It had been a long tough week on the flats. Back-to-back cold fronts replete with a savage easterly wind had churned the crystal waters of Cayo Cruz into a milky soup. Overhead, the towering thunderheads had crowded out the sun, further conspiring to make sight-fishing all but impossible. All week my guide Raffa and I stuck stubbornly to our task, and despite those wretched conditions, we’d had a couple of shots—gut-wrenching heartbreakers when a permit suddenly appeared, right in front of us, materializing from nowhere, and was already fleeing before I finally made it out.

By the time Belize reopened in October 2020, I’d held five sets of flight tickets, the travel date having been continually pushed back by changing border closures. The summer of 2020 was, essentially, spent watching flight delays and cancelations. So, when the border finally reopened and I stepped off the plane in Belize City on October 3, I was very happy. But the process of travel had changed

I visited Guyana in January 2018 and spent six days trying to catch a massive arapaima. Having succeeded in that goal, and having also landed numerous peacock bass, we headed upriver, hoping to find a variety of fish, including payara, which are a saber-toothed fish found throughout Guyana’s Essequibo River system. They are especially abundant in the upper river near Corona Falls, but our upstream progression was challenging, if not somewhat dangerous—unusual low water conditions gave us very little water to work with.

As an author, traveler and professional fly-fishing guide, I had to cancel most of my 2020 projects, with only a curtailed guide season in Iceland surviving the global lockdown. But out of adversity comes opportunity—per ardua ad astra, as the Romans used to say. I’d spent most of the first two months of the lockdown at home, becoming increasingly frustrated with imprisonment, while dutifully trying to follow social distancing recommendations.


Mahi-mahi have it rough—even fly-fishers, who often practice catch-and-release as if it were a religion, rarely let them go. You probably know why: Mahi is one of the cleanest and best tasting fishes in the oceans and it is abundant and relatively easy to catch. As a bonus, you don’t have to feel sorry for keeping a few.


We knew something was up as my fishing partner and I drove along an increasingly snow-covered road to Peterhope Lake on a mid-November day. Not a tire track and certainly no evidence of anyone recently launching a boat. Then, why you might ask, would anyone want to fish with a good eight inches of snow on the ground and ice pushing out from the back bays of the lake.


Skeed Borkowski has lived in the British Columbia’s rugged Cariboo region for over 50 years. He’s a man of humor, wit, and endless stories. Along with his wife Sharon, Skeed owns and operates the iconic Northern Lights Lodge, located in the small town of Likely. When he’s not tinkering with machinery or entertaining guests, he can be found drifting down one of the local rivers, casting flies to his favorite quarry—big, yellowbelly rainbow trout.


The first thing to behold when clutching this two-volume set called A Passion For Permit, is the sheer breadth of work: combined, these two oversized and hard-bound books, which weigh about five-thousand pounds each, total 1,665 pages. In reality, their combined weight is nine pounds. Substantial, for sure, which means you will have to sit down at a desk or in an armchair to take it all in.


Ethan Markie takes a contemplative sip of beer and watches another group of Bozeman “bros” wander into the Rocking R Bar. We’re talking art, and for the Bozeman-based artist, fishing guide and former fly shop rat, this is a day just like any other. “I need to have the experience first, in order to get inspired to paint,” Markie says. “It might be just something as simple as the patterns witnessed on a recent trout caught and released.


A friend lost a fly box on the Crowsnest River. It slipped out of an open vest pocket. We never knew where or when. All we knew was it was gone. I searched down one side while Richard splashed across and searched down the other until his progress was halted where the river rushed up against a rock wall. He waived me off, and pointed upstream, signaling I should meet him back where we started.