I know you're not supposed to get too personal when it comes to fishing, but there was something about that silver brick flashing right before it threw the hook that made me want to go back to that trout's riffle the next morning regardless of the winter weather warning.
I don't get too worked up about things like Halloween.
I got an email the other day from reader Jim Canning who had been fishing at one of the foothill area reservoirs and caught a couple trout that had some red sores on them. Jim was concerned that maybe the fish wouldn't be safe to eat. Ironically, just a few weeks earlier, I had written a column entitled "They Are What They Eat" which discussed the concept that how a wild critter tastes is a direct reflection of what they've been eating. The old Jim Croce song admonished, "You don't tug on Superman's cape, You don ...
There are aspects of America that really put leaks in my waders.
You just never know how your day is going to go while on the water.
I don't like wishing days away, but October 7-14 needed to end.
Over the past couple decades, I have collected antique bamboo fly rods. Contrary to popular belief, not all bamboo rods are valuable. Prior to World War Two almost all rods were made of split bamboo. Some were excellent and costly, some were good medium-priced rods, and some were cheap junk. South Bend, Heddon, and Montague were all rods that were comparable to Fords or Chevrolets. They were good serviceable rods manufactured and priced to sell to the multitudes. Lousy rods were usually made in Japan and carried no manufacturer's name at all; while great rods were individually hand-made and ...
Every year about this time I'm reminded of the time I came across two lost anglers while fishing the Delta. While fishing, they approached my boat and asked me if I knew where the launch ramp was? When I asked them which ramp they were looking for, they had no idea of the name of the ramp they launched out of. They then began to describe the launch ramp to me and after a process of elimination; I realized where they must have launched from. As I began to give them directions, it was obvious to me that they ...
The Old Man second-guessed the gamble of sailing far out into the sea as he watched sharks dissect the biggest catch of his life - and first in 84-days - with carnivorous brutality.
In 1857 and 1858, an emigrant road connected what is now the Ebbets Pass road with Carson Pass. Pioneers coming to California used it for 2 years until the new Ebbets Pass was opened and then the abandoned road began to be reclaimed by the forest from which it was carved. The famous mountain man, John "Snowshoe" Thompson used the route to carry mail over the Sierras in winter when all the roads were closed by snow. For a hundred years the road sat unused and pretty much unknown, lost in the mists of time. The road ran from Hermit ...
This sudden change in the weather definitely wasn't expected.
Although the bulk of the 2011 Stockton 99 Speedway champions had been previously determined, there was still a bit of unfinished business to take care of at the fabled ¼-mile last Saturday night.
I've had a few more than a ton of people ask me about taking trips to Alaska.
Corn-fed was a prison guard. In all my life I have never seen a better convergence of a person, a name and an occupation. Corn-fed was built very much like a steer that stood on two legs; he was huge. In his occupation as a prison guard his size was a great asset. The inmates did what he told them to do and didn't give him any trouble. It was as if he was made for the job.
This past weekend while attending a friend's wedding, I was taken back to the neighborhood where I grew up.
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 ...
Fishing in the winter is tough.