Back Issue Content: 2016

2016

STRIPERS AND SKYLINES.

Wicked historic, with good fishing

GLASS AND RUSTED METAL on the beach. The deafening sound of planes landing. And a steady striped-bass bite. The mussel beds and grungy shores of Boston Harbor may not be pristine, but they reliably produce fish—stripers, bluefish, carp, even the rare bluefin. When I tell people I fish here, they scoff, laugh, or plain don't believe me. And I can't even blame them, really, because the place is still pretty rough around the edges.

GRAY STRUZNIK, IN HIS ELEMENT ON WASHINGTON'S OLYMPIC PENINSULA.

Son of Forks, Washington

IT'S NOT DIFFICULT to imagine the tiny community of Forks, Washington, on the Olympic Peninsula, kindling the kind of small-town restlessness that prompts its sons and daughters to move elsewhere. But Gray Struznik, born into this land of tall trees and deep puddles, was never struck by that desire to bounce. Instead, he stayed and fished and sourced inspiration from the backyard grandeur that's often lost on those who can't see past the three stoplights on main street.

ROD RACK > CAR.

A summer of musky-country pimpin'

AFTER GETTING WORD that I'd be next in line for the continuing Ride with Clyde saga, my fishing and social life took on a strange, A-list vibe. Clyde is a rock-star rig, and I suddenly became a kind of social agent for this over-forty hunk of Detroit steel.

A FRACTION OF THE YAK'S 215 MILES. THINK THERE ARE ANY HOPPERS ALONG THOSE BANKS?

The promise of a plan in the Yakima Basin

WHEN IT'S TOO HOT TO FISH, Yakima River guide Nate Rowley snorkels his favorite trout water. He's been snorkeling a lot lately. On a scorching August afternoon at a coffee shop in downtown Cle Elum, Washington, he reports his findings from a stretch of the Teanaway River, one of the Yakima's more significant tributaries, protected in 2013 by the state's unprecedented purchase of 50,000 acres of forest surrounding the river.

GUIDE RAFAEL COSTA, HOLDING THE HEAD OF AN EIGHT-FOOT ARAPAIMA.

12-weight rods, 12-foot crocs, and a 320-pound(ish) fish.

I woke to the sound of slaughter. Several times a night this happened. The noise was caused by a pair of prehistoric animals hunting beneath my bed at Brazil's Uakari Lodge, a floating eco-resort nestled along a protected stretch of the Amazon River, about 400 miles west of Manaus. Guests are advised to sleep with earplugs due to the nighttime feeding habits of the black caiman, an ill-tempered croc reaching lengths of 15 feet; and the arapaima, an armor-plated tank of a fish growing to 400 pounds. When either of these jungle thugs finds a meal on or near the surface, then a loud, violent attack happens. And it can happen five feet from your pillow.