You can't say enough about fishing. Though the sport of kings, it's just what the deadbeat ordered.

I had just settled Grandma on her folding chair and popped open our box lunch when the corpse floated by.

By your late thirties the ground has begun to grow hard. It grows harder and harder until the day that it admits you.

It's funny, but... you're sort of a moving target for fortune, and you never know when it will befall you.

It don't do you no nevermind to tell nobody nothing.

I simply feel that the frontier of angling is no longer either ethical or geographical. The Bible tells us to watch and listen. Something like this suggests what fishing ought to be about: using the ceremony of our sport and passion to arouse greater reverberations within ourselves.

Early on I decided that fishing would be my way of looking at the world. First it taught me to look at rivers. Lately it has been teaching me how to look at people, myself included.