Articles

Review: Korkers Terror Ridge wading boots

Does Korkers' inclusion of Heel Lock technology in its newest boots make for better wading?
Photo: Spencer Durrant

If you’re anything like me, you put a fair number of miles on your wading boots each year. From short one-mile wades after work, to long Saturdays spent alone in the high country. The distance racks up quickly — as does the wear and tear on boots not designed for miles of hiking rugged terrain.

Thankfully, manufacturers have started building boots to perform well in and out of the water, although it’s taken a few years for anyone to find a reasonable solution that balances the need for rigid stability on a rocky, unpredictable river bottom, and flexibility for longer hiking.

Thoughts on the killing of George Floyd

Systemic racism is everywhere. Even in the great outdoors.
Photo: Chad Brown

Wait before you judge. Take a deep breath. Because you can.

In the wake of the murder of George Floyd, I’ve seen countless people on social media expressing their rage — not about George’s death or about the underlying problem of inequality in our country — but about looting and physical damage to property.

I don’t support property destruction, but when there is a riot, there is no rule book.

As Dr. Martin Luther King said, “A riot is nothing but the voice of the unheard.”

The death of George Floyd is a horrific loss that has shined a spotlight on the systemic racism present not just in our nation’s police departments, but in our day-to-day lives, in our schools, offices, court systems, and elsewhere. It has highlighted the tension between white and non-white people in the United States. It has offered us a moment to pause and listen to the unheard voices of America — the voices of indigenous women missing and murdered on their own land, indigenous tribes fighting for their water rights (and losing), Hispanics facing the challenges of maintaining their identity and making a living through low-paid jobs, African Americans asking for equality and justice while seeing black boys and girls getting killed by merciless cops.

The reality of being black in America is being born with a target on you. You can’t separate from this target. It follows you wherever you go. Every time you step outside, your target is visible. You’re judged, spat on, called “nigger” time after time. You walk into a store or office and are falsely accused of a crime. You’re subject to traffic stops simply for being in the “wrong” neighborhood, and then you get harassed by the cops.

Once, when I was pulled over, the cop asked me if I was a U.S. citizen even though my driver’s license clearly indicates that I’m a United States veteran. My car tires have been slashed while fly fishing. Once, while I was fishing on Veteran’s Day, my brake lines were ripped out of my truck.

A better excuse for missing fish

Want to let yourself off the hook for those missed connections? Well, here you go.
Photo: John Juracek

While fishing the Lamar River in Yellowstone Park a few seasons back, I happened across a very fine cutthroat trout rising freely. I’d been attempting that day to photograph fish taking flies, so I called my partner over to have a go at this fish. After watching it rise a couple times, he waded into position and presented his fly. Promptly the trout rose, my friend tightened, and…nothing. Well, alright. Missed strikes constitute a part of fishing, even for competent anglers (which my friend surely is). Funny thing was, the fish never broke rhythm. A moment later he was back up again.

Kneel before the trout

Don't believe what you've heard, smaller is better
Angler Chris Hunt and guide Nico Natalluci connect with a rainbow trout on Patagonia's famed Rio Malleo (photo: Chad Shmukler).

The canyon reach of Argentina’s Malleo River is hallowed water — it’s no less impressive than the Henry’s Fork, the Madison or the Frying Pan. Truth be told, it might fish better than any I just mentioned, and it feels every bit as trouty as any trophy river in the States.

Review: Scott F Series fly rod

Creek freaks, rejoice
Photo: Chris Hunt

I remember packing up at the trailhead of a small tributary to the South Fork of the Snake River that fateful evening some two decades ago. It was nearly dark, and the mosquitoes were on me the second I removed my waders. The sun had dropped below the Big Hole Mountains, and everything took on a chill that’s universal in the Rockies.

No sun. No warmth. We don’t get those sultry Southern evenings here in the mountains. When the sun goes behind the mountains, it steals the heat from the river bottoms. And the bugs come out. Sucks to be you if you’re caught out in it.

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