Goin' to California with an 8-weight in my car

At 37 feet long, 9,000 pounds, and three miles to the gallon, Clyde didn't fit well in Berkeley, literally or figuratively. I passed an electric car with a bumper sticker that said, "Animals are just little people in fur coats," and eased on toward the Sac.

Invasive species poses massive ecological threat



Ninety-feet below the surface with a mile of blue oblivion below, I approach her slowly as she stalks her prey. She hypnotizes a small snapper with her crimson mane, but I send my spear through her head before she can strike. I slip her into a bag full of lionfish as I ascend, and begin to make my way back to the lab.

Slow boats, picked pockets, and damaged goods 

From B.C. I headed south via the Tsawwassen ferry station en route to Victoria. Final destination, Forks, WA. We wove through Gulf Islands such as Galiano, Mayne, and Pender. From there, I switched boats and crossed the Strait of Juan De Fuca—just in time to catch a bomber sunrise.

Busses and studded boots

Three days after returning from Mexico, I was on another plane. This time from Seattle to Vancouver, B.C. When we touched down there was standing water on the tarmac. It was raining hard. 

Majszak/Gregson bring home the bank at 2012 Simms Ice Out Shoot Out

BOZEMAN, MT—Photographer Bryan Gregson and hometown filmmaker Ian Majszak of Detonation Studios captured first-place and $2,000 with their banger film edit “Untitled” at this weekend’s 2012 Simms Ice Out Shoot Out.

Planes, trains, and automobiles... and pangas, ferries, bare feet, hard boats, and catarafts

I left the corporate world on Friday. I was on a plane to Mexico on Saturday. On Sunday morning I was perched high upon a spiny, jagged ledge looking down into the green Pacific Ocean looking for the rooster that swam between the rocks.

Image : Copi Vojta

Lock, stock, and two smokin’ six-weights

In the fall of 2010, a 1974 Mercury Marquis by the name of Clyde joined The Drake ranks as part of Beattie Outdoor Productions’ film, When Guiding Goes Gangster. An instant hit with indy rap fans and female ex-cons—and more than 17,000 views on YouTube strong—Clyde’s entry into the flyfishing stratosphere was electric. Autograph signings followed, along with late-night binge sessions and parties with lithe supermodels. But the fast life takes its toll, and rehab is rough. For several months Clyde was benched—reduced to sidewalk scrapmetal on the outskirts of Fort Collins. He’d nearly given up his dream of roadtripping across an American landscape teeming with trout and marginally employed writers and photographers—until we brought the big lug back into the fold this spring.

Tequila (Spanish pronunciation): [teˈkila]) is a spirit made from the blue agave plant, primarily in the area surrounding the city of Tequila, in the highlands of the western Mexican state of Jalisco.


“You have chosen a great bottle,” said one of the cooks from the lodge. He was stoic and serious. It was early evening and the heavy smell of salt water hung in the air. We were on a tiny sliver of land that separated the Caribbean Sea from Ascension Bay. It was my buddy’s birthday. A few days before we had passed through the duty free in the airport in Cancun and my other pal purchased a gigantic blue bottle of liquor. When we finally broke it out for the big occasion and passed it around with our new friends from the kitchen I was surprised by their reaction. Only one of the cooks could speak English. You could tell that they held the golden brown liquor in great esteem—it was highly regarded. One of the other cooks said something that I could not understand. The one cook who could speak english translated.

Knee deep in PIT tags and swamp poons

Sometimes the best fishing is in uncomfortable settings. Our prey often seeks refuge in difficult to reach areas, areas fishermen eagerly expend high energy to access due to the potential for high returns. This is the sort of location I found myself in during a recent research trip to Puerto Rico: an overgrown, mosquito-infested mangrove swamp teeming with juvenile tarpon. After an overnight flight and a 4am car ride through the mountains, I spent the morning wading in knee-to-thigh deep mud. Four hours and forty jumped tarpon later, I knew this would be a fruitful collaboration.

Introduction to Self

Monday morning. Standing ankle deep on a Bahamian sand flat with a friend and a guide. It doesn't take long to realize this line of work has its perks. After all, I haven't met too many people that have skipped class to hunt for their first bonefish.

salt flat bonefishing