Tailwater Tribe

When I left Gulfport at 1:30 p.m. on the Friday before fall break weekend, it was 90 degrees under a cloudless, Mississippi sky.  Donned in shorts, flip-flops, and a t-shirt, I cranked up the Widespread Panic on the iPod and jammed my way north.  The Yeti Roadie was in the backseat, the Scott fly rods in their tubes, as well as enough minimalist gear to take care of my basic needs (sleep, fly-fishing, and beer) for the next four days.  The long-range weather forecast for Northern AR predicted a cold-front was on the way, but hopefully it wouldn't be a factor in my journey.  No such luck.  I passed through Jackson, missing the 5:00 rush and now cruising on I-55 through Memphis with dark clouds looming on the horizon. When I passed Exit 5 (Brooks Rd/Elvis Presley), the same exit where you would find Graceland, it was 82 degrees with a few raindrops spitting on the windshield.  Five minutes later on I-40 toward Little Rock, the rain was blowing sideways and the thermometer read 52

I know you recognize the blast from the past at the top of my post.  Yes, it is indeed Fat Albert.  What does Fat Albert have to do with fly fishing?  Here goes... Last weekend on the Spring, White, and Norfork Rivers was indeed hopper time.  The hopper bite was on and I landed a few eager fish on a #6 gaudy pink pattern known as a Fat Albert.  "Pink is the hot color, mate," Steve Dally said as I stared bug-eyed and slack-jawed over the hopper bin at Steve's shop in Cotter, AR.  As usual, Steve turned out to be a prophet.   Pink Fat Albert When Laurie and I arrived at Rim Shoals, the temperature was 107.  Needless to say, we donned the Simms wading sandals and enjoyed the cooling sensation of wet wading.  We explored different areas and got some nice takes on our Fat Alberts, but as we moved on the other side of a downriver island, we discovered a nice seam that moved into a deep trench absolutely loaded with fish.  We snipped off the hoppers, tied on a beadh

To say this summer didn't go as planned would be an understatement.  Reflecting back to the spring I had visions of guide school on the Bighorn in my sights.  My buddy Randy Berndt from Wisconsin, a classmate from Montana State University and I were supposed to attend a well-known guide school on the Big Horn River.  To make a long story short; Randy got to go, and I didn't.  For me, life got in the way.  I am in the midst of yet another job change, a great opportunity that doesn't come around very often.  This threw my summer into a loop as it was a late development and by the time I got my ducks in a row, I ran out of time.  This forced me to live my life vicariously through Randy.  I kept up with his exploits through his blog "On The Fly" and it sounds as if he had a demanding, yet unforgettable experience.  Depending on my new schedule on my job, maybe next summer will be my time.  So for now, I will practice my nail knots, improved clinch knots, surgeons lo

After mysteriously losing my old Kodak waterproof video camera, a loyal friend that had accompanied me from Key West to Idaho, I started looking around for a replacement.  I settled on the GoPro Hero2.  This is one serious bulletproof, shockproof, and waterproof camera, built like a tank and attachable to anything that moves including my kayak, my head (via headstrap), or the optional chest strap.  I took the new toy out yesterday wade fishing in the gulf and shot some practice footage using the chest strap.  I didn't catch any fish but I think I like the results.  Can't wait to try her out for real!

  As noted in one of my original posts, I am a HUGE Widespread Panic fan.  Although I've never seen them in concert (they're on my list) I do have every studio album they have recorded to date on my iPod.  I recently went browsing at Peaches Record Store in New Orleans and found a Panic CD I didn't have.  "Ain't Life Grand" was recorded and released by the little ol' band from Athens, GA in 1994.  Of course, I had the title cut, "Ain't Life Grand" on another WP album entitled "Choice Cuts." "Ain't Life Grand" is a Panic staple, but another song on the CD drew my attention, partially due to its title: "Fishwater."  This is a kick-ass song with a great bassline and New Orleans roots as well; even more appropo as I bought the CD in New Orleans.  On my Tailwater Tribe adventures, long roadtrips that involve many hours of travel, I now have enough Widespread Panic on my iPod to spend days on the

 Unloading the gear at the Town and Country (Nice Yeti!!!) The elusive sulfur hatch on the White and North Fork Rivers turned out to be just that...elusive.  I left the beautiful Mississippi Gulf Coast with visions of PMDs spinning in my head.  After ten hours I finally arrived in Mountain Home, AR, a place I hadn't been to in quite a while due to the inconsistent generation at Bull Shoals and Norfork Dams.  I unloaded the gear and checked into the Town and Country Inn, a fine establishment and a true hardcore fly-fisherman's hole in the wall.  A few hours earlier, I had stopped off in Marion, AR for gas and beer and was anxious to see how cold my beverages were in my new Yeti cooler, a father's day gift from my lovely wife, Laurie!  She couldn't make the trip but was living vicariously through me.  Not only did the Yeti do well in 90+ degrees during the trip, but still had ice in it eight days later.  Kudos to @Yeticoolers!  New Patagonia Rock Grip Aluminum B

Well, caddis season has come and gone (for the most part) in my home waters of Arkansas and alas, I missed it.  I had great intentions of getting some water time on the White and Little Red Rivers during spring break, but the Corps (full generation), or the weather, was not on my side.  I had a wonderful trip to the Spring River in Mammoth Spring and hung out with the bouncer at his riverside pad, got in a lot of fishing and caught a few fish.  Even saw a few mayflies and caddis there, but damn it, I missed the caddis!  I am forever the optimist and always see the glass as half full.  I am hopeful that I will run into these illusive moths somewhere this summer, perhaps the Firehole...but in the meantime, I will move on with my thoughts and my life, to the next available hatch, the sulphurs... Sulphur mayflies are yellowish-green with rusty brown bodies and are known as PMDs out west.  If I'm lucky and the planets align, and I'm at the right place at the right time with no gene

When I look at similar and more popular fishing-oriented blogs than mine, many of which I am an avid fan, I notice one thing...shameless self-promotion.  I have never been a fan of this practice and this is probably why I am not a best-selling author or world-renowned fly-fishing guru.  But here I am, taking the advice of my wife, Laurie, who suggested that I promote my latest novel, "Hot Aces" on Tailwater Tribe.  I realize this out of character for my blog.  On the rare occasions that I update it, the main topic is fly fishing, travel, Montana, Arkansas, trout and any other topic solely devoted to my passion of the pursuit of game fish on the long rod.  But this time, I digress.  Hot Aces is my second novel.  The first, "The Brown Stilt House," was published a decade ago and after so many years without a new product, many thought that my writing ambition, skills, or lack of, had dried up on the vine.  I'm here to say this is not the case.  "Hot Aces,&quo