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Stories & Essays articles
I Will Dream
Wading to a gravel bar, to a seam where two currents merge into one, I make a cast slightly upstream and mend the line...
False Albacore and True Friends: The Cape Lookout Albacore and Redfish Festival
“Now’s the time to break out that fly rod,” I said to my young fishing partner as he stood in the front of the...
Tell That to the Bass
A flimsy 737 is no match for a thunderstorm. The supercell temporarily closed Toronto International so we touched down...
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...
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