s most sought-after and consistently spectacular gamefish. Like far too many of us, he fails. However, he quickly regroups, studies like someone in the last week of NASA’s Astronaut Candidate training program, practices more than that, and generally takes this matter of a fish moving to the fly much too Continue reading
The first normal job I ever took was with Tom Darling and the Avid Angler Fly Shop in north Seattle, shortly after I’d been canned by some wicked skipper on a commercial fishing boat in Alaska. He died on a treadmill three moths later and I didn’t shed a single tear.
At that time the Avid Angler was located on Meridian Way and I could sneak Continue reading