I first encountered wild, native Brook Trout in the Appalachian foothills of Western Pennsylvania, not long after I’d begun fly fishing. I was enamored with the notion of these absurdly colorful fish living in quiet, tucked away places and made it a personal mission to find them. Continue reading
The drumbeat started in late July, when the first buckeye leaves browned and dropped: Time is short.
Whole weeks through the summer seemed to stretch in ways that defied introspection and self-pity. But shortening days and the changing landscape inspired panic. Continue reading
Mark bundled beneath the hood of his sleeping bag and pondered the precipitation. A week of perpetual wetness had made damp feel dry and a moment’s respite from the rain seem a change in the seasons. His view was faded canvas, the saturated tent material his refuge during the few hours of darkness during the Alaskan ‘summer’. Continue reading