The Strange Saga of Henry Bauman

The Strange Saga of Henry Bauman

The place was called Boise City, which was something of a joke to anyone who had actually been there. It wasn’t even a town, much less a city—a few cleared fields around a dirt track where trappers and Indians pitched their teepees and caravans of covered wagons could...

Autumn’s a Comin’

Autumn’s a Comin’

Fall begins in July. That’s when savvy hunters and anglers unlimber their guns and stout fly rods. Though it’s tee-shirt and golf-short weather throughout the lower 48, it’s time to freshen your swing on those crossing shots; forego the bench and practice shooting...

Night Fishing

Night Fishing

As a boy learning to fly-fish for trout on the name branded freestone flows and limestone streams of Pennsylvania, fishing hours were strictly entrenched into my sporting ethics. No matter if fish were still sipping spinners, 30 minutes after sunset our flies were...

The Specter of Tiger Creek

The Specter of Tiger Creek

After passing the winter on the plantation, we moved, in the spring, down to a house on the coast, where we spent the summer, safe from malaria and other swamp-fevers . . . It was there that we did our salt-water fishing, and there that we had this adventure with a...

Why the Wye

Why the Wye

An act of God combined with a dash of Grace creates a trout stream of royal proportion. Not far from the dirt path was a field thick with wide stalks of dark green, calf-high grass. To get a glimpse of the sun, wildflowers in nearly every hue—soft purple and blue,...

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