look out from the mountain hear her voice giant and sprawling a song going on & on in pine and sky her inspiration far closer than her ho...

on the road southeast of Ashton they climb on my left from a small fistfull of foothills out my half-open window standing then swallowed ...

I sing my wisdomless parable to the again changing season. To the birds’ hushed morning selves. To the gathering blanket of snow. To the ...

Midway from Chicago to LA it still hasn’t hit me. Sprawling canyon, salt flat, scrub brown and mountains crawl below. I carried on three ...

I have two handwritten quotes on two small pieces of yellow legal paper taped to the wall next to my desk. Each given to me by friends at...

When the day falls and the thin promise of neon rises, the brown liquor and beer go down easier, and with more truth, and there’s a vague...

Five years ago today I hit publish on my first post here. I had spend the better part of two months trying to figure out what it was that...

From the Monday I received Kevin Morlock’s email inviting me to fly fish for carp on Beaver Island, to the Wednesday when the wheels of t...

Last year we got into fish. Maybe a dozen six-to-ten-pound lake-run soupbones that had a mind to break our ankles before we even took a s...

shifting thumbprint wandering at dawn higher arc of lightrise laying claim to shadows in the woods connection of connections swollen cree...

When we piled out into the dust and cool of the morning we were barely a quarter-mile from the end of the road. Unlike the sprawling blan...

This morning an intricate and careless strata of clouds carried the orange, orange-yellow-red of sunrise. Its light reaching into the woo...

I turn to head back inside pressing new steps into the snow different than the ones that brought me here

There was not much room for gear. A rod tube or two and small day pack each, plus the 5-gallon survival bucket, shotgun and a waterproof ...

Today ended with the slow abandon of light that only early November knows–sky blue sky and orange-bellied clouds rusting into purple, fin...

My journal holds a breadcrumb collection from the path I just traveled. Loosely penned notes, dates, times, temps, names. Hopeful reminde...

Electronic communications will stop somewhere short of my location for the next week. I’ll catch up with you when I get back on 7/23. Be w...

The boys and I and my friend Jason hit opening day of trout season on a reasonably-kept secret Finger Lakes stream again this past April ...

Skiff full-on running out of Islamorada open water pounding wave to wave in the backcountry fleeting bottom playing tag rising and fallin...

By the time you read this I’ll be on a plane that’ll deliver me from my northern Point A to a southern connection that’ll then deliver me...