Accurately recalling an entire day of fishing is like trying to push smoke back down a chimney, so you settle on these specific moments.

If we carry purism to it's logical conclusion, to do it right {fishing} you'd have to live naked in a cave, hit your trout on the head with rocks, and eat them raw. But, so as not to violate another essential element of the fly-fishing tradition, the rocks would have to be quarried in England and cost $300 each.

Luckily, though, there are still a few guys around who will look you straight in the eye and say, eloquently and to the point, ‘It’s been too goddamned hot for too long and the river has gone off.’

I don't really know how to tie a fly until I've tied a hundred dozen of them.

Cell phones have changed us from a nation of self-reliant pioneer types into a bunch of men standing alone in supermarkets saying, ‘Okay, I’m in the tampon aisle, but I don’t see it.'

If people don't occasionally walk away from you shaking their heads, you're doing something wrong.

Accurately recalling an entire day of fishing is like trying to push smoke back down a chimney, so you settle on these specific moments.