It seemed like the perfect day. The sky was overcast, but not raining. It was almost 60 degrees out and hadn't gotten below 50 during the night. We began dreaming of baetis hatches and big browns. It was bound to be the perfect day.
Read moreThe Song of Fall
Last week was heavy. I’m sure I’m not alone in thinking that. I’ve spent some time over the past few weeks contemplating the changing of the seasons, how my seasons in life are altering me.
I reminded myself, and am now reminding all of you, to embrace the song of fall.
Read moreLand + Water + Ups and Downs
Taken in GSMNP, partially funded by the LWCF
As with all things US politics lately, the Land and Water Conservation Fund and its renewal have been no different. As of Sunday, the program expired. I was pretty bummed, wildly confused, and, as OIA (Outdoor Industry Association) put it, I felt LWCF'ed. I tried to put something together yesterday, but I was still too angry and didn't want to bring a mess load of politics into this space.
If you still don't know what LWCF is, it's a program that takes non-taxpayer money from drilling royalties and helps to fund our wild places and give us clean water. If you live in the US, you've most likely benefited from this program, it's active in almost every county in the country. So, losing it was a pretty big deal.
Read moreThe Best Years
The best years any angler will ever have are their first. It's not that during this time you're particularly good at it, far from it, you're pretty horrible. Most of your time is spent tying on a fly or untangling a knot. Your technique is poor, but you can't quite figure out how to fix it. Everyone else around you catch plenty of fish with seemingly no effort, but you only manage to catch trees and sticks, despite trying your hardest. But make no mistake, these are your best years.
Read moreOver The Ridge
Some days hiking over the ridge pays off.
Leave No Trace
"Friend,
When you stray or sit and take your ease
On heath or hill, or under spreading trees,
Pray leave no traces of your wayside meal,
No paper bag, no scattered orange peel,
Nor daily journal littered on the grass;
Others may view these with distaste, and pass;
Let no one say, and say it to your shame,
That all was beauty here until you came."
I've driven past this sign half a dozen times. I always make Jacob pull over so I can read it, admire the flowers growing around it, and feel the breeze flowing through the mountains. Winding down the dirt road I always ask aloud; 'I wonder who wrote that?' And, I forget I've wondered just as soon as I say it. The sentiment, the lesson, is what always stuck.
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