From where she keeps the pen and the leather-bound journal, she allows a foot to be cleansed by the water and her soul to be lifted like the vapors.
Apparently, I don’t just think about fish, I dream about them, too.
During the five-hour drive to Frisco in the company of an angler friend, I realized five hours is just not enough time to make fishing tales grow and a friendship grow even more.
Area outdoorsman Jason Hawkins: "Just a few nights ago, I counted seven howling coyotes, and that was only as far as my human ears could hear."
The sounds we hear in the outdoors are part of the experiences we live in the outdoors.
Hunting turkeys has been a trial-and-error undertaking for outdoorsman Jason Hawkins.
My grandmother passed recently and though she never walked with me down a game trail at 4 a.m., she was right there with me in spirit and will be forever.
For a moment that is neither too long nor too short nor too empty nor too full nor too anything more than the moment I listen.
Within the cloak of formality, the informality of angling became pleasure and respite, despite the week that was.
By all scientific accounts and amateur observations, wild game and fish feed when they are hungry, move when they want and are involuntarily involved in the same cycle of life today as they have been forever. What has changed is how we communicate what we see, do, catch, chase, observe or experience in the outdoors.
I am in a field behind my house and with each step, I create more distance from where I was to where I am headed — still a mystery to me.
I am walking and it is the ground that I feel. Frozen in time, the mud holds true. There is a path here and droppings there, and I push through tall weeds to follow something anywhere.