By Andrew Cremata After bushwhacking through a dense alder stand, ...
By Andrew Cremata While packing my fishing gear for a ...
The older I get, the harder it is to live in the moment.
Shorter days. Colder nights. Less time for fishing.
Sky-blue damselflies hovered in midair near the shoreline where my fishing rods were leaning against a small aspen.
The evening sun hung low within a steel-colored sky.
When I was a teenager living in Tampa, I often walked a three mile long white sand beach fishing for redfish as vast armies of blood-red fiddler crabs scattered into tiny holes.