I originally wrote these stories and poems for the amusement of family and friends. They are largely autobiographical (I have taken artistic license with certain details) and many are, at least tangentially, about fly fishing. My wife Bev and I have the good fortune to live and fish in Central Pennsylvania and, while we don’t have a trout stream in our back yard, we can be on the nearest one within five minutes of leaving the house.
I hope you can relate to what I have attempted to express about rural life, relationships, and imagination as you read.
Allan
Snapshots of Montana
“Throw in a couple good fly rods and I’ll trade you boats.” The jovial voice boomed across the gravel parking area of the Big Hole River access site where Bev and I were pulling off our waders. I turned toward
Mother Nature Flips Us The Bird
You know the kind of day when everything is just right? The air is dry and clear and it’s warm, but with just enough breeze to keep it from feeling hot. The birds are trilling in the treetops and the
Of Morels and Bower Birds
I am a terrible gardener. The time that it takes to plan and plant a garden and then nurture the young plants to maturity by fighting the very forces of evolution (face it, the fittest plants in any garden are
After Morel Picking
(With apologies to Robert Frost) My black, mesh picking bag is hanging by the door, Mushroom scented now My Nikon sits upon the window sill, Its memory card with hardly room for more. The mushrooms are still out there for
Lake Creek Alaska
Woo hoo! Herman’s raspy exclamation cut through the drizzle and announced the hook up of another Lake Creek salmon. Bev and I were finally in Alaska on the wilderness float trip that we had spent so many hours and days
