- By: Larry Kenney
In a rare stroke of luck, or something, the occupants of the middle and window seats next to me on the plane to Houston, from where Pat Dunlap and I would jump to a flight to Belize City, weren’t a fat guy and an anxious mother with a screaming infant. Instead, our neighbors were two 20-something cocktail waitresses who each worked their way through four Screwdrivers before we touched down.
“We’re going to the Bahamas to party,” said the blonde in the tank top, after drink number one. “Where you headed?”
- 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.
- By: Seth Norman
There’s much to ponder in Rivers of a Lost Coast, an award-winning documentary about a minor apocalypse—make that major for West Coast salmon, with many runs already extinct or on the verge; and catastrophic for California’s steelhead, now so diminished that conditions call for a new word or one I don’t know yet. If decimation means taking one of 10, how do we describe a process that leaves roughly that? And when so much of what’s left is spawned hatchery product returning from the Pacific for factory-pool reunions?
- By: Joe Humphreys
The first book I ever read cover to cover was Ray Bergman’s Just Fishing; I was 12. It was gospel. Bergman’s Trout followed. He far surpassed Shakespeare and Chaucer—neither of those guys could fish worth a damn, and I didn’t understand what they were saying anyway. Something about this guy Romeo getting hung up on some girl, having family problems…hey, I had my own problems!
- By: Kathy Scott
- Photography by: Kathy Scott
Fly Fishers always have the same reaction. When I say, “We offer fly-fishing to all 8th graders in phys-ed classes. And I’m the co-advisor of the Varsity Fly Fishing Club at the high school,” that news sinks in for a minute. Then they always say, “Wow, I wish I’d gone to your school!”