That's 'outlets' as in 'factory outlets,' which have proliferated across the U.S. landscape to the point at which they now straddle Blue Ribbon trout streams. Tom Ross notes that he can't quite get right with the notion of shoppers in breathable waders spotting trout from a pre-fab bridge in between sips of mocha latte in Silverthorne, Colorado. "For the uninitiated, allow me to explain. A gold-medal fishing stretch of the Blue River just below Dillon Reservoir flows right through the middle of the factory outlet stores in Silverthorne. I've always wanted to survey the anglers to see whether their spouses were shopping nearby." In the Steamboat Pilot & Today.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:18 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

“'You gotta use a worm.'

'Oh yeah?'

'Hell, I caught a 24-incher (using his hands to show how big) down there last week with a crawler. You ought to try a worm.'

'I just might.'

Then the man erupted into a strange, maniacal laughter. I kept walking."

In New West, Joseph Friedrichs encounters the most predictable form of wildlife on the early-season Deschutes.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:41 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"Agustín stalks our quarry like a crosscountry skier, hardly glancing down. His Mayan ancestors used stingray barbs to pierce tongue and penis for sacrificial blood-letting while consorts knelt to catch the offertorial drippings in a bowl. You come from a line of folks like that, and you don’t worry so much about your feet. I’ve had plenty of time to read up on Agustín’s ancestry while I wait for a blacksmith to hammer out a prop that looks like the lid of a C-ration can hacked open with a bayonet." O. Victor Miller captures the angst of an anxious gringo who goes bonefishing to get his mind off of women. In Gray's Sporting Journal.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 8:27 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Tim Romano over on Field & Stream's Fly Talk blog digs up an official letter and a wry response regarding the unlicensed construction of a dam on a Pennsylvania man's property. "If you want the stream 'restored' to a dam free-flow condition please contact the beavers -- but if you are going to arrest them, they obviously did not pay any attention to your dam letter, they being unable to read English."

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Nick Lough uncovered some arcane rules that Montana apparently forgot to update, among them a law against women fishing on Sunday and a law against women opening their husband's mail. Another one that I think is in the books but that he didn't find is the law requiring everyone to have a loaded rifle bouncing around on the floor of their pickup truck. (Thanks to reader Luca Adelfio for this link.)

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 8:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"I've seen one fella (who) carved himself an anatomically correct mermaid, and he stared at that the whole day," said Ron Bruce, Department of Natural Resources sturgeon biologist for Wisconsin, in commenting on the variety of sturgeon decoys fashioned by the state's anglers.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:09 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It doesn't get much more entertaining than Guardian sports blogger Steven Wells's take on the furor over fox hunting, which, like fishing, he points out, is much better than golf -- especially urban golf. "Since the aristocracy drove us off the land so they could graze sheep -- goes the argument -- the hunting of medium-sized mammals has helped preserve the landscape that makes every British ex-pat in America go weak at the knees when they see helicopter shots of it in adverts for golfing holidays during televised football matches."

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 8:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Moldy Chum, predictably, has a different take on holiday gift lists. This year they offer presents, of a sort, to their various friends in the media and elsewhere, including Save Our Wild Salmon, AEG, and Way Upstream. Apparently they also think our staff could use some augmenting. (For the record, we didn't describe ourselves as the "CNN of Fly Fishing" -- one of our readers did.)

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:14 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

"Don’t try dying your own fly tying materials. If you can’t resist, know that the most easily dyed color is purple. It is achieved by trying to dye something black." Larry Myhre offers several bits of essential advice for the dedicated fly tier -- all with tongue firmly planted in cheek. In the Souix City Journal.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Here's a pretty funny blog entry by Glen Davis in the Mississippi Clarion-Ledger about what it's like to be a fly fisher in the land of noodlers. "As I turned my head I could see a shirtless young man hanging out of the window of a vehicle. As the line reached me and settled on me like someone had dumped a bowl of green spaghetti over my head, I heard his words 'fly fishing is bull----!' Stung by this profound statement, I turned and hung my head and stared at my boots, which were covered in fly line."

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 8:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"When I get a migraine and still have a job to do, I wear mirrored Gargoyle sunglasses to block out the light, but it tends to freak out the vampires, what with their natural problem with mirrors. So I'm extra careful with known headache triggers around monsters." Don Barone gives hilarious (but scary) advice on how to interview ghosts, goblins, werewolves, and other assorted spectrally challenged subjects, even the ones that appear at fishing lodges. On ESPN.com.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:36 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

After ranting for a bit about Budweiser and bad sports, Nick Mills relates a hilarious story about an English lord and his Scottish ghillie (or gillie, if you prefer) on MaineToday.com. "The current was relentless. The lord thought he was going to drown. He yelled to the gillie, who was nowhere to be seen, for help. The gillie did not appear."

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Dieter Bradbury notes in Maine's Morning Sentinel that a very popular parody Web site is having some fun at L.L. Bean's expense. The Onion video is of course arousing all kinds of angst among social activists. "The Onion, arguably the most popular news parody site on the Web, is having some fun at the expense of L.L. Bean. A two-minute 'special report' went up Monday on the Onion News Network about a fictional African-American boycott of L.L. Bean products that has been in effect for 80 years." Suffice to say that The Onion sees every demographic as an opportunity to make fun.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I don't know about you, but I will be very happy to see the day when my son outfishes me with a fly rod. Apparently it is a source of consternation for writer Nick Provenza. "But what was sobering that day was running into a guy who was camping along the river. He told me two things I really didn't want to hear: (1) He had caught a 20-inch rainbow earlier that day on a dry fly (Yeah, right!) and (2) My son casts better than me." In the Seattle Times.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Every couple of months it seems that another female journalist takes to fly fishing and rediscovers the quirky appeal of the sport. First it's Fiona Sims in London's Times Online getting the straight talk from instructor Jim Williams: "'You can’t catch what you’ve just scared sh**less.'"

Then new fly fisher Bonnie Sitter stumbles upon the thing that makes good fly fishers out of bad ones: organization. "With his four-ounce rod, he carves out the most amazing knots, the kind of knots my mother dreamed of untying while watching Dallas when I was a child, knots that are twisted and turned and dangerously equipped with a hook, a puzzle even Houdini himself couldn't get out of-- and it took one cast and less than a second to create." On ParadisePost.com.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I recently had to stop drinking coffee in order to help my internal plumbing recover from years of excess caffeinated pleasure. I know this is temporary, and somehow that makes it easier. Still, I fantasize about the French press. And even a whiff from an open coffee bean bag would send me into delirium. I know plenty of fellow fly fishers who would also find quitting coffee harder than ditching cigarettes or alcohol, so a hilarious piece by Matt Suddain on Greatreporter.com made the cut for this morning's news. "Factoid: Coffee was discovered by goats. True story. According to legend, an Abyssinian goat-herder saw his herd acting frisky after they’d eaten red cherries from a shrub. He tasted the fruit and was later spotted dancing with his goats. When challenged by local monks he said only 'A man gets lonely.' Movie idea: Dances With Goats?"

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

A blogger on BostonNow.com thinks he may follow role model Barry Bonds in pursuing feats of fly fishing that are impossible without a little chemical boost. "Soon I’ll be making 500-foot casts with my five weight. Next fall, I’ll be able to wade West Virginia’s Gauley River when it flows at over 3,000 cubic feet per second. My casting will be so accurate that I’ll land #28 gnats inside of a hummingbird’s ear."

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

New England stone is rare, especially if you are a businessman living in Manhattan. So what's wrong with pilfering a few pieces from a local landmarks to line your trout pound? "A New York City businessman served prison time after admitting in court that he stole stones from walls, cemeteries and church sidewalks in 2001 and 2002 so he could build a patio and line his trout pond." Article by the Associated Press on Boston.com.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:02 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I might think Bill Schneider's suggestion of a 12-Step program for fishermen is a good idea, except that it would impossible for me or any of my friends to follow. For example, Step 5: "Admit first to yourself, then to the Fishing God and then to a loved one or close friend, the exact nature of your wrongdoings, out loud, shamelessly, unrestrained. That means all the laughable exaggerations about the length of your fish, the lame excuses to your spouse about why you needed a new boat or rod, and those reprehensible lies to your boss about why you weren’t coming into work." In New West magazine. (Thanks to TroutUnderground for digging this one up.)

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:02 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The next time you face the stinging rebuke of an animal rights activist who describes your fly fishing as trout torture, try Dr. John Burk's rebuttal: trout can be monsters, and we are the only ones standing up for the insects.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

These days, an attempt by a state legislature to control lying is worthy of the evening news. Still, we could guess that a bill to prevent lying in fishing tournaments might be seen by some politician with higher authority as an attempt to stifle enthusiasm.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 5:09 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"Uptight Seattleite" dispenses advice to a reader whose overly engaging neighbor has too many contradictory hobbies to count, including beer brewing and fly tying. "But it's your neighbor's paradoxical ponytail that points the way toward your solution. Worn with more focus than your neighbor shows, a male ponytail can swing with harmonious ease between sensitivity and virile power. You don't need a real one—you can stand up to your neighbor's ponytail with your own inner ponytail." In the Seattle Weekly.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 4:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Just in case you won't be buying in to the Alli craze but instead are deciding whether to fly fish or golf on your summer vacation, 'Diet Detective" Charles Stuart Platkin gives you the food equivalents of practicing each activity for an hour. "Golfing with a cart burns 245 calories an hour (about 1/2 cup Baskin Robbins Cherries Jubilee Ice Cream), whereas fly-fishing in a stream (including walking in the water wearing waders) burns as much as 420 calories (one slice of Papa John's Pan Crust The Meats)."

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 3:57 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

In search of a bonding moment, a fly fishing dad breaks out the ultimate in golf course pond fishing implements: the Pocket Fisherman. "Although he is not an avid fisherman, the sheer novelty of the Pocket Fisherman had convinced him to give it a try. But I could tell that he was having regrets. For him, this was the perfect storm of dorkiness." Timothy Delaney in The New York Times.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Dog-walker Ed Quillen counts fly fishers among the most courteous of those with whom he shares his daily strolls. "The drivers, when we get to chat, are always friendly. Usually they're anglers, headed for a pullover along the river. A manic dog could disrupt the transcendental fly-fishing experience, but none has ever complained." In the San Francisco Chronicle.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:13 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Hard to know whether Seabury Blair Jr.'s commentary on the sport is self-deprecating or just worrying, but he does make some pretty funny observations about the extent of the passion. "Fly fishing is by far and away the most interesting and scientific form of angling. I am certain it was mistakenly invented by the Marquis de Sade, when he tied a yellowjacket that stung him to a line, intending to whip the insect to death at the end of a flexible rod." In Washington state's Kitsap Sun.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 5:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"'What I like to do is throw it out at 45 degress and put the rod tip 2 inches above the water, put the rod tip down and let it follow the fly around, this way you don't got to set your hook. When that fish hits, it's tight, but if you leave your rod up he's going to feel the rod, and you don't want him to feel the rod. If everything is tight when he touches it, he's hooked.'" In the final part of Don Barone's hilarious series on fly fishing the classic pools of the Miramichi, his guide and Black Rapids Salmon Lodge manager George Curtis gives advice on making sure the novice angler hooks an Atlantic salmon. On ESPN.com.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Like any wise fly fishing addict, Jane Fonda postponed taking her new partner on any angling excursions until they got to know one another better, according to the U.K.'s Daily Mail. "Fonda did say she has taken him to her ranch but he has not as yet received any fly-fishing lessons - the actress's favourite sport - from her. She explained: 'We didn't spend a lot of time outside.'"

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:36 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

This very funny Part II of a series on Atlantic salmon fishing on the Miramichi by Don Barone includes a profile of a remarkable 82-year-old angler, Annie Pearson. "In the business we call people like Annie 'a walking sound byte.' Here are some Annie-isms: 'I have that Restless Leg Syndrome thing and I find when I dream of fishing, especially when I dream of the fish that got away, I can't stop my legs from a jumping.'" There is also some interesting retrospective here on Ted Williams's salmon fishing days.

Be sure to read the equally entertaining Part I, which was published yesterday.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"Jack Smola recently was guiding a group of fly fishermen through a valley in Patagonia when tragedy struck. 'We broke a bottle of wine while on horseback,' Smola said, grinning over coffee at his home on Hazard Avenue. 'Man, I've never seen five guys lick a horse before.'" Mike Cummings writes in Connecticut's Journal-Inquirer about guide Jack Smola.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 4:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"It's as if now you can just purchase at a fly shop the kind of skill and instinct it takes to become a fishing god. Or rent some space on a pay-for-play lake and catch some huge genetically-engineered pig." Randall Sumner rants about the popular but mistaken notion that one can buy expertise in grilling meat and fishing with flies. In the Seattle Times.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:08 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Trout bum Randall Sumner ponders whether guiding is in fact the stuff of dreams after all. "Once in a while someone will ask me if I miss the old job, and after some soul searching I must admit I do miss the use of our big company dumpster. It was a beauty." In the Yakima Herald Republic.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:16 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"Mix beer, chimney soot, walnut leaves and a little powdered alum in a small pot. Bring to a boil, then chill. Dipping any natural materials you're using in this solution prior to tying is supposed to make a tighter, more attractive fly." So says an article in Men's Health magazine by Joe Kita. The question is, are they really better looking or does the beer you drink while tying them add the apparent luster.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:49 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

One thing you learn after scanning the newspapers for articles on fly fishing for four years is that some stories never die. They usually involve sex, suggestive humor and fishing in beautiful places. So we weren't surprised to see Larry Myre's "The Girl, the Trout and the Bikini" appear again -- for the third time -- in the Souix City Journal yesterday. "A girl popped out of the driver's side and she began untying the little craft. She was young, blonde and if I was describing a fly I'd have to say well-tied. I could tell because she was wearing a tiny bikini, a very tiny red bikini." This is a story with legs.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:39 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"Blue wing olives — or maybe midges — danced on the surface with impunity, the way insects do when there's no danger of trout in the vicinity. I tied on an artificial variation of the insect, letting my fly join the real thing in not getting eaten." Janet Urquhart describes her first day on the water this year as a sartorial disaster, punctuated by a series of mishaps. In the Aspen [Colorado] Times.

Jack Nicklaus must have the same thoughts occasionally, evidenced by a new golf course near some favorite New Zealand fishing spots on the North Island.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"Arrogance or no, it was all properly rationalized within the realm of good fellowship. As it has been for a decade: When it comes to fly fishing I am the mentor, Bob is the student. It is understood that I fish well on wild trout water, that Bob would not." David Foster "mentors" a less apt friend on an easy delayed-harvest stream, only to find his own harvest more delayed than he would like. In Gray's Sporting Journal.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:32 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"My photography style is revolutionary French; I tend to cut off the heads off of my subjects. In the world of serious outdoor photography I would be known as a snapshotist." Randal Sumner offers an elegant answer to any photographic challenge: the poser. In the Seattle Times.

If you happen to disagree with Sumner's disdain for the role of cameras in fishing, check out Zach Matthews's list of tips for improving your fly fishing photography.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:54 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

That's how Howard Meyerson describes Buck Peterson's Complete Guide to Fishing (Ten Speed Press, September 2006, 191 pages), which pokes fun at just about every fishing technique, and especially at cultures of bass fishing and fly fishing: "When comparing fly fishing to bait casting, Peterson's pluck is at its peak. He writes: 'If you are a died-in-the-wool catch-and-release activist, remote lodge owners and equally remote masters of the art form will welcome you into a world filled with warmed Cognac and hand-rolled cigars. Fly fishing marine biologists are discussing such issues as whether bait casting is a birth defect and whether women who bear tournament fisherman should be sterilized ...'" In the Grand Rapids Press. On Amazon.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Alex Heard has discovered that women behave like mad fish in a swarm of insects when he begins distributing his custom-made Christmas wreaths. "The trout gets yanked out of the water, patted on the belly, and released. I get hugged until my eyes bulge, patted on the head, and released. Though, sometimes, the woman chases me down and hugs me all over again." Funny stuff. On Slate.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The Chamber of Commerce of Cotter, Arkansas has a new marketing plan to bring traffic to their tiny town. They are going to call themselves "Trout Town, USA." There's only one problem with the plan: a little place at the junction of the Beaverkill and Willowemoc, Roscoe, New York, has been known by that name for decades.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

In the U.S., we worry about flubbed jokes. In Canada, they don't even care if the cameramen digitize out their "bits." Liberal party leadership candidate Bob Rae goes fly fishing and spontaneously jumps buck naked into a lake with RMR host Rick Mercer. "The skinny dipping stunt may have given Rae the kind of bounce Bill Clinton got from his 1991 sax stunt on Arsenio Hall. 'It was certainly a moment,' said Mercer." Bill Brioux in the Toronto Sun.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 8:33 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"'Those were Maccaffertiums over the riffles this evening,' he lectured this would-be impressor as he pulled the specimens he’d collected out of that jar, 'and you said you were using an Isonychia. No wonder you didn’t do well.'" John Street describes how a journey through elitism led to betraying a favorite stream, resisting the temptations of fame, and finally foreswearing Latin forever. In the Clarion (Pennsylvania) News.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:54 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

After dispensing sage advice on hook removal techniques and barbless hooks, Casey Allen tells one of the funniest anecdotes I've ever read about hooking oneself -- while suffering the after effects of a bar fight. "The doctor did not say much. He selected a big needle and eventually numbed my chin. He then returned with the biggest forceps I have seen and clamped down on the hook. He pulled until it felt like my chin stretched to my knees." In California's Times-Standard.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:39 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Why is that when a wife decorates an entire house according to her liking it is called "nest-building," but when a husband chooses the details of his domestic environment he is one step away from being labeled a hydrant-sniffer? Some would say -- given the design instincts of most men -- it is simply natural selection at work. But a new book by author Sam Martin touts the glories of male-crafted spaces, be they an English pub in the basement or Barry Beck's shrine to fly fishing, a picture of which you can see in this article by Marge Colburn in the Detroit News. "'There was a spare patch of ground in the backyard so I went to work,' says Martin, a former editor at This Old House and Mother Earth News. 'Five months, $3,000, a few banged-up fingernails later I had a writing space that was all mine, a place where I call the shots and control the guest list."

A great gift idea for the man who doesn't yet have everything. Manspace: A Primal Guide to Marking Your Territory (Taunton, 224 pages, October 2006) on Amazon.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:32 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"If you have any doubts about the fly-fishing dexterity of Sandy Frazier, you should see him balancing a coffee and a doughnut, and reading an adult magazine, all the while driving at excessive speeds. That's the kind of talent you don't see much anymore." Moldy Chum discovered two writers, who happen to be prototypical fly-fishing buddies, exchanging barbs on Outside.com. Be sure to read both entries, one by Jack Handy and one by Ian Frazier.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:45 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

After sampling life in Missoula and considering writing a book on trout fishing, Keillor realizes that he needs city life to inspire the cantankerousness with which he is so comfortable. On Tuscon.com.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 5:13 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Stuck on the far side of a large Columbian lake, Peace Corp volunteer Nick Mills and his wife discovered that big fat trout command a market rate in the high mountains. On MaineToday.com.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Trout bum Randall Sumner tells why he still can't bring himself to fly fish lakes. In the Seattle Times.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:11 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"The instant the flies touched, the skinny water exploded in a beaver-alarm ker-sploink, my rod bent double, the line rifled toward the riffle and then snapped back in my face like a bullwhip crack from Lash LaRue, and I found myself sitting down in the river with my pulse racing and that certain tightness in my upper left quadrant that folks of a certain age really don’t want to feel." James Babb, editor of Gray's Sporting Journal, writes about the big one in his own inimitable style.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:54 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

It's just when you think you've uncovered something truly unique in fly fishing that someone throws water on your campfire. In Nick Mills's case, it's nymphing for clams. "I was bouncing a nymph down the riffle when the line went taut. Raising the rod tip I felt a weight, a slight pull, and although there was some give to it, unlike if I had been fast to a rock, whatever was on the line didn't fight back." On MaineToday.com.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

We admit that we will not be rushing out to purchase the new Woolrich fly fishing vest for dogs, but only because there is not enough room for the water bottles. "The aforementioned tutu displayed here was a tempting choice for our Most Frivolous Outfit Award. But that dubious honor goes instead to the Woolrich doggie fly-fishing vest ($10.39). It comes complete with cargo pockets, embroidered flies and slip-knot chin strap for the matching khaki hat." From the Oregon Register-Guard.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:32 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Gary Lewis pokes fun at the excessive concern displayed by U.S. outdoorsmen and sportsmen over their outerwear. Tips: don't wear Realtree camo in Canada, where it will elicit laughs, or in Africa, where it is likely to get you shot. "Growing up in southwest Washington, we fished for steelhead in December. You looked like a logger, except you donned hip waders that filled up with water and a vest bulging with coiled lead and stained with salmon eggs. To complete the ensemble, you tucked a dish towel into your belt so you could wipe your hands." In Oregon's The Register-Guard.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Nick Mills does some good-natured fuming about the newly arrived Orvis catalog, which advertises "the end of the season." "End of season?? Wait a *#&$@% minute! Tempus fugit and all that, but end of season? Can't be, I thought, and a quick check of the ol' calendar on the wall proved that they were only half right." On MaineToday.com.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Dan Blanton took a photo of fellow angler Mike Matica's new earring while on his annual trip to Australia. Ray Sasser shows the image -- poorly optimized, unfortunately -- in his article in the Dallas News. "The fly guys could take self-inflicted body piercing to the next level. Each fly worn through the eyebrow, ear or nose could signify an exceptional fish caught and released. Thus, you could look at the anglers and quickly tell how many big fish they've caught and what fly patterns they favor."

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"After days of sweating yourself dizzy you finally come down to 15 pounds, then 10. Finally you say, 'Lord, just let me land a couple of eight pounders and I’ll never ask for anything more the rest of my life.'" Gray's Sporting Journal editor James R. Babb delivers a predictably hilarious story about competing with tournament bass fishermen on a distant Mexican lake.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 5:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

More notable for me because of the hometown recipe included -- Sullivan’s Island Shrimp Bog -- A. D. Livingston's take on copyeditors and the damage they do must be read by all current and aspiring fly fishing authors. "But all other editors and copyeditors are hereby put on notice: Since I’m advancing in years and may have mad cow disease, I no longer care whether I publish or not. Really. So, copyeditors be prepared to defend your marks, and be warned that I don’t hunt with a 28-gauge." In Gray's Sporting Journal.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I fished with Captain Bob Branham in Biscayne Bay this weekend. Bob has been guiding on the flats east and south of Miami, Florida for almost 30 years. Something funny always happens when guides get together to fish -- this time courtesy of MidCurrent reader Chris Miller -- and Saturday was no exception. By 7:45 AM my finger was bleeding (sliced unhooking a jack), my nose was bleeding (hooked on a bad cast), and I was wet from the waist down (retrieving fly from sharp coral).

But the funnies didn't really begin until we all got comfortable and the stories started flying. The best of the day was Bob's tale about tournament fishing, which we both agree is one of the more painful obligations of being a guide, if only because it tends to bring out the worst in people. As Bob told it, one year he was stuck fishing a particularly loutish angler -- demanding, whiney, and virtually blind. At 3:00 every day, the fishing ended, and for the purpose of ensuring that he stayed within the rules, he carried a wind-up alarm clock on board. Every day of the tournament, the sound of the alarm brought the enormous, visceral relief that only abused guides seem to truly know. So when the tournament was finally over, Bob decided to leave the alarm set to go off at 3:00 PM, and when he wasn't fishing he enjoyed the shiver of excitement and pleasure the ringing bell sent up his spine. The tournament had been in June. It wasn't until February that the sweet sound of the bell ceased to make the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot: the fishing Saturday was really good.

You can reach Capt. Bob Branham at 954-370-1999.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Certain social predicaments seem to arise naturally among anglers. Consider, for example, the passing of a bit of good advice from one angler to another -- it's an act of generosity that is often quickly and conveniently forgotten once the hot tip is put into play.

This week South African trout preserve owner and author Wolf Avni shares the hilarious perspective of a guide caught in a grating exchange between erstwhile angling partners, a pompous classicist and an unrefined, but repentant, "coarse" fisherman. It's a nice change of literary pace excerpted from Avni's eccentric and entertaining book A Mean-Mouthed Hook-Jawed Bad-News Son-of-a-Fish.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Prisoners, prostitutes, bikers, sailors ... and fly fishers? I remember the first time I saw someone sporting a fly fishing tattoo. It was on their shoulder, and I noticed it only because we were fishing a very still, hot day on the Turneffe Atoll and a shirt change was required. I was mildly aghast, I think, not because of the tattoo, but because it was a dry fly -- some sort of mayfly -- and we were fishing for bonefish, for gosh sakes. Naomi Schaefer Riley writes about the ever-more-popular practice in The Wall Street Journal (subscription required).

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:27 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Angler finds out what happens when you pull on a jumping 60-pound tarpon with 60-pound line. Provided by FishingJones.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

OK, so maybe the average buyer doesn't understand how insects and hooks create such a powerful enhancement to indoor decor. Real estate broker and fly fisher Sid Davis learns an important lesson about selling your own house: it's about as wise as serving as your own lawyer. In the South Bend (Indiana) Tribune.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:02 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Proof that search engines are not perfect, and that some of fly fishing's more insightful comments are made by people who can't write. LiveArticles.org published their treatise on fly fishing, which pretty much tells you everything you need to know: "There is something special about this type of thing that not everyone will enjoy."

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"I'm from Detroit and I've never seen anything like this." In a quite funny piece about immersing two ex-execs in Yakima River culture, Randall Sumner uncovers some of many subtleties of the guide-angler relationship.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:30 AM |