Intuitive thoughts and tall tales from the field. Fishing, Hunting, and the Great Outdoors.
"Usually, when I pull down the drive on my way home, I can see Roger and his does digging through the snow to feed on the meadow grass below. They lift their heads and watch me as I carry my tired body towards the porch. Consequently, Roger always walks out to the path to meet me. He watches me as I walk by, surveying my behavior. In my mind, he's just another head-of-household, keeping situationally aware and looking out for his tribe."
"The Big Dog provides, (in an almost poetic sense), such largesse. Christmas isn’t about the gifts we give each other, it’s about the gifts he has given us. It’s about establishing and indulging in an emulation of his everlasting serenity, here on Earth, for a narrow window of time."
"I bet the wait staff and neighboring table of patrons would be as charismatic and conversational as always and, when the elation washes over our waiter at the sight of the unconventionally large tip I left him in the spirit of our tradition, I bet he'll express his gratitude by using a portion of it to bring us a couple of cold glasses from the freezer and a complimentary pitcher of Raspberry Wheat."
"In doing so, I’ve come to understand the critically imperative philosophical roots of some of the most common western sociological convictions, and how they prosper in certain environments or head-spaces. Consequently, I’ve come to see there are two paths before every man who comes up in an affluent society and in an ironic condition of unfortunate intrinsicality and serendipity, there is little anyone can do to prevent the inevitable end in which each path eventuates. One path defines the people who are holding candlelight vigils and peacefully mourning today. The other leads to those who are dancing in the streets, enunciating “we got Charlie in the neck!” through manic cackles and demonic celebrations."
"From the middle seat view of my glass boat, I’ve learned much about people but more so, I’ve learned much from people and, that’s really what these words I’m writing now are about. I love this gig for many reasons but, more so than any other, is the fact that I am directly plugged into a network of fellow anglers who bring to the table their experiences from a lifetime of engaging in this sport. I’m the true benefactor and I simply don’t harbor the adequately creative mind to conjure words profound enough to authentically emulate my gratitude. Just know that I appreciate you all."
"It didn’t seem right. It felt almost sacrilegious; breaking the peaceful and perfect, pellucid, glass surface of the lake in the early morning, dim glow. In my mind, I pictured the huge and varying array of colorful Nachtmann crystal tumblers and carafes my mother cherished and kept in a glass display in the dining room when I was growing up. For another moment I imagined the almost unfathomable horrors that would have fallen upon us, if my siblings or I had ever smashed one and disturbed its picturesque surface character, in the same manner I was currently inflicting on the lake’s pristine topwater. Tentatively, I assumed the thought was giving me chills but I soon realized it was the icy, barely thawed, bone and muscle chilling contents of the water body that I was being physically made aware of, as I waded in to catch the boat, in the superficial effulgence of a headlight I nabbed from my work truck before heading out that morning."
"I reached for my 85mm and began photographing Tristan as he leaned backwards against the fish’s resistance and demanded its submission. Eventually the lunk capitulated and I remember thinking “what a bucket” when I witnessed the net webbing stretch like the legs of an Armstrong figurine. Hud must have thought something similar because he returned the netted mass of aquatic critter to the water and, when he did, I noticed the net’s handle straighten in relief. We anchored the skiff and I hopped out to get a better shot. This was a memory I didn’t want to let slip by."
“He scanned the forest around him. The pines and, the willows and, the sage and, all the wilderness around him was silent and morose. The only exception being the Quaking Aspen, who fluttered a symphonic melody of a million dried yellow and orange leaves as an afternoon breeze tickled its branches. The bruised and bloodied... Continue Reading →
“They hang in the demersal zone and generally, will stir up substrate and gravel to break loose hiding invertebrates and varying larva. Something I’ve noticed in my efforts however, is their love for amphipods which, is exactly the vice you might exploit in an effort to target these large scaled critters. You know… if you’re... Continue Reading →
Authentically Wild Out West 