
Fishing Junk Water
What started as the sketchiest junk lake turned into something much harder to leave behind


A funny, honest take on snowshoeing for the “real you” not the expedition you. Learn what you actually need, how to pick the right size and bindings, and why walking-speed winter can be the season you start to love.

Winter hiking doesn’t have to be extreme to be safe and fun. This guide gives you a simple system—how to pick the right trail, dress in layers, pack a small safety kit, and know when to turn around—so you can enjoy cold-weather miles with confidence, not stress.

Fly Tying? You want me to tie a fly? No way. I can’t even darn socks. I knew I had enrolled in a fly fishing school, but I never thought about the fly tying aspect that would accompany my studies. School started and there I was, my instructor persuading me to give it a try. Reluctantly I went to the tying area. With a heavy heart, I tried my hand at tying my first fly, and managed to make a large and splendid bug. That disheveled fly went on to startle many fish, but one showed interest; all was

Mayflies crawled, tickling, over my arms, legs, and face—something only a fly angler would be excited about. I couldn't get my rod together fast enough. This was my second lake of the day. I’d hiked five miles to the first lake, along a dusty trail, later through a stretch of my beloved ponderosas, and finally up to exposed rocky lookouts. While incredibly scenic, it was dotted with backpackers and way too windy to cast. I usually fish rivers or unnamed alpine lakes, but on this solo trip, I dec

The Tennessee creek was small, the water swift, and channels deep in some areas. Wild rainbows swam in this mostly unknown tributary sourced by a cold underground spring. It was the perfect scenario to try to master Euro-nymphing or French, Czech, Spanish, or Polish – take your pick. My friend Susan Thrasher, founder of Nashville's Music City Fly Girls, had invited me out for a special day on secret water. She gave me a few pointers and waded further upstream. In a few hours, I had landed a coup

Picture a 201-level angler fishing 501-level water. Not a pretty sight, right? Now imagine that 201-level angler flying across the world and paying mucho dinero while leaving her husband and 6 and 7-year-old boys to fish said 501-level water. Well, that is what I did and it was oh-so-very eye-opening. Welcome to Mongolia! One of the few remaining homes for taimen, the largest salmonid, a finicky, and majestic apex predator that often rests in shallow glassy water with complete confidence.

Fly fishing is addictively fun because there are so many facets to understand and improve. If the sport starts to lose its luster, there’s almost always something to hone in on and work at. That sense of improvement reignites our love for the sport, then we’re back to obsessing and spending too much money again. Such is the cycle of fly fishing. In this article we’re going to point out a few facets of fly fishing that lovers of fly can geek on until the cows come home. The Zen of the Cast It’

September in Alaska. The sun is still warm, and the bustle of summer is winding down. Most of the tourists have come and gone. The streams and trails are returning to their quieter state, and locals are reemerging to take advantage of the final days before the snow will fall on braided streams and the peaks of the Front Range of the Chugach Mountains. As a year-round resident of Alaska, the shoulder season represents a true transition. Fall is a time to reflect on the adventures of the months

I will always remember the first time I caught a fish. It was a beautiful yellow perch about twelve inches long. I was eight years old, fishing with my parents, aunt, uncle and cousins at Oxbow Lake near Defiance, Ohio. It was one of the proudest moments of my childhood. Back then, we used to fish to actually take the fish back home to eat. While my family enjoyed fishing for food, I always viewed fishing more as a way for me to connect with nature, as well as enjoy some peace and quiet. Once I

When I first got the idea to chase some trout this past fall in Western North Carolina (WNC), I had no idea that the words delayed harvest, private waters, and Lake Toxaway would become a standard part of my vocabulary. As a lifelong New Englander, I was a bit surprised when I heard that WNC had quantity and quality bows and browns. I left Boston on a chilly day when stripers were making their last push through the beaches of Cape Cod. I put down my Clousers, grabbed some well-recommended Girdl

A while back I was asked to be part of a blog post, and to say I was excited was a bit of an understatement. This was a new experience for me. No one had ever reached out to me to do a post on anything, ever, and I was taken aback by their interest. It all seemed pretty simple. They would send me a list of questions, I would answer and include some photos for their post. Then I read their questions, and my heart sank. I was not the person they were looking for. I fish in interesting water, but I

"We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children." Wendell Berry I have always loved that proverb, but as a non-child bearing woman of nearly 40, I never really had a personal connection to the statement – until one hot September day on the headwaters of the Chattahoochee River. This past year had me thinking a lot about youth. My nonprofit’s silver anniversary was not only a celebration of 25 years of keeping watch over our waters but also served as an opportuni

I was fishing on the Bulkley River when my Uncle Bill died in an intensive care unit after a protracted illness. He died on a Tuesday while I was getting my ass royally handed to me by fickle steelhead. The water felt dark and hard-hearted that day, and I felt as if I were doing penance for some nameless sin that I was not aware I had committed. Perhaps this was true. Perhaps it was just fishing. Nevertheless, I spent several more fishless days before actually receiving the news of my Uncle’s d

Sometimes we encounter small creatures that make us marvel at nature and her ability to design beauty with gills. One of her finest creations, in my opinion, is the species known as Arctic Grayling (Thymallus Articus) which is a very unique type of freshwater fish. Also known as the “lady of the stream” the arctic grayling is a favorite among many anglers, not because of their size but due to their distinctive and colorful features. Almost like the feathers of an exotic bird, the fin radiates be

Having grown up as an outdoor woman in the Pacific Northwest, it was a requirement to fish for Steelhead. As a child, I have fond memories of conventional fishing on the well-known steelhead rivers in SW Washington. Now an adult and fly angler, I have a complete obsession with only catching steelhead on the swing. The elusive steelhead is one of the most popular sport fish in North America. Despite the numbers decreasing each year, many fly anglers are still obsessed with their pursuit of feeli