Articles

The School of Trout is back, and bigger, in year two

New classes and instructors debut in 2019

by Chad Shmukler - Monday, Feb 11th, 2019

School of Trout instructor Pat McCabe on the Henry's Fork (photo: Todd Tanner).

Most of us try to improve our fishing by spending as much time as we can on the water. We throw ourselves into our angling with all the passion we can muster, and we learn through observation, trial and error, and—if we’re smart—by coaxing a valuable lesson from every single mistake we make. Becoming a better angler, truth be told, is mostly a function of time and patience. Lots of time and patience.

Unfortunately, though, most of us don’t have unlimited free time, or unlimited patience ... so we settle for learning what we can, when we can, and then hope for the best.

Realms of perception

Oh, you can believe it

by Tom Davis - Tuesday, Feb 5th, 2019

Photo: Chad Shmukler

Like most of us, I'd always thought that wine writing was 99% BS. You know, crapola like "a supple but substantial vintage, insouciant but not brazenly so, its soft undertones of plum and black cherry in lilting contrapuntal harmony to hints of oak, vanilla, and cardamon …"

Taking the cure

Sometimes, you should quit while you're ahead

by Tom Davis - Thursday, Jan 31st, 2019

Photo: Nate Sipple

These days no one bats an eye at the idea of flyfishing for muskies but there was a time—not so very long ago, really—when it was regarded with deep skepticism. If you have any familiarity with “conventional” muskie tackle it’s easy to figure out why. You could winch jackknifed semis out of ditches with the reels, buttress mineshafts with the rods, moor aircraft carriers with the lines and leaders.

A note from a friend

We can choose to see the world around us

by Todd Tanner - Wednesday, Jan 30th, 2019

Photo: Stephen Longfield

You know I’m a writer. Been one for thirty eight years. I haven’t written much over the last few months, but I’ll do the best I can with this.

I was just watching two little birds. They flew by, twisting and turning in an intricate dance above the river, and for a brief moment I saw grace. Not the oft-used word but the thing itself. Grace. Wing tip to wing tip, feather to delicate feather, there was a living vision of purpose, beauty and control before my eyes, and then it moved on, upstream, out of sight.

A maritime disaster

It went something like this ...

by Chris Hunt - Monday, Jan 28th, 2019

Photo: Chris Hunt (edited)

There was a barbecue somewhere in Port Isabel over the weekend, and the folks sitting around drinking Shiner had quite the story to tell while the pig finished up in the pit. It was the kind of barbecue I would have loved—sunshine, great weather, good people … some great food and beer.

Just good friends enjoying one of those patented South Texas winter days before the throngs of tourists and spring breakers show up and generally throw everything into chaos.

I'm guessing it went something like this:

Pages