This is the opportunity we have been dreaming of in the southeast for a long time. After a year of collaborating, planning, designing, and building, it is finally here. Orvis is proud to introduce its. . .
[Editor’s Note: With New Year’s Eve just around the corner, I’m reminded of Simon Perkins’s great post from the early days of OrvisNews.com. Since many of you were not around back then, I’m reposting it. Although Simon now sits next to me every day at the home office, rather than guiding on the Missouri, every word of this continues to be true.]
Fly-fishing guides come in all shapes, sizes, colors, personalities, and temperaments. Some of us are commanding and aggressive, others more passive. Some of us are articulate, some of us mumble. Some of us are patient, some of us get tense with enthusiasm and anticipation (in other words: “impatient”). But we are human, and what do humans do this time of. . .
My office today looks a lot different than my “office” last October. That’s because this fall I am saddled up to a desk next to Mr. Phil Monahan (notorious editor of orvisnews.com), whereas last year I was walking the rolling hills of central Montana every day with my bird dogs, as we guided hunters for sharptail grouse, Hungarian partridge, and pheasants. Although I love my new job (and my new office neighbor), I missed Montana and had to. . .
[Editor’s Note: Here’s an oldie but a goodie from Simon Perkins, whom I sit next to every day here at Orvis HQ.]
On many occasions, I’ve been accused of being a ruthless purist—by friends, by family, and by total strangers. I’ve tried to seek help. I’ve talked to professionals. I’ve tried to surrender myself to the dark side. I’ve tried to fall head over heels in love with the grace and beauty of a drifting indicator. But nothing has worked. I can enjoy nymph fishing, and I have proven this several times. However, more often than not I choose to be stubborn. On a slow day, I’ll often fixate on working a dry fly the entire time, hoping for that one visual eat. Because, as we all know, it doesn’t get any better than that.
In the last few years, we’ve all experienced the growing popularity of fly-fishing video that has taken over the Internet and film festivals around the country and the world. There are a lot of talented people out there producing some killer stuff. Here at the home office in Vermont, we are always forwarding the latest videos around to each other. And, of course, . . .
reminder that your streamer probably isn’t as big as it could be.
Last week, a good friend flew in to fish with me in Montana for a couple days. Unless you’ve been living under a rock (or in an eddy behind one), you’re probably aware of the water situation in Montana and other parts of the west. June has been crazy. Record water levels are being registered across the state every day, many rivers look like their water has been replaced with chocolate milk, and therefore most anglers and guides have been forced out of their normal routines. We knew we were going to have to explore some “Plan B” options. . . .
All sportsmen and women understand their obligation to conservation—without the resource, we have nothing. Many great organizations operate around the globe working hard to serve the species, habitats and ecosystems that need our immediate attention. To do our part, we find a compelling effort, and if possible, give them our time, money, sweat, endorsement, or whatever we can afford. Flip through the Orvis catalog or browse the website and you’ll find a handful of environmental projects well worth backing.
Several weeks ago, I was driving with a client to an upland bird lease in central Montana. Halfway through the drive, we watched out the passenger window as several hundred mallards lifted out of a pond and rose into the sky in front of us. The conversation quickly turned to decoy spreads, calling techniques, and duck recipes. The flock turned south and beyond them we noticed a V of Canada geese heading in the same direction….
Continued from Chasing the Huns, Part I Fifteen minutes later, Fern locked up again. We picked up the pace, climbing down the side of a slope before crossing a flat. She stood stiff and motionless, pointing thirty yards from a draw that ran the length of the hillside. As we walked in, I looked at Paul. He seemed more relaxed and I decided not to say anything. The covey of Huns scattered into the air in front of us. Joel missed his shots.
|Simon Perkins hunts in Montana.|