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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
By Mike Sepelak
A time honored, traditional recipe. Good for both the body and the soul.
1 medium sized Colorado freestone river
2 lifelong fishing buddies, nicely aged and generously salt-and-peppered
2 large boxes of hoppers, humpies, and assorted terrestrials
1 flask of Kentucky’s finest Continue reading Arkansas River Ambrosia, Colorado Style
By Capt. Gary Henderson
“A man tells his stories so many times that he becomes the stories. They live on after him, and in that way he becomes immortal.”
Continue reading Fly Shop Chronicles: “Bill Bishop, Tarpon Tamer”
By Richard Taylor
PROLOGUE:
Most everyone can recall at least one defining moment of emotion or sentiment that’s lodged deep in their memory.
Continue reading The Last Walk
By Roger Emile Stouff
I.
I fish where Indian warriors once stalked hardwood oak forests and paddled dugouts through stands of red cypress older than the cathedrals of Europe; where enormous stepped-pyramids rose from clamshell islands off the coast of what would become Louisiana.
Continue reading The Great Sadness
By Nick Conklin
What is courage? What is that desire and fight that never lets you give up, no matter what is thrown at you? How do you know when you have it, or in my case when you don’t? You can discover a lot about yourself when you are put in a position of either failure or victory. My courage was put to the test early in life, and it abruptly plunged me into a position that would prepare me for many of life’s struggles.
Continue reading The Weight
By John Michael White
Concentrating my gaze on the olive PMX beginning its drift, just inside the current seam, tranquility began to replace the gnawing disappointment of recent days. Standing little more than ankle deep in a riffle of the Colorado River, alone, feeling the warmth of the afternoon sun on the back of my neck as the river’s water rushed around my waders and cooled my calves, I had momentarily forgotten disappointment’s bitter residue.
Continue reading Surprised By Providence
By Len Harris
Photos by Barb Harris
I went to the nursing home to pick up my wife. She had worked a double shift because of the bad weather here in Wisconsin. The nurse that was to work the shift could not make it in because of blowing snow. Barb left her little car in the parking lot. I barreled through the snow with my SUV. My wife was at the curb waiting for me. She was really tired from working a double shift. As we went home, she told me there was a new intake in the nursing home. She met the guy briefly and introduced herself. The 80ish year old man introduced himself as Trout . Barb asked the guy if that was his real first name. “Trout” said that his real name was something else but he has been known as “Trout” since his childhood.
Continue reading Gone Fishin’
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