My fishing career began like most others, dunking worms. Just a couple of years old, with pigtails and bangs, pink spinning rod, and a squirming creature at the end of a hook. My grandfather was a proud spinner fisherman, never picked up a fly rod and never wanted to. He got me out on the water; he was the reason I developed a fascination with fish. But, my tender child heart soon turned from fascination to complete horror. Not only was I to rip worms in half, but then we were hooking a fishing for our sick human pleasure? Um, no thank you. At the time, as far as I was concerned, my fishing career ended at the young age of four.
Read moreA Different Perspective
I've come to view fishing as being a burdensome activity. Yup, I admitted it, going fishing is no longer fun. That's a pretty extreme thing for a fly fishing blogger to confess, but I do, wholeheartedly.
I've kept my fishing stuff neatly stored away in the corner of my office, and it taunts me every time I see it out of the corner of my eye. I feel guilty about it. I feel like a fraud every time I open my computer or post a photo of a decorated trout.
Read moreLet's Talk About Wet Hands
You could tell the fish had been severely mishandled, most likely with dry hands or gloves. I asked Jacob to scoop him into the net so I could try and get a shot or two of the damage. There was another pretty horrific spot near his tail, but I didn't want to cause him any more stress by additional handling. It's most likely that this fish died because of ignorance.
Read moreGolden Days on The River
It's that magical time of year here in Western North Carolina when everything transforms to gold. The river is no exception.
Read moreThey Like to Fish {Tiny Trout Tuesday}
It was a Sunday afternoon at Animas River Brewing. The Broncos were on the TV and it was packed. People were covering every corner of the place, from out on the patio to huddled around the bar, just finished with their morning bike ride, trail run, or just families getting out of the house for the game. Jacob and I spotted our fellow anglers and squished in beside them. Pale ales and IPA's started flowing and so did the fishing stories. We heard about a recent trip to Honduras and the sound your reel makes when you hook into a permit. Plans were laid out for an upcoming trip to Belize this winter and how someone could make their way there through various channels from other parts of South America. Guiding, clients, and debates on float boats soon followed. Eventually, a few beers in, we broke out the map and began narrowing down just where in Durango Jacob and I needed to fish.
Read moreThankful Thursday {10-19-17}
Fall had finally made its way to Western North Carolina. The 38-degree weather crept in through the open bedroom window, causing a simultaneous reaction of wanting to stay under the warm comforter and eagerness to hit the water.
It had been three long weeks with no personal fishing.
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