"I’m from New York City," writes Post blogger Michael Conniff, "and nobody 'hikes' in New York City. They might take a walk crosstown, or skip the subway here and there, or wander along the West Side Highway by the Hudson. But nobody hikes in New York City, not really, so for a city boy like yours truly to be hiking at all at Beaver Creek Resort made me a bit of a novelty item. Not that the wife, from Ohio, would be faring much better. She had to be coaxed out of her Crocs and into hiking boots and the Leki polls practically had to be thrust wholesale into her hands before she would budge. And yet, thanks to our guide, Nick Fickling of the Beaver Creek Hiking Center, and our host, Katie Adamson of the resort, we managed to gainfully hike a modest two hours or so, without once screaming 'Uncle' or even 'Mommy.'"
Post blogger MItch Mulhall weaves another one of his tall tales. "It had been a few years since I’d last guided a fly fishing trip," he blogs, "but my piscatorial reputation was fairly well known, if not as unwarranted as a Madonnna Grammy. Still, among people who were near enough my own kin, my angling abilities were honored.... To be fair, the broken fly rod had done nothing for his disposition. His disappointment obvious, and I felt a skunking coming on. I strung my rod and straightened my leader while he worked on tying that Griffith’s gnat on his tippet. When he finally cinched his knot and clipped off the tag end, he hooked the fly in rod’s cork handle and reeled in the slack."
Leave it to Post blogger Star Eagle in comment #18 to drop in
A River Runs Through It reference--a Folger's can full of worms--into tonights' angling theme. "Pretty much means opening up a can of fat worms," he blogs. "As long as its all street legal B. Jon you got no problems with me or the green meanies. As far as shit goes, like we'd say down on the border, "eets reealy goood schiit maan." And Mitch, digging up old New Orders True Faith.. ahh going back to those wonderful wacky 80's, were those the days or what. Madonna, Michael, wait, wait get a grip man. Sorry. Kinda lost it for a second or two there."
Posts filed under 'Fly Fishing'
I’m from New York City, and nobody “hikes” in New York City. They might take a walk crosstown, or skip the subway here and there, or wander along the West Side Highway by the Hudson.
But nobody hikes in New York City, not really, so for a city boy like yours truly to be hiking at all at Beaver Creek Resort made me a bit of a novelty item. Not that the wife, from Ohio, would be faring much better. She had to be coaxed out of her Crocs and into hiking boots and the Leki polls practically had to be thrust wholesale into her hands before she would budge.
Continue Reading July 13th, 2010
I tried, with great effort, not to look directly at Hunter, as he was seated to my right, and to look at him required a ninety-degree turn of the head, not subtle enough to go unnoticed. The last thing I wanted was to be perceived as meddlesome. The lure, however, was too much. He was doing something at the counter, and I wanted to know what, so on occasion I would take a glance, acting as though I was adjusting the recliner, or scratching my ankle, just to see what was going on.
Continue Reading June 7th, 2008
Many summers ago, I joined a party of favorites—me, my life-long friend Carmine, his son Andrew, and the three Dons: Carmine’s father, older brother, and nephew—for some high-country fly fishing on the Cimarron. It was no major adventure. A left turn off the two lane highway just North of Ridgeway and another fifteen or so miles uphill and we were there.
It had been a few years since I’d last guided a fly fishing trip, but my piscatorial reputation was fairly well known, if not as unwarranted as a Modonnna grammy. Still, among people who were near enough my own kin, my angling abilities were honored.
Continue Reading May 4th, 2008
There was a time there, oh, along about 1980, when my Dad and I were just bachelors. My mom took off with some rich doctor to Florida, never to be heard of again until 12 years later (another story.) My dad and I were close, very close. We hunted and fished and played football and baseball, drove trucks and tractors and worked cattle, etc., etc. He wasn't even my real Dad. I'd find that fact out about six years later.
Continue Reading March 24th, 2008
I quit skiing altogether back in the early 90s, mainly because fly fishing was so much more cost effective. Then I had kids. As if children weren’t expensive enough, we enrolled them in ski lessons. Now, I’m sitting on a hotel-room bed in Leadville next to a slumbering eleven-year-old who is comatose with the exhaustion of skiing two Super Giant Slalom training runs, and one race. It’s good he’s asleep, for there’s another training run and two more races first thing in the morning.
Continue Reading January 26th, 2008
I just turned 39 years old yesterday, and for at least two-thirds of that life, I've tried to downplay my sincere passion for fishing, as though it was a habit that might interfere with my other passions in life. Over time, though, I've begun taking pride in knowing that I had a passion that I not only enjoyed, but others recognized. People say that I'm a helluva fisherman, and perhaps so. Yet, I think its rather simple... you think like a fish, you read the water, you analyze the food source(s), you adapt and provide according.
Continue Reading January 13th, 2007
I topped a ridge and stopped, astonished as nature's theatre portrayed an action drama about seventy yards in front of me. There, along the rocky trail, hundreds of feet above timberline, were two rams fighting, head-butting with all the spectactular power and force which we have seen in television documentaries.
I stopped and watched the show for about 20 minutes while trying not to be noticed. If only I had had a video camera, I could have financed our next vacation with royalties from National Geographic.
The show ended when the legs of one ram finally buckled upon the final collision with the stronger ram. The winner of the battle disappeared over the ridge in one direction and the loser limped out of sight in another direction.
Continue Reading December 19th, 2006
"being able to plan a path in life that has absolutely nothing to do with gaining status, position or power... "
Continue Reading October 12th, 2006
The Bush Administration’s 13-member Roadless Area Task Force comes to the Hotel Colorado in Glenwood Springs Wednesday from 5 to 8:45 PM to hear public comment, starting about 7 PM, about the Bush Administration’s plan to put roads in the White River National Forest where none have gone before. The Task Force has been holding public meetings throughout Colorado to find out what the public wants. But the recommendations of the Task Force are just that—non-binding recommendations.
Continue Reading June 19th, 2006
Yes, I admit, that’s me on the cover on the Aspen Times Sunday, the guy at the corner of the picture of the fly fishing class with his gut hanging out. I knew it, I just knew it, that if I worked hard enough in Aspen—I mean really worked without surcease, that some day I would make it on the front page of the Aspen Times‑‑and in the Sunday edition, no less, delivered to my door.
For a local, that’s the equivalent of the cover of the Rolling Stone.
Continue Reading May 7th, 2006
