Well, are we all ready? Are we standing on top of a grassy hill, fishing rods, hunting rifles, mountain bikes, ab-rollers, recycling bins and piggy banks raised above our collective heads, calling out "Freedom" like William Wallace, ready to attack the new year like "warrior poets"?
Every once in a while I see someone out on the water with a dog in their boat.
"Presents are the best way to show someone how much you care. It is like this tangible thing that you can point to and say 'Hey man, I love you this many dollars-worth.'"
In 1964 Robert Traver, author of the classic book and movie Anatomy of a Murder, wrote a delightful book, Anatomy of a Fisherman in which appeared:
The best thing about rain this time of the year is that it knocks down the fog. The worst thing about it of course is staying dry. When it comes to purchasing rain gear, you get what you pay for. The least expensive gear might hold up for a trip or two but it's definitely not going to be comfortable.
A year or so ago, I wrote a column about which rifle cartridge I considered as the best all round caliber of all. Some of you agreed with me and some did not. It was a fun exercise, in part, because it gets people to thinking, about why they prefer one gun over another.
I'm not sure how, but the other day I forgot that my truck would be glazed by the overnight air and thus failed to allot a few extra minutes for that segment of my morning.
It was nice to finally get out and going fishing with some of my childhood friends.
I wonder if Ray Bradbury was morbidly happy.
It puzzles me sometimes how something can break without even being used. Because of a busy schedule, I was unable to get my boat out for a few months. When I had last used it, everything was working perfectly. Upon starting my boat, everything seemed to be working great, until I looked at my fuel gauge. It was stuck on empty, I tapped on it, and looked for loose wires, but nothing seemed to work. Knowing that I had enough fuel for the day, I wasn't going to let a fuel gauge stop me from fishing; it did make ...
I am thankful.
Several years ago I was fishing one of my favorite brook trout streams and began to smell smoke drifting down the stream. As I got closer, the smoke grew thicker and soon I came upon a streamside camp fire that had not been completely extinguished by the idiot who hade made the fire.
I was finally able free up some time on Veterans' Day to go fishing.
I was ready for the end of trout season in October.
By sundown on the third Thursday in November, Thanksgiving dinner will probably be just a memory evidenced by a bunch of leftovers in the fridge, and an extra notch let out in your belt. You may be ensconced in your recliner in front of your flat screen T.V. watching the big game while snacking on a piece of pumpkin pie.
I first became addicted to archeology in the summer of 1948. I was a youngster camping along the headwaters of the Mokelumne River with my parents. One morning I knelt down to clear away some rocks on the ground so that I could play marbles, when one of the rocks caught my eye. Upon closer examination, I discovered that my "rock" was really an Indian arrowhead made of shiny black obsidian! I was hooked on archeology from that point on. Collecting arrowheads became a family obsession. We eventually assembled a pretty significant collection of artifacts in our Indian Room.
Like a lot of those reading this, I used to take every fish home to be cooked up for dinner. After a while, I got tired of having to clean fish after a long day of fishing so I just threw them back. Once I started tournament fishing, I'd always throw them back in hopes of catching them again during a tournament.
We anglers are a fortunate bunch. We belong to a brotherhood and sisterhood of helpful gregarious souls who are almost always willing to chat with a stranger and share local fishing information. The past week, I've found myself out in Salt Lake City, accompanying my wife at a genealogy conference. Usually my trips to the Salt Lake area are in warmer weather without snow on the ground. On an ordinary trip, I'll end up fishing the either Provo River or the Green River for a couple days, but this trip I figured it would be too cold and ...