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“Deadman’s to Moose”

2021 Neltje Blanchan Memorial Writing Award given by the Wyoming Arts Council for exceptional creative prose.

Deadman’s Bar to Moose was a favorite stretch among Snake River anglers. It was dubbed the “scenic section,” so as you hurled large foam grasshopper flies towards the embankments — you could stare up at Grand Teton and the surrounding range. I preferred launching at Deadman’s for another reason entirely — the difficulty. Between the steep gradient, the swift currents, and the maze of uprooted trees — the efficient trout water was scarce, unlike other sections where long sweeping runs of lazy current could hold fish anywhere. Deadman’s to Moose was difficult enough to just navigate through the braided channels of shifting rock bars and downed trees, and the fishing was even more difficult. Quick casts into toilet bowl sized buckets of calm water and swirling eddies — all while keeping your line from dragging the fly too quickly from the strike zone — were required. Rowing the “maze,” — named for the numerous channels and rock islands from which the river poured across — was no easy task either. It becomes a constant game of rowing from bank to bank, as if the boat was pin balling down river. When you do hook up — its not as if you can simply drop the anchor and wait for the fish to tire out (I learned this the hard way after encountering a cow and a calf Moose struggling to cross in front of my boat while running a tight side channel). Instead, a frantic match of pulling the trout alongside the boat ensues — while avoiding the reaching logs and broken timber that threaten.

“Running the Keys”

2015 Charles Purpurra Writing Award for Excellence in Screenwriting given by the Tisch School of the Arts at NYU.

On The Water Magazine

Catch Magazine Contributor

“Killing at Porcupine Creek”

2015 Charles Purpurra Award for Excellence in Screenwriting given by NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts.

“Jetty Season”

Published in The Drake Magazine in March 2013.

I spent much of the first few years in the jetty cult by learning the ropes. I spent much of my time working around the veterans. There was a hierarchy on our Jetty. I was the lowest on the Jetty totem pole and much of my efforts were unsuccessful. On a productive jetty, during the right time, there was order and chaos simultaneously. I guess that’s one of the beauties of it. You can be standing in a row of anglers, each waiting their turn to launch a cast from the coveted end rock, when an explosion of miniature menhaden batters against the jetty, bringing a hectic pandemonium across the rock wall. 

It’s true what you hear about jetties in that they’re dangerous and not for the faint of heart. As a newbie I learned the hard way. I cut my elbows, tore jackets, lost fly boxes, and ripped a few pairs of waders risking it on the rocks. Once you’ve had your taste of jetty glory it’s nearly impossible to settle for anything less. You begin to take risks, knowing that by pushing the limit to the farthest and slimiest rock you might better your chances.