I approach from downstream, making daring casts into the brush pile, probing a dark network that's shaped by collected seasons of tangled roots and half trees. A heavy current crashes into the pile and is redirected outward, and I wade into the bottom part of that...
There are two kinds of secret places, I suppose: one’s that are truly tucked away somewhere unknown, and ones that lies right underneath a fisherman’s nose. This place harbors a little of both . . .
My favorite eight-year-old looked at me exasperated, with his signature furrowed brow and troubled eyes. He animated the short speech with both hands and turned up the volume on his words. “Well Dad, I want to, but I don’t want to.” Ahhh yes. That’s my son, because I’ve felt like that my whole life.
His tortured answer was a reply to my easy question: “Should we fish today?” But life decisions are hard for a boy so full of ideas and new plans for each day. I know it. I feel it. I remember it.
At that age, I hadn’t yet learned about the bargains we make with time — that we may do this thing now and the other thing later, accepting that upon fruition the second thing may be only half as grand as we’d hoped, if only because it wasn’t done first. These decisions are desperate when you’re eight years old.
He’s stuck right in the middle of two eras — old enough that the adults aren’t regulating every facet of his life, and yet not quite adept at wielding the freedom of choice. It’s overwhelming sometimes. I see it. I get it. I remember it . . .
Dad and I didn't set up camp in our usual spot. For as long as I can remember, we’ve chosen primitive, state forest lands rather than campgrounds. It’s quieter, and there’s more of a sense that you’re truly getting away from everything for a while. But this year the...
There are two sides to every fisherman: one that simply enjoys being on the water (hoping to catch a fish), and the other that desperately wants to know how to put more fish in the net. These two parts find an internal balance inside every angler I know . . .
I spent most of the last two days in, on and around it, partially covered and burdened by it; and breaking, chipping and melting it --- ICE. I've fished the single digit temps a handful of times before, but it's been a while since I've had that chance, so when I read...
I paused at the fire pit with those thoughts, and then I moved on. Today was about memories; about beauty, about the scent of cold winter air in the woods, and about a perfect peace found only in loneliness . . .
I've been fishing in the dark two other times since my last Night Shift report, and on each of those trips I experienced limited zero success. I knew that winter night fishing was going to beat me up and test my resolve, however, it's been even slower than I...
Last Sunday Sloop John B set up the annual Troutbitten winter cookout. I think most of us prefer to fish with a little space around us, so I've never been one to get excited about fishing with a load of people, but at this location, there are so many different...
Good thing we don't just go fishing to catch fish, because there wasn't a whole lot of that going on yesterday. Burke and I teamed up for a Sunday float, and we tried to make the Steelers' playoff loss quickly drift away into a fading memory by rowing through some...
The light of the last day of the year began to fade, and I reminisced a bit. It’s been an incredible year for me, full of life lessons that I probably needed to work on for some time now.
Here’s to living the next year vividly . . .