We were floating the Fork at 9,000 cfs and the fishing was primarily limited to people’s lawns—the secret weapon was four different colors of chenille gobbed on a hook.

A blog of adventures can be found at Sleeping in the Dirt, detailing a duel lifestyle split between office-cube-farm-bank-employee and one hundred plus days spent annually on and around the water.

Between the tree and a manky beaver carcass, we caught several nice fish, I then sent my friends back down to the big ditch where, fortunately, the Mother’s Day hatch is no longer an issue.

Some fisherman are thinking about jumping tarpon, others are thinking about carp...

Painting: Whitefish Rising Near Manhattan, Greg Keeler

There is a new wave just outside of Palisade that tempts me, but what if one of those errant gas trucks is tumbling down river?

With prime float fishing months just around the corner, a call to all bumbling oarsmen, rowing fools, and bridge duckers.

Photo: Copi Vojta