Mike's Gone Fishin'... Again

No one’s seen him ‘round these parts in months, nigh on a year. Not since McMinnville. Some say those Tennessee backwaters swallowed hi...

Musky. The fish of ten-thousand casts . Fact or fiction? Actuality or self-delusive justification for our hours of failure? Truth or elegan...

The second I pulled it out of the slingpack I knew there was a problem. It was neatly folded, all corners perfectly square, aligned, possi...

I have no idea where they went, February and March. I looked up and they were gone. No evidence of their passing. No accomplishments. No pr...

I've let these Photo Bins get away from me and, frankly, I miss them. It's probably no coincidence that the volume of my writing ...

Getting there When fly fisherfolk gather, the conversation almost always finds its way (after meandering through sidebars of gear, beer,...

First, I humbly thank the handful of you who have reached out to express your dismay and support regarding my recent legal difficulties . Y...

Hi. Remember me? I used to write with some regularity in this space. It’s been a while, but now the silence can be broken and the truth beh...

The twelfth time’s the charm. I know it’s the twelfth because it wasn’t the eleventh. No, it most certainly wasn’t the eleventh. I was tr...

A repeat, here, of a piece that I posted nearly four years ago under the title One Bug is Quiet. ~o~ We stood back and watched as she rol...