Latest Blog Posts

The great bread hatch

On days of failure an angler may be said to go through four stages of feeling
Photo: Peter Harsagyi

Every day, fishing is an adventure. Today, Mauro and I went to the Slough, hoping to key in on what we call the “Decker hatch,” chasing the 500,000 smolt released by the Issaquah hatchery, through Lake Sammamish and into the Slough where they get concentrated. Our theory is that, naturally, the big rainbows and cutthroat in the lake will key in on these tasty morsels. Last week Jason (Decker, who figured this whole thing out and thus the eponymous naming) and I tested this theory by fishing the lake by the mouth of the creek, watched over by a family of eagles nesting nearby.

Photo: Chad Shmukler

My wife and I took our 9-month-old son, Fisher, to our favorite river over the weekend. It was his first trip there, a cause for celebration, but the occasion was tinged with sadness. We were also there to spread the ashes of our recently deceased dog, a fiery little corgi named Murphy who made numerous fishing trips to that stream.

Which anglers have influenced your fly fishing?

Todd Tanner shares his "dream team"
Photo: Matt Shaw

When I first started fly fishing back in the ‘80s, I used to drive forty five minutes to a lonesome stretch of river, leave the pavement behind for a bumpy dirt road that twisted through the maples and oaks of rural New England, park, and then hike a half mile or more down an overgrown trail through the briars and brambles that paralleled the river’s edge.

Today is the last day to speak up on Pebble Mine (again)

It's time for common sense to prevail once more
One of millions, this sockeye makes its way up a small creek in the Bristol Bay region (photo: Chad Shmukler).

Just a few short years ago, it seemed as if recreational anglers, commercial fishermen, conservationists, Alaska's native peoples and more had, after years of tireless advocacy, claimed victory in their battle to prevent the Pebble Mine in the Bristol Bay region of Alaska.

The snake advocate

Catching of venomous snakes by nonexperts is stupid—monumentally stupid
Photo: Johnny Carrol Sain

Serpent encounters are part of growing up in Arkansas. My first introduction was through Sunday School, in the pages of an illustrated Bible, with the depiction of a serpent wrapped around an apple tree. This was pre-kindergarten age. I learned that snakes once had legs and could speak before being driven onto their bellies to eat dust and rendered dumbstruck simply for offering Eve an option. Sure, the option was directly opposite what the Almighty had commanded, but I never viewed the snake as an archetype for evil.

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