I’m not a fly fishing guide, or the greatest fly fisher of all time (if such a thing even exists). I’m not a writer by trade or a polished content creator with a million followers. What I am is a guy who works an 8-5 job, pays the bills, and finds a little peace in this chaotic world by chasing wild fish with a fly rod in hand. My connection to the natural world is through that cigar-shaped piece of cork.
Fly fishing, for me, isn’t just about the catch—though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love that part. It’s about the process, the ritual, the quiet moments that slow the world down. The hum of the current. The soft snap of a cast. The total focus that comes when you’re watching your sighter or waiting for a tug on a swung fly. I wouldn’t call it an escape, exactly—but let’s be honest, it kind of is. When the screen-time piles up and the noise of the world gets too loud, stepping into a river feels like recalling our deep primal nature. Something we weren’t meant to forget.
I’m based in Central Oregon, surrounded by high desert, snowmelt rivers, and one of the last strongholds of native redband trout. I write about fly fishing because it keeps me tethered to something real—swinging traditional flies for steelhead, euro-nymphing for trout in pocket water, sleeping under the stars, or simply burning gas in a quest for the next great analog experience.
This blog is where I share my thoughts—raw, unfiltered, and mostly unedited. You’ll find gear rants, trip reports, camping misadventures, thoughts on conservation, and the occasional detour into my personal life. I don’t pretend to have all the answers, but I do believe there’s value in telling the story anyway. Because that’s what connects us—the stories we share, the places we love, and the fish that haunt our daydreams.
So poke around. Read a post or two. Or don’t—and maybe just go fish instead. Either way, thanks for being here.
-T
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