Stash and Carry
- By: Ted Leeson
Perhaps the only common denominator among all the guides I’ve ever known or fished with, on rivers or lakes, flats or inshore waters, is that every last one of them relied on some kind of gear or tackle bag. Experience teaches, often harshly, the two fundamental, equipment-related precepts of an angling life: first, if you don’t have something, you’ll end up needing it; second, if you don’t keep it packed and ready to go, you’re going to forget it.
- By: Greg Thomas
- Photography by: James Anderson
- and Greg Thomas
René Harrop has lived and breathed the Henry’s Fork fishery for decades. His company, House of Harrop, produces some of the leading flies for the area; he was a founding partner of Trouthunter, a top fly shop on the river; and his artwork, writing and overall philosophy of fishing have inspired and enlightened countless fly-fishers, on the Henry’s Fork and elsewhere. Harrop lives in Last Chance, Idaho. We caught up with him there.
- By: Darrel Martin
- Photography by: Darrel Martin
Cholo, my companion and knowledgeable fishing guide, called me for lunch. Might as well, since the Órbigo river ran low and we’d found only a few taciturn trout. Over cheese, nuts, fruit and wine, we spoke of fly patterns and the past. Several years ago, I had fished southern Spain, but now I was in Northern Spain, León’s ancient heart of fly- fishing. World-class rivers—including the Esla, the Porma, the Curueño, the Torio and the Órbigo—flowed not far from León.
- By: Dave Hughes
- Photography by: Dave Hughes
Big Indian Creek is a small stream that originates in a glacial basin on the flank of a mountain in far-eastern Oregon. It runs high into July, holds its water well through summer, and finally subsides to mildness in autumn of the average year. The water gets thinner then, which is true of nearly all streams, small or otherwise: if the source is anything but a stable spring or tailwater release, the water is lowest late in the season.
- By: Greg Thomas
I recently added up the mileage: During the past 20 years I’ve driven more than 500,000 miles in the West, many on dirt roads, which I prefer over payment, and often through bottomless mud gumbo, ice or snow. During that time, I’d never left the road, although I did whack five registered black Angus cows on a memorable August evening and I’ve taken out two mule deer.