With some autumn rain at long last upon us, our rivers became swollen and the banks were scoured once again by rising water. It was a perfect opportunity to sling big, articulated streamers with my seven-weight. At dawn, it was a chilly 29 °F and warranted some nitrile gloves to keep my hands dry. They
Author: Jo Tango
A False Start
With all of the great writers on this blog, I’m resigned to the fact that my posts are plain-vanilla and quite pedestrian. The other guys are damn-good writers, and it is a privilege to be associated with them. But, since we all write to pull our own weight and contribute to the team’s effort, here’s
At Long Last
Honestly, it was starting to get discouraging. Every Saturday or Sunday, I have been getting up early to be on the water before dawn. My goal? Intersect a robust Trico hatch and spinner fall. At long last, the stars aligned this past weekend, and I saw quite a few gulpers feasting on fallen bugs. It
Death of a Fisherman
Here is another humorous guest post from Bill Hager. It was the first time I had ever been in a morgue. It was a shock to see my fly fishing buddy stretched out on the table, awaiting identification by a friend or relative. “Yep, that’s Doover,” I told the coroner. “What was the cause of