by Mike Hodge - Tuesday, Jun 27th, 2017
As June bleeds into July, it’s hot in Florida. The heat rises from the earth, hour by hour, as if you stepped into a sauna. Relief comes early or late, before the first cup of coffee or an after hour after the last glass of iced tea, as the sun eases below the dunes.
I measure the seasons by my fly-fishing calendar. Each season brings a new species. It’s now too hot for redfish and seatrout. Pretty soon, the tarpon and snook will arrive.
by Johnny Carrol Sain - Monday, Jun 26th, 2017
Gar hold a special place in my angler’s heart. The connection stretches back to humid summer nights of catfishing with my dad on Arkansas River sandbars.
Cats were our target, but gar were frequent nibblers of our hooks stacked with minnows or slices of shad. Dad could always tell if it was a cat or a gar that had come-a-calling by watching the rod tip. Cats often stuck with ferocity—sharp bows in the rod that sometimes dislodged it from a forked driftwood prop and even sometimes drug the whole outfit into the churning river.
by Kris Millgate - Wednesday, Jun 21st, 2017
"You look like you got ran over by a truck," my son says.
"Mom's a rookie."
My husband is right. When it comes to rowing, I'm a rookie. The black grease smeared across the front of my orange fleece is evidence of that. I tried hooking our drift boat to my truck on my own. I'm not proud of my performance in the driveway. The dirty shirt is my now my scarlet letter and I have to wear it while I learn to row.
by Mike Hodge - Monday, Jun 19th, 2017
When I first started saltwater fly fishing, I waded the flats out of necessity. I had no choice, because I had no boat. Now I have a boat. But I still wade because I want to, not because I have to. Here’s why.
by Spencer Durrant - Thursday, Jun 15th, 2017
For someone who grew up in the Rockies, I wasn’t all that bright on my first few trips to the backcountry. One trip, in my mid-teens, had me all but convinced I’d give up backpacking for good.
I’d packed the necessary items—a tent, sleeping bag, extra clothes, and fishing tackle—but what I’d loaded up on was food. I hated every step of that hike because of its weight and the real irony here is that I didn’t even eat half of what I’d brought.
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Righting wrongs is a tough proposition in the world of fisheries conservation. Too often, the challenges outweigh expectations. Just as frequently, reality sets in, and...
