By Roger Emile Stouff
Not getting out much. Who can stand it? Polar bears, I guess. Grouse and ducks, and foxes. Continue reading Seeing
By Mike Sepelak
Silence. Crisp, wintery silence. No, not exactly silence. Something better. Continue reading The Silence of a Solitary Fisherman
By H.B. Rushing Jr.
The year was nineteen sixty nine mid March in the town of Baton Rouge Louisiana. A humble but proud man and his young wife had a son. Here I am the eldest of three children, nicknamed “Blackie” because of my dark complexion. As the years passed and I grew into the boy that was my father’s son, all the older people in family would say “he is his father’s son.”
Continue reading The Great Beast
Due to the increasing obligations and demands the three of us have on our time, we’ve made a few changes.
We’ll no longer be publishing “issues” in the traditional sense. As submissions come in, when we are able to process and up load them, new material will be posted to the site. We believe this will make it easier for us, by not having to process, upload and style an entire issue at a time.
You can use the “Posts” button at the top right hand side of this page to receive notices of updates in Firefox only. Other browser users can bookmark this page and check it now and then for new material.
Others may manage subscription options by using the Subscribe2 link in the right column. This includes getting email updates.
Truthfully, we almost canceled Far & Away at the end of 2009 due to the demands of continuing it, but struck upon this idea as a way to keep it going, especially in light of the great response we’ve had from both our readers and our contributors.
Wishing you all a very happy New Year,
The Staff
By Karl (Trout Whisperer) Seckinger
The cabin sits on a hilltop with a benched elevation of 1665 ft above sea level, north of Lake Superior. Depending on what map I look at shows an ordinary high water level of between 550 and 610 ft. We have assembled on high. Continue reading The Wake
By Larry Offner
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me… a Joan Wulff fly casting DVD. Continue reading The Fly Fisher’s 12 Days of Christmas
By Mike Sepelak
Twas the week before Christmas and down on the Haw
Not a fish was a’rising, the weather was raw.
The water was frigid and brisk was the air,
Too windy for fishing, but I didn’t care.
Continue reading T’Was the Week Before Christmas
By John G. White
Two things a lodge owner will never do is trump you at pool nor admit he’s ever tasted a better battered bass or bluegill. The first is known as “lodge pool”; the second, diplomacy. Both are considered job security.
If you’re like me, and you are, you’ll run into the dude about mid-afternoon en route to the fish-cleaning shack and he’ll make due comment on what a fantastic stringer you have, and how the fish just weren’t biting like that last week.
Continue reading Battering Up Ol’ Don
By Len Harris
As a young pup I was left to explore and to make my way on my own a lot. My sisters were quite a handful for my mother to keep track of. They ranged from age 3 to age 17. They were toddlers and young women. All of the problems of youth wrapped up in a single parent family. My mother had been recently been left a widow at age 39 with 6 children. Continue reading Only One Day
By Jim Witham
I slipped the key into the driver’s side door lock and twisted it to the left, expecting the click of the lock opening. No click. I twisted the key to the right. Still no click. Puzzled and a little concerned now, I waggled the key back and forth in the lock. Nothing.
I thought: What the…?
Continue reading Mojo
By Mark Hollier
(A Sunfisher’s Diary)
It was a cool, crisp fall afternoon and the trees were blazing with autumn colors. This time of year puts me in a reflective mood. Nature is changing. The robust tapestry of spring and summer evolves into a colorful fall quilt that she pulls over herself for the big sleep of winter. Another season is passing. The colors are unbelievable. The cool, dry air carries the earthy smells of the fallen leaves and dry grass. There is a certain calm, undisturbed silence this time of year. A silence that helps us sense the changes that are coming. Continue reading Three-weight Creek
By Mark Dillow
The hum of the jet engines pushed me closer to my destination, a midwest city that was home to a customer. Business took me to a town only an hour away from the birthplace of my mother.
I was hopeful the meetings would conclude in time for me to make a pilgrimage to the old home place, and to visit another important plot of ground before the press of time pulled me back to the airport and busy schedules. Continue reading Going Home
By Richard Taylor
Ruben Leonard Ford, my father-in-law, was a wizard when it came to reading trout waters. He would let you fish ahead of him and take all the time you wanted. Then here he comes announcing as he goes just where all the trout in the stream are holding. Those pronouncements were followed by drifting (gasp!) bait into the lair of each and every trout in the entire section of stream he was able to reach with his brand of flipping and “high sticking.” The bait was typically a long fat night crawler or a kernel or two of whole corn if the water was somewhat muddy or stained. Continue reading Best of the Best
