"Where the Streams Have No Names"
The Flyfish Journal
December 2009

“Look with a jaundiced eye at trout fishing in the east, and you’ll see an experience orchestrated to match every angler’s wildest dream. In that dream, every fish is big and stupid, gulping dry flies from the surface with an almost reckless abandon, and then acts surprised when it realizes there’s a hook in its lip. With a natural drama, the fish runs downstream, upstream, does somersaults in the air. And when you’re just about ready to net the beast, it gets tired and moseys over to you like a cow who knows it’s time for milking. You reach down and heft the trout from the water, admire its reds, greens, and yellows, its generous girth, smile for the camera, and do it again.”

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