Beyond the Horizon

Flyfishing’s first descent on Honduras’ Faraway Cay

ON MARCH 20, THE BLADES of a canary-yellow A-star helicopter kicked up a cloud of sand while planting its skids on a tiny atoll off the Caribbean coast of Honduras. Years in the making, the landing at Faraway Cay was like a blindfold removed. According to satellite imagery, the island doesn't exist. But minutes after landing, Steve Brown was hopping out the chopper door and stringing a fly rod, about to go wade a flat where even Google Earth can't take you.

Pondering the future of Deschutes River summer steelhead.

The river’s steelhead are struggling.

Tucker Jones is certainly comfortable speaking in front of a surly audience. This much is clear from the outset. The burly, self-deprecating Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife biologist is standing in front of a group of 50 guides and anglers on a blustery spring evening at his agency's office overlooking the Columbia River in The Dalles, Oregon. Jones and his colleague, Rod French, who manages ODFW's Deschutes River fisheries program, are here as the bearers of bad news. Before they begin their presentation, a Tidewater Lines barge glides ominously past the picture windows opposite the lectern where Jones is just clearing his throat, as if to remind anglers that the river was re-made a half-century ago. It isn't just for fish anymore. "Well, as most of you know," Jones begins cordially, going for a yarn-around the campfire tone, "steelhead and salmon runs in the Columbia are in pretty bad shape this year. So we're here to tell you about some management actions we have to take."

what anal-retentive flyfishing looks like.

A numbers nerd hits New Zealand

After graduating from college, I accepted a position as an actuarial analyst—a very digital, very stationary job. My parents appreciated this move, as it meant financial independence, and also that I wouldn't be joining some friends on what eventually became an eight-month motorcycle tour of America. I was mostly certain I didn't want to become an actuary, but the job paid well, satisfied my mathematical and analytical interests, and was a bright spot on an otherwise dim resume. It was also the only job I was offered.

Zebra Caddis

The alderfly that isn't

One night during my sophomore year of college, a drunk Swedish exchange student sunk into my couch and began telling tales of the old country. Midsommar's Eve is a special event in June, Henrick said, when all able-bodied citizens eat and drink till they can't. He reminisced about his first Midsommar's kiss, first Midsommar's beer, first Midsommar's sex.

An addict and his art.

How musky flies saved Brian Bergeson’s life

I'm sitting in Bob Mitchell's Fly Shop in St. Paul, Minnesota, watching Brian Bergeson tie a fly. His thread wraps are quick and confident. He trims a tightly bound clump of bucktail and a plume of hair rises and settles to the table. His Red Bull sits safely outside the fallout radius. His fingers seem to operate on micro muscle-memory rather than direct control. Over the course of a half hour, as we talk about muskies and the flies he ties for them, a pair of bare hooks develops into a twelve-inch black-and-orange streamer.