Not Just Anybody’s Saint Vrain

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By Louis Cahill "IF YOU CLIMB INTO THE CAB OF THAT PICKUP WITH JOHN YOU'LL FIND THAT WHERE YOU WIND UP CAN, ONLY IN THE MOST EXISTENTIAL TERMS, BE CALLED A FISHING TRIP." It's about seven-thirty on a Saturday morning. It's mid-September and the chilly Colorado air...



The Masters of Hyperbole

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"ARE THERE JUST A BUNCH OF LIARS AMONG US?" Hyperbole (hahy-pur-buh-lee) noun - An obvious or intentional exaggeration. An extravagant statement or figure of speech not meant to be taken literally, as in "to wait an eternity." Christmas or Thanksgiving, when I was a child, were about...



It’s The Little Things

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"I know it when I see it!" Kent and I were doing a presentation at a fly shop the other day and after showing a couple of hundred fishing photos, during the Q&A part of the program, a fellow raised his hand and asked "do you...



So Much More Than Brook Trout

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By Jason Tucker TWILIGHT. THE SUN, SETTING UNDER CLEAR SKIES HAS TURNED EVERYTHING INTO BLUE MERCURY. We have parked the boat on a gravel bar where ripping current meets still water. Fish are rising on the soft side of the seam that trails off the tip of...



The Fisherman

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by John Byron, A poem for Independence Day. Author unknown. Behold the fisherman. John catching salmon from a sub He riseth up early in the morning and disturbeth the whole household. Mighty are his preparations. He goeth forth full of hope, returning when the day is far spent. Smelling of strong drink and the truth...