12/12/16: Between Holidays

Don’t get me wrong I love the holidays to an extreme. Probably an obnoxious extreme. Like the, “Make your roommates listen to Charlie Brown Christmas while you decorate the tree, spend money on fancy cloth ribbon, expect family to be like Norman Rockwell” kind of extreme.

11/2016: Grande Ronde

A two night float down the Grande Ronde in Eastern Washington.

11/2016: Nets by Wyatt

If I was making fishing nets for the first time, they would be two by fours hammered together. But of course Wyatt’s nets look like this…

11/29/16: Giving (a shit) Tuesday

Today during lunch I was briefly perusing some cyber-not-so-Monday sale when a Redside Foundation donation came in. Then another one. These weren’t donations from the older generation I associate with philanthropy, they were… Continue reading

11/21/16: West to Home

Heading home Tuesday night for the holidays to celebrate what we still have and what we’ve built since.


Butte, Montana. Look one direction, snowcapped mountains and rolling grassland. Turn around: giant, iconic, open pit copper mine. One view ugly, complicated, useless. One side beautiful, relaxing, the representation of what is best about this country. Two people with the same human-brand eyeballs could label each view the other.

11/9/16: From a Millennial, To My Nasty Women

Look at me in my eyes. I know you’re tired. I know you’re only 25 – and you are weary. You wonder if you have a right to be so young, so privileged and still so exhausted. No, you aren’t spoiled. You feel this because you understand, you ARE the legacy of women that came before you.


I outfished him on some decent sized rainbows, which turns out was just him building major trout karma for this weekend.


Orange spots, rimmed by blue. An hot red slash across the throat. Golden scales, fading to green. My paints keep the backs of my eyelids in vibrant color even as the world outside loses it’s autumn orange and yellow and fades into the brown that comes before the snow.


A friend said at the end of September, “All I want to catch is NOT a cutthroat.” At the time, we had 16 inch fish rising indiscriminately to orange stimis and I thought, “You are fucking crazy, it doesn’t get better than this.” But getting back into fishing over here in Montana, I see what he meant.