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The Brandon Road lock and dam site.

The Guarding Our Great Lakes Act, proposed by two Michigan senators, is being praised by groups seeking to protect the fisheries of the Great Lakes from an invasion from Asian carp. Both Trout Unlimited and the Great Lakes Commission issued releases today commending Rep. Dave Camp (R) and Sen. Debbie Stabenow (D) for proposing the legislation.

Asian carp, prevalent throughout much of the Mississippi River basin, pose what is regularly referred to as a "devastating" threat to the species regularly targeted by anglers in the Great Lakes region, such as king and coho salmon, steelhead, lake trout, brown trout, walleye and more. Many preventative measures are already in place throughout the region but the battle is an ongoing one and vigilance is required in order to keep Asian carp from entering the Great Lakes.

Photo: Daniel Galhardo.

Winter is a great time to go fly fishing. While far too many anglers are busy at the vice instead of on the water, trout keep doing what they do, albeit a bit more slowly and methodically. And so there are trout to be caught and far fewer anglers to compete with. But winter fly fishing comes with its own set of difficulties and frustrations, chief amongst them those that come when temperatures drop below the freezing mark. Freezing temperatures bring ice, which wreaks havoc on fly rods, lines and reels. Colder temperatures also make an angler's exposed hands and fingers not only unpleasant but potentially dangerous.

If only there was a way to go fly fishing in winter while avoiding all of these common aggravations. Well, perhaps there is: tenkara. By nature, tenkara fishing can offer a respite from many of the complications that a traditional fly rig faces when hitting an icy stream.

It's 18 degrees. The mid-thirty degree temperatures that were forecasted to offer relief from the previous day spent in the teens and twenties are hours away, if they show at all. The wind has picked up and the morning sun is hiding behind the hillside, refusing to arrive and offer even the most minor respite from the biting cold.

The feeling in my fingers is gone. I'm having trouble pinching the running line against the cork handle of my spey rod and when I sweep the set anchor, the line slips through my hands and and the head and sink tip fall limply to the water in front of me. As I dejectedly look down at my lifeless digits, I notice that two of them are encrusted with ice. I lament, again, not bringing my gloves. I've never been able to fish effectively with gloves, due to the lack of dexterity they present when handling line. But, paralyzed hands are even less useful than fabric-clad ones, leaving me wishing for the warmth.

I try again, with better results. The anchor is set in place and despite the cold and my rustiness, I load the rod well and it launches the head forward. Thirty or so feet along its trajectory, the line bucks to a halt and falls awkwardly to the river's surface. Ice sheathing the rod's largest stripping guide has captured the thin running line that traverses its center, pinching the line and refusing to allow it to move.

Hundreds of people turned out Saturday in Salida, Colorado, to show support for a Browns Canyon National Monument. The droves of green “I support a Browns Canyon National Monument” stickers were visible evidence of the overwhelming support, along with speaker after speaker urging administration officials to designate the canyon now.

Don’t let anyone tell you this is a top-down executive overreach. Local residents and stakeholders, frustrated by years of congressional fiddling, made it clear that this is a grassroots effort and that they want to get this special place protected.

The stretch of the Arkansas River that veers from the highway south of Buena Vista and rushes through a steep canyon full of Gold Medal Water fishing, amazing white water rafting, and pristine backcountry habitat is truly a unique place. Floating and finding pocket water within the canyon can produce over 20” trout, and the population of elk, deer, bighorn sheep, mountain lion and black bear create a healthy habitat for hunting and wildlife in general. This 22,000-acre rugged canyon is a truly wild place that I have visited more times than I can remember.

It’s an almost ungodly sight. It doesn’t seem real. Not when you catch that first glimpse, and not when you’re standing there among a throng of tourists at the Talkeetna overlook, each of whom is asking the same question: “Is that really Denali?”

It can’t be real, can it? Those rocky crags in front of it… the ones that look like the Tetons—only bigger—they might be real. But that massive white-cloaked behemoth of a mountain behind them? That’s not real. It can’t be.

But Denali is real, all 20-some-thousand feet of it. On rare clear days, it is the Alaska skyline—a massive preserve of rock and ice that looms menacingly over the interior like a moody schoolmarm just waiting for a reason to be cranky.

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