What is Your Passion?

“In our family, there was no clear line between religion and fly fishing. We lived at the junction of great trout rivers in western Montana, and our father was a Presbyterian minister and a fly fisherman who tied his own flies and taught others. He told us about...

Ginger Quill Memories

My memories are not that clear. I remember feelings, brief moments and impressions. Most memories run together. Many things that I did over and over, like playing cards with grandpa, I can only really recall as a composite of all the events in one memory. I remember...

The Mad Angler Barters Himself

Reading water, air, fire, earth it makes no difference…. the language of things sifting through his hands like Braille. He figures his life is worth at least one river, an arm worth a single bend, and the hairs on his head the equivalent of one riffle apiece. He is...

The Politics of the Mad Angler

He seeks the consensus of dark bends, feeder creeks, the formations of gravel turned into messages on sand bars. Where there is sky, he dreams of more. Where there are politicians he dreams of men with true hearts, their dark veins pulsing with pure run-off. He offers...

A Fisherman’s Parable

A friend and business acquaintance sent a parable to me today as, I think, something of a cautionary tale. It’s too nice not to share, particularly with fellow anglers. I am probably violating all sorts of copyright in sharing it this way, but what the heck: An...