In the midst of tarpon season, a curious email arrived with an unusual request. It went something like this: I’m from Ontario and I’m trying something interesting this year. I’m a fly fisherman in my 60th year and I’m trying to catch 60 species of fish before my 60th...
Crouched down with my back to the wind, I pulled my hood over my head to shield myself from the icy wind that gnawed at my neck. With my other hand I dug through my pocket, grasping for a plastic wrapped packet of HotHands. I coaxed the packet out with my stiff achy...
Idling away from the ramp, the orange street light glow was slowly swallowed by darkness. He looked back to the east, but the first hints of daylight had yet to leach into the sky. He had a long run ahead of him through a cutting northwest wind. It would be glorious....
The person who introduced me to fly fishing was part of an established group of very capable fly anglers. Some had pedigree. Others brought skill, but everyone had something to offer. The group offered vast knowledge of fly fishing which they generously shared with...
Where the flats meet the forest, sits the wild outpost of the back country. It remains untouched by the plague of progress. Its magnificent beauty is amplified within the deepest reaches. The wildest fish live in seclusion, inhabiting secret coves and hidden creeks....
-“It’s impossible for a saltwater flat to be more barren.” -“This is a place where fishing dreams go to die.” -“I would kill for a ladyfish right now.” -“Dear Lord, please send a school of Jacks to this awful place.” These are thoughts I’ve had while fishing...
Great Tarpon Season Coming to an End
