Connecticut Fly Angler

I stood in my mud caked boots looking at Noah's Lone Star skiff high and dry and seemingly stuck, wondering how we'd get it out. We...

The gently undulating body of a dying sea lamprey brushed against my leg, as blind to the fact that I was a living organism as it was to the...

The day is always darkest right before the dawn. I stood looking at the reflection of a factory flood light on the swirling surface of an u...

Each year I make one trip up to Massachusetts to fish for American shad. It's a something of a rebellion trip, because a lot of people g...

A steady east wind rustled my sweater as I waded into the choppy, muddy waters of a western Long Island Sound bay. It was early June, and I ...