we spread out, maybe 40 yards apart most of the time. two dogs for four of us. the birds did everything wild birds do. they ran, held tight, and flushed well out of range. i was fortunate and there was still ground to cover when my vest was heavy with my limit. i walked along with my gun over my shoulder and my tired dog working for those with shells still in their chambers. 

back inside we warmed ourselves with elk chili and porter and talked about the next time we'd take a walk together.

another pupa

my quest for the perfect pupa continues. a couple of weeks back i was fishing the frying pan and picking up a fish here and there during a BWO hatch. a few bigger fish would randomly and violently bust the surface clearly not eating the duns. there were some random caddis skittering around so i dropped a pupa off the bend of my little parachute and immediately caught my biggest fish that day. a thick, beautifully colored brown. this is the bug he ate. lots of features from other patterns but simple enough and ties well into smaller sizes. roll over the images for steps.

TMC  206 BL sz 16-22 + brown or black bead + flashabou + flex floss + pseudo hackle + dun CDC + soft hackle (pheasant, grouse, partridge) + ice dub

in between

in between all of the airports and covering over 10,000 miles in two months, i watched the snow slowly creep down the mountains in a perfect white gradient. i imagine the reverse happens in the spring.

i fished at every chance and caught the tail end of the fall BWO action and the beginning of those wonderful streamer days. alone almost all of the time my mind would wander and wonder and contemplate the ridiculous amounts of money that flow up and down this valley. bloated billionaires pushing out millionaires has made it unfriendly to the poorly funded.

when the opportunity came i hightailed it back through the passes and to the plains to be with my people and spend the mornings with my dog and a shotgun.

the bird populations are high, which has people talking and that has resulted in high hunter populations. there is less public walk-in then ever and all of us without private land privilege are jockeying for position. every morning while my defroster defrosts, I try to plot where i'll find the most birds and the least amount of hunters. i'm right less than half the time. it can be frustrating. but weeks around all that wealth and privilege has given me a humbling dose of reality and perspective. black coffee, beer in a can, a morning in an open field with my dog, moving water with healthy fish or a simple dinner with my family. i'm completely unsure of how this chapter will play out, but in some ways things have never been clearer.


the birds started dropping into the decoys in the dark. a brief whistle and i could almost see the white ribbons of the wake they'd leave behind as they landed with a hiss.

impossible to know what kind of ducks they the are so i went back to killing dozens of mosquitoes at a time. ankle deep in a muddy slough and these bugs rivaled the worst i've known.

beside me a friend was frantically digging in his bag by the light of his headlamp, our desperation increasing each second with the idea that the bug spray was left behind. when he finds it, i close my eyes and whisper a silent thank you to whomever is listening.

with doves and now early teal, the hunting season is upon us. i shoot only females ducks, not intentionally but by chance. the gadwalls mixed in have me spooked. i choose not to shoot most of the time but come home with a meal and a respect for these drab, incredible fliers.

i brined all of the meat for 2 days. cleaning up my plate i decide i'll use less salt next time around.

i tied a few soft hackles with their delicate breast feathers. i've been binge tying every night. we are moving our basecamp once again and this time we'll be surrounded by trout and the beautiful places that come with them. i'm grateful for our time in the high plains and all that it's taught me about life, wild birds and the places we choose to live.


it's been too long. there is too much to summarize. far too much to condense.

nights along river banks. no darkness, no wi-fi, no boss. in thier place only fish and blueberries.

my mind is pumped full of wild caught omega-3's and it's filtering out all the wind and dust from the last two years. some people need more moving water, fish, mountains, opportunity.

life is for living. nothing worth doing is ever easy. on and on. it can be hard to realize that you are growing up at the same time as your kids. i only hope we are giving them the chances they deserve. the late summer wind is blowing and once again it is carrying the possibility of change.

warmed twice

the house was damp and basically peeling itself away from it's pine skeleton. the deal was we'd live there and i'd repair it for money off of the rent. the two best parts about the place were the stone fire pit out back and the wood stove inside. my father in-law gave me this axe, an old government issued tool and i'd put it to work a few times a day as i struggled to keep the sieve like walls warm for the brand new baby inside.

for many years it has served me well.

a few months back i broke the handle so i set to fitting it with a new piece of hickory and with no reason to rush i took it slow. precision over productivity. i was proud of the end product. my old tool looked handsome, like I had dipped it in the tool version of the fountain of youth.

the other night we sat by a small, snapping cook fire and twirled hot dogs and brats above it until they were golden brown.

i poked at the embers and asked if i should add some wood so the kids could make smores.

you'd think this is where my memory would be hazy, but it's not. this is where my memory comes into intense focus. i pick up a log, no different than the hundreds, maybe thousands of logs before it. i chip off a small piece. i adjust my hold and go for another, my axe skips and i'm swinging a little harder.. and that's it... quick as that everything is different.

the ER room is small. a thin sheet separates me from all the other people who are laying there wishing they could have that one minute of life back. the hot, severely bright swivel light above me is missing a bolt where it attaches to the ceiling. someone gives me a shot in my arm, followed by some shots around my knuckle. pain, gauze and blood. sweat drips into my eyes and i stare at my feet and wonder when was the last time clipped my toenails.

it's strange how we've supposedly come so far. all of us carrying little computers around in the pockets of synthetic blend pants that don't even wrinkle.

but not in this high plains clinic. instead i step back in time and i get a wild west solution. a pill instead of a shot of whiskey though and then everything is burned to close up arteries and blood vessels.

"could have been worse" they say and i know they are right.

"don't get that wet for a couple of weeks" and the real pain sets in. 

i swallow another pain killer and try to imagine what it's going to be like to tie bloodknots.


it's bitter sweet to know a stream so well you catch a fish on the first cast after two years away.

it's bitter sweet to laugh with friends while water and time pass by too quickly.

it's bitter sweet to know they are all there, those people and those places, and it'll be a long time before you see them again.

sometimes there is only one way to describe things.

home waters

what is a fisherman without home waters? without those places that you know inside and out, those places that fit your moods, fit your approach. those places that you've seen in every condition and offer you all you really need and sometimes just a little more.

if you are not careful where you land those places can be difficult, if not impossible to replace.

during the warm weather there is enough close by to keep a guy busy if you have an open mind or maybe in reality it's just really low standards. recently i've been unable and some days just unwilling to drive three hours one way to get myself on decent water. money and time are factors i've learned not to fight.

that means spending days on local lakes or ponds with in an hours radius, just getting in whatever time i can. i've found a few grass carp but have yet to even make a cast to them, i've caught billions of 7 inch bass and have occasionally spent time casting to pods of tailing catfish. you only need to carry a hand full of flies and then be willing to take whatever comes.

soon i'm going back to immerse myself in the familiar. to see friends, family and water that treated me well for so long. the adult me knows there is no real going back, time does not stand still after you leave a place. but my nights are already sleepless with the possibility that maybe things won't be so different and we'll understand why we still call somewhere so far away, home.