My Season so far: A photo essay
A selection of photos from days on the streams over the last 3 months
Talking Bull
Back in 2017, I was taking a bunch of people on a walk along the river. There were a lot of ladies in the party, and at the outset, I had told them that there was only one fence crossing, but that every crossing thereafter would be through a gate, or over a neat galvansised stile, placed there for their comfort and convenience. I had visited the one crossing I had anticipated, and finding a very tight fence, I had scanned up and down the fence-line to find the best place to make the crossing. The best I could get
Warts and all
A few hours on my local stream, complete with some catching, and duffing it.
Drunken deaf narratives
Divulging the subtleties and hidden threads in a recent flyfishing essay
Seven-11, and Flat Whites
Waiting out the hot still days and planning for fishing with the cold fronts
The rivers are open
The rivers are open. Some have rushed out there, all puffed up with the ceremony of it all. Given that we fish our stillwaters all winter long, and that our rivers are only closed for three months, I find that a bit over the top, but I suppose its fun. I often don’t rush to the rivers until we have had rain, because at this time of year they can be low and slimy and not so attractive. But this year we had late snows (and accompanied by about an inch of rain in these parts), and the rivers are