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The cult of the invasive fish
Growing up in the Denver suburbs, one of my favorite childhood haunts was a public park a short bike ride from home. It sported the sketchy jungle gym with the sharp, rusty edges, the little spring loaded ridable critters that, with enough momentum, could send a small child into orbit, and a small lake that…
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Drawn to Wyoming’s native cutthroats
Heidi Lewis with the Bonneville/Bear River cutthroat she used for the Wyoming Cutt-Slam. McKenzie Carlisle photo By Heidi Lewis Five years ago, I had no idea what a cutt-slam was. After many adventures with family and friends, I’ve now completed slams in two states. The first time I heard about a slam, I was in…
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Unwrapping genetic gifts that tell meaningful stories of trout
Lately I’ve been ruminating about why I love genetics, a wonky field of numbers and theory where a true understanding of results only happens long after the field season — in an office, on a computer at that. Every time I get new genetic results it’s like receiving a surprise gift. So many processes — all this history we can’t see — shape the genes of all organisms, including fish. The genetic patterns we uncover, then, tell us real and important things about the conservation needs of these fish. …
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A letter from the Wyoming Range
Editor's note: The following is an excerpt from Tom Reed’s journal of his ride down the length of the Wyoming Range to promote the Wyoming Range Legacy Act, August-September 2007. For more on TU's public lands protection legacy, check out our new report, Legacy of Protection. At the top of the world, where the timber…
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Plan and then plan again
The year 2020 has been a year of wrecked plans
The year 2020 has been a year of wrecked plans. Any sort of travel – cancelled. Celebrations with friends and family – done through Zoom. Even the regular trip to the grocery store or out to eat – reimagined with a mask and attempts at social distancing. This is even truer for me dealing with the ravages…
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Is this Heaven?
No, Morgan ... it's Idaho I had just finished leveling the camper when Morgan pulled up in his white sedan. It’s a process—leveling the camper—made a bit more complicated thanks to a slightly hyper mutt running around while I work the jacks, wondering why we can’t just go straight to the creek. “Who cares if…
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High mountain streams feed the soul
After some much-needed good news on the cancer front, I grabbed my cowboy hat and 1-weight and headed out the door. It was time to celebrate and I intended on doing just that by mountain biking and fishing (sometimes combined) on my gorgeous public lands. I pulled into the spot where I hiked out last week and trekked to see what this next section…
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