The Troutbitten Podcast, Episode 8 is now available everywhere that you find and listen to your podcasts. ** Note ** The Podcast Player and links to your favorite providers appear below We’re out there to catch trout. That’s what brings us to the water. But how many...
The Troutbitten Podcast, Episode 7 is now available everywhere that you find and listen to your podcasts. ** Note ** The Podcast Player and links to your favorite providers appear below This is our seventh podcast episode in the first season. And we’ve done this...
With Rich behind the wheel, we traveled north forty miles toward the next wild trout. The two lane road turned into a turtleback with no lines. Then another hard left led us onto a gravel road, recently worn and torn by logging trucks and summer storms. The heavy...
In 1998, I made friends with a Border Collie. I found him at a breeder in a small town tucked into the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee, and I named him (Bob) Dylan. He was four months old, the largest in a litter of four brothers. And as many stories like this go, Dylan...
I finally have an honest understanding about what draws me into night fishing. Yes, it’s the fear. And of the serious night anglers I’ve known, it’s the same for all of us. Fear is the crackling spark plug . . .
The lost friendship transforms a river bend — that one with the ancient and hollowed-out sycamore — into an active tombstone. The towering tree with the undercut bank becomes a place to remember shared moments of casting into cool waters, where the ghosts of laughter and fond companionship persists.
You know the water level, clarity, the hatches, weather and more. That’s great. But local conditions are different from local knowledge. Here’s what I mean . . .
I know what the game of chasing trout has given me. For over forty years, I’ve had a wonderful purpose, a focus, endless challenges, and a reason to set my feet on wooded, watery paths often enough to call these places home . . .
Fishing is as big as you want it to be. From the beginning, I’ve been in it for the long game. And in the end I plan to wade upstream, toward the light at the end of the tunnel.
I wasn’t quite sure why I’d asked the kid if he fished in the first place. But there was something about him that compelled me to share. And here I was, about to give up a guarded secret.
“Do you have a piece of paper back there?” I asked. “I’ll show you something . . .”
Right on time, Smith’s signature worn-out ball cap crested the hill on the north side of the gravel pull off. When his full frame came into view, I motioned to the propane grill and smiled with a nod. It was preheated. Resting on a large chunk of limestone, I had the portable grill ready for meat. When Smith approached, I handed my friend a beer without a word. Glass chimed and we nodded again.
This is what I like about Smith: We planned for noon, and he’s so reliable that I knew it was worth lighting the propane at 11:50 . . .