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Voices from the River: Confessions of a fly fisherman
As a child we fished. My brothers and our friends did a lot of things together but primarily we fished. Each one of us allocated our allowance money to purchase what we needed for our next suburban adventure. A tackle box. A new reel and rod. A better selection of Rooster Tails. Not much else…
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Voices from the River: River sunfish of summer
By Mark Taylor The local river is a trout river. Sort of. From October through May the state dumps thousands of hatchery-reared rainbows and brookies into it. By summer those fish are long gone, caught and creeled by locals who are both dedicated and skilled. Then the river is back to what nature intended, which…
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Voices from the River: The Princess
Photo by Rachel Andona By Chris Hunt A year ago, I was well into the British Columbian interior, motoring north toward my eventual destination at Deadhorse on the Arctic Ocean, a new camper in tow, many miles to go and about six weeks to get there and back. It was a marathon pocked by dozens…
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Voices from the River: The impartial third party
By Jenny Weis I imagine the following series of events has played out in households other than just mine: Partner loves fly fishing and goes all the time. Partner tells me *he thinks I, too, would love fly fishing. I believe him and am genuinely excited for him to teach me! Partner teaches me to…
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Dementors
We hopped out of the canoe at the head of a big rapid. Truthfully, we could probably have made it through, but our Ojibwe guides Keith and Joe didn’t want to take any chances, and possibly put a damper on an otherwise perfect day on the water. We were floating and fishing a little no-name…
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Voices from the River: Being stubborn on the Madison
By Brett Prettyman We were still stringing lines and slipping on wading boots when my preteen nephew came running into the parking area at Three Dollar Bridge on the Madison River. “Look how big this bug is,” he squealed while holding an enormous, and still squiggling, insect out for us to behold. It didn’t take…
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Voices from the River: Flossing
by Eric Booton The midnight sun came and went. We are so accustomed to the unending daylight that we neglected to pack headlamps. We were already run out a fishing hole earlier in the evening by black bear and passing anglers were warning us of a momma brown bear with cubs. It wasn’t the most…
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