I grew up in a region designed for big words. It demands superlatives.
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Book Review: Many Rivers to Cross, M.R. Montgomery
If you are an experienced hunter for stone arrowheads then you, much like an angler, know generally the kinds of places such things could be found, what conditions are likely to make your hunt more successful, and that there’s a certain amount of hope involved in the enterprise. Just because it looks like the right spot, the conditions are right, and you bring a double armful of experience and knowledge to the table doesn’t mean that you’ll find either trout or arrowheads.
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Photo by Sam Larson
Brown Trout Birthday Bash, Part 2
When I pull into a parking spot, when I finally see the stretch of river that speaks to me, I tend to lose my calm. The tailgate opens, my gear tumbles out, and I’m lost in trying to do three things at once, to get my waders on, pack my gear, and string my rod.
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Photo by Sam Larson
Brown Trout Birthday Bash, Part 1
The first conversations before rigging up are a spell, something to conjure up a best-case scenario. We want dry fly fishing. We’d accept swinging wets. We’ll nymph if that’s what the day offers, but we won’t go home and brag about it.
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Book Review: The Complete Illustrated Directory of Salmon and Steelhead Flies by Chris Mann
Want to know what goes into a Silver Doctor or any of the various Akroyd variants? It’s all in here.
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Book Review: Fly Fishing the 41st by Joseph Prosek
I think that James Prosek hit on something vital and important when he conceived this book, namely that fishing books aren’t necessarily about fishing.
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Photo by Sam Larson
Cheap Tools
I’ve never been someone to buy cheap tools. My grandfather had me standing on a four-legged stool next to him as soon as I could be trusted with a screwdriver. I spent years of my life repairing bicycles and using tools and my hands to earn my keep. I know the value of a high-quality tool that you can trust to get the job done. Which is why I’m so damn angry about this pair of scissors.
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Photo by Sam Larson
Book Review: Good Flies by John Gierach
John Gierach is everyone’s favorite curmudgeon, and I’ll admit that every time I fish the Vrain I keep an eye out for a bearded gentleman carrying a cane rod.
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Photo by Sam Larson
Carp Quest 2018
I’ve decided that this is the year I finally crack the whole carp thing. I’ve done the reading, I’ve looked at the maps, and I am ready to go all in. At least until runoff is over and all of the trout water opens up. But until then, it’s carp for me.
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Photo by Sam Larson
Tinker Creek
Above me, in stair-stepping pools of tea-colored water the river continues climbing towards the Continental Divide, a minor riverine extravagance below the greater extravagances of the mountains that chivvy and shove the shoreline back and forth between their feet.
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Photo by Sam Larson
The Trips We Never Take
My summers are littered with the trips that I don’t take, all the adventures that never came off or made it out of the planning stages.
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Photo by Sam Larson
Flotsam: Lost and Found
Things even out over time. When you lose something in a river (barring a fly rod, of course. You’re going in after the fly rod.) it’s simply left your hands to wind up in another’s.
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Photo by Sam Larson
Hackle
Winding hackle on a hook is a magic trick. Sleek rooster feathers become bristling guard hairs or buzzing wings while partridge or soft hen transforms into sweeping, pulsing, spidery legs. It's an elegant sleight of hand, fur and feather wound about a steel shank becomes a faux insect, an impressionistic rendering of fish food in miniature.
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Photo by Sam Larson
Fly Philosophy
I am an informal fly tyer. I have stolen heavily from a great number of people and resources and smashed all those tricks, tips, preferences, and shortcuts into what I’d call my personal style.
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Photo by Jeff Stutsman
Greenbacks, Part 1
The trail to Zimmerman Lake was rough. Late-melting snow was piled thigh deep across the trail, and we were stuck post-holeing through long sections of water-logged slush.
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Photo by Sam Larson
Dead
The rainbow trout wouldn’t start swimming again.
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Gas Station Coffee
That last sip of gas station coffee goes down smooth. It’s almost entirely hazelnut flavored creamer at this point, and little more than lukewarm, but I am loving it.
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Fishing along the Boulder Creek Path
Photo by Sam Larson
Fishing in Town
There’s no real gray area about fishing in town. You tend to either love it (well, maybe be ok with it. Love is a strong term), or you hate it. It’s a difficult position to find yourself in, knowing that you may have great fishing in town but that the surroundings definitely won’t be the pristine river environment that you prefer on the weekends.
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Photo by Jeff Stutsman
Hampstead's Knockabout
The honest truth about this fly is that I stole the pattern from Jeff, who either invented it or modified it, I can’t remember. I contributed almost nothing to the development of this pattern, except for the name, the erroneous pedigree, and the verbal abuse I offered up to Jeff whenever he was catching fish on it and I wasn’t.
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Photo by Jeff Stutsman
Casting Call
When I picked up a Western rod again I told myself that I’d be willing to settle for bare competence.
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