Fly Fishing Stories & Essays (2)

Read The Story A Good Old Fashioned Fish Killin' The fishing the day before had been brutal. It was a good day, mind you...just tough on the body--like a good night drinking. But I don't do that to myself anymore. The reward for surviving ones youth is to take care of yourself, I suppose.

Read The Story Yup…That’s The Plan “Well…let me know how it turns out.” Tom said. I had run into a friend of mine at Alfalfa’s grocery store. “So, whatcha got planned?” He asked.

Read The Story Fishing Anyone's St. Vrain There is a term used by fly fishermen from time to time—locals in town, mainly. “Like Boulder Creek...only wider and with larger trout.” It is a standard point of reference. Like a standard, but vague unit of measure.

Read The Story Free Wheelin’ (Last Days of Summer) I slept in on purpose—a rarity anymore. Then I took my coffee and breakfast on top of a topo map spread out on the kitchen table. I had no plans. No obligations. No company. A full day to burn. The only plans I had at all, on this last day of August...

 Read The Story Phantoms of Fish Camp I have been infatuated with the romantic notion surrounding the idea of Fish Camp, for most of my life. Not just fishing camp, but Deer Camp...


Read The Story  Lakes Revisited Places revisited. Lakes revisited. It is not taking a step backwards, an emotional demotion—it is, as Kenny and The First Editions used to say, me just dropping in to see what condition my condition is in. …

Read The Story Lucky Man I have never been a man of means. Unless you consider stubbornness and persistence to be means. (Maybe they are, but you sure as hell can't fold them up and put them in your wallet.) I was not born with a silver spoon in my mouth...

Read The Story Pegged Beads (And My Turmoil About Them) This is a sensitive subject—the fly-fishing version of bringing up politics at a mixed family barbecue, or religion at the pub. The pegged egg. If you have no idea what I am talking about (congratulations!) you need not read any farther. Go about your day…

Read The Story Friends Flies (& Shitty Handshakes) He didn’t start off on the right foot—parking sideways in the fly shop parking lot. It was a slow Sunday in the shop, so the sloppy parking wasn’t really an inconvenience to anyone, but there was something about it that stunk of a deep seated entitlement that those born rich will sometimes have. Then the handshake...

Read The Story Chasing Childhood Fears "Turn the page....fast!" my five-year-old-self said to my mother, clapping my hands over my eyes as pudgy shields against the creepiest centerfold known to man...

Read The Story Windblown Wanderings on the Big Thompson It is Spring. Although the two inch fresh blanket whose thickness is still being added to as I write, would moonlight you no hint...

Read The Story A comparative analysis: IF FISH WERE DRUGS Bass: Medical Marijuana. This a chill experience, spent mid summer casting a popper along some peaceful pond, lined with cattails. You might be in a small, manageable jon boat...

 Read The Story Hard Work Pays Off (and other lies your parents told you) It has been a few weeks ago now that I got my ass kicked out on Clear Creek. Had the entire day to figure things out and turn my fortunes around. It was a week day, too…so I had the canyon all to myself. No excuses. There was nothing hatching, but so what? I didn’t want to fish dries anyhow. I dredged the whole damned canyon with nymphs and streamers...

Read The Story The Reservoir The reservoir is near perfect. It’s close to home, well hidden and few people know exactly where it is. It’s not tiny, but easily small enough to fish entirely in an afternoon by two driven individuals with fly rods...

Read The Story Tying Flies I feel like I am on a movie set. On a scape I have dreamt. Painted into a picture I have seen before --- like when Bert draws Mary Poppins a jolly holiday and they jump into the sidewalk, careful not to smudge what has been created, what is so beautiful...