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Stories & Essays articles
Golden Morning
Early morning fog is slow to fade as I pull the fly rod from its cotton sleeve. When the sun breaks through the shroud...
The Fighter Still Remains
The previous evening the old man had sat on a bench while watching a black bear, a little one and most likely born the...
Three Rivers I love... and a Lake I Hate
So here’s why I hate the lake. It was a calm morning a couple of years ago and we’d started out on the east end of...
The Shadow King
I first saw the fish the previous summer. It was on a Monday night, Memorial Day. Caddis had begun hatching a little...
Gardenhäckle
Fly fishing is a philosophical pursuit. It is more an approach to life than sport. You find yourself alone on a creek...
In the Land of Nod
Bonnie Brook is as much a state of mind as it is a clear running stream that is home to a wild strain of trout. It is...
February Thaw
As I grow older the winters seem to last longer. With the temperature rising into the forties on this first week of...
A Distant Note of Sadness
An unsullied creek is a rare thing, and an unsullied creek with brook trout much rarer. For most of North America, at...
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