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Love in the time of climate change
For one angler, a wounded California is better than no California at all It was a classic Yuba day with Joe and the Butler brothers—a 105-degree scorcher with the river inviting swimming as much as fishing. As typical as it seemed, the river was in many ways new to me. It had been two years…
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The gift of the skunk
One learns not to expect much when fly fishing during the winter months. At least around here, or if you’re me. Regardless of the season, sometimes you step into a river and just know something’s off. The water’s not moving right, or the sound of the wind rings particularly empty and distant. I envy steelhead die-hards their familiarity with this feeling, the impending, inevitable void, and how they march into it undaunted. A guy I know…
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