Once upon a time, a long time ago, for a very short time, I lived in Jackson, Wyoming. I was a squatter, a gypsy, camped out in my little sister's basement on a futon with a wooden wine crate for a bedside table, just like in college. Only I was 30 years old, still clinging … Continue reading Big Don and the vagabond days.
My son caught his first fish on a fly rod last week. He had begged for years to go fishing; he had seen all my gear in the hall closet and wanted me to show him how to use it. Finally last week, thanks to an invitation from a dear friend, he got his chance. … Continue reading Tight lines and sister tales.