What a difference a week can make.
I've fished four days so far this year. At this time last year I had been out three times that.
One of the primary reasons I get out in the wilds to hunt, fish, or just explore the back country is to get away from the crowds. The fishing is almost always better, the game less skittish, and the trails seem to have more wild flowers. In order to get out "back of the beyond" you often have to take your vehicle onto roads less traveled. The great part about driving on untraveled roads way back in the boondocks is that you often have great fishing and solitude. The bad part about being way out in the middle of nowhere ...
I opened my fly box, but knew it wasn't there. Rain started to soak the chenille, marabou and thread of the flies I didn't need in the box opened like a book with the best pages torn out. I had comets, bosses, polar shrimp, Babine Specials, fish tacos, October Hiltons, Silver Hiltons and a Deschutes Madness. No egg-sucking leeches. How can you be fishing for rainbow and cutthroat trout in Alaska without an egg-sucking leech?
For Ripon boys basketball coach Rod Wright, winning his 100th Trans Valley League game was about as meaningful as a rerun of The Jerry Springer Show.
I was looking through some of my tackle the other day, and it was sad to see once-popular baits no longer being used.
A good story starts with an inciting incident - an event that gets the plot moving.
Although trout fishing and bass fishing are my favorite excuses to get out in the great outdoors, there are many times when just watching the wild critters is pretty darned good entertainment.
The first fishing advice I ever received was to be patient.
If I can't be on the Thorne River, I'd take the Upper Sacramento, McCloud or Pit. If I can't be on any of those, or outdoors period, the next best place is to be at the annual Sportsman's Expo in Sacramento.
Just before the sixth quarter of one of the most fascinating and improbable NFL playoff games you'll ever see, Justin Tucker trotted out onto the field and did something you hardly ever see.
January is an interesting month for fishing.
Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens will get into the Hall of Fame someday, and without using the side entrance, either.
Some folks think that there is no such thing as Cabin Fever. They are dead wrong. If Alferd Packer was still around, they could ask him about it. Good old Alferd (that's really how he spelled his name) was the noted cannibal who ate several of his companions after being trapped with them while snowbound in Colorado in 1874.
So I went fishing yesterday. Shocking, I know.
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.