Fishing Fantasy by Kendrick Chittock

Fly of Sauron

I have never been able to seek out epiphanies. They dart across my mind like bats on summer’s last light, everywhere at once and nowhere in particular. My learning curve for fly fishing in New Zealand was spent swearing fish had echolocation and casting through air that would sooner yield me a flying mammal than a fish beneath the surface of the water. I thought I could fly fish, but it wasn’t until I made it out of Middle Earth that I actually became an angler. Continue reading

Woods to Wilderness by Kendrick Chittock


Tucker is almost quivering, sitting on the edge of excitement and instinct. I have his leash in my hand but we both know it won’t be used once we’re in the woods. We put on a show for my parents and say we will be safe, we will take water, we will go east if we get lost. I know what to say now so they won’t worry. One day I’ll be old enough to go on my own without telling them.

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Wild Wondering by Jim Lampros


For all the time being stolen from us these days, I still find myself with plenty of time to wonder.

Once upon a time I obsessed myself with the semantics of my environment; Native vs. wild vs. invasive – words with simple definitions but complex meanings. I came to see the world before me as a poorly contrived concoction. The more I saw, the more I longed for what once had been – Nature left to its own devices for millennia. It seemed impossible to imagine. I could only wonder.
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Origins by Kendrick Chittock


I have absolutely no idea where I am from.

I can take you to the house that I consider home, the woods where I used to wander and the pond from where I pulled my first bluegill. I can trace back my lineage to the early days of Cleveland, further still to my northern European ancestry and some long forgotten former family abode called Foulness Island. The latter is a real place, though I like to think I’ve avoided the literal translation. I can tell you all these things yet I cannot point to the stream or river where humanity first appeared. Continue reading

Hanging On by Jim Lampros

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Planning a fishing trip under the impetus of desperation is fool-hardy, or worse.

I prefer the “Nice to get away” trips. No pressure, no expectations, no self-inflicted stress. Eat drink and be merry, and let the fishing happen at its own pace. This is the quintessential recipe for a memorable fishing trip. Start putting obligations on the table, jacking up hope, and banking on hypotheticals & you’ll quickly find yourself wishing the weekend away.

We were pretty fucking desperate, though. Continue reading