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Fishing Stories


The Jane Baillie Saga

Little girl feigning sleep eavesdrops on parents

Scotland, the Caithness coast, specifically the fishing village of Clyth. It is the evening of January 26th, 1876. A dark chill evening. No breeze, but grassed slopes that tilt to the cliff edge, wear a veil of frost. A shadowed sea heaves, gently slappin...

Fishy Yarns

A likely tale of old Yorkshire...

'twixt the moorland villages of Clapptrap and Skandal, there runs a lovely stretch of the Twaddle. The lively river flows through the limestone gorge at Poppycock Cut, and once past Yakking Mouth it discharges its clear waters in spectacular fashion at Fa...

Fishing Assunpink Lake

Memories of a fishing trip with my Grandfather.

Fishing the Assunpink One of my favorite times of the year when I was younger was, no surprise, summer. School was out: I didn’t have to worry about homework, grades, or any projects for at least two glorious months. Since both of my parents worked, my pa...

What Summer Means To Me

What I got to write on account of what Ms Carnahan, my teacher, claims I did yesterday in class.

WHAT SUMMER MEANS TO ME Summer means no school. Summer means having to mow your yard instead of going fishing or swimming. And to make matters worse, my tightwad father don't hardly pay me a thing for all that work. He claims riding around on a John Deere...

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Gone Fishing

A young man and woman find a skeleton in a river.

  My father passed away about a year ago and so I was now alone in my house for my mother had walked out from us many years ago when I was only a child of five. The reason for that, my father told me later, was because of him being caught getting another...

Sniffing Tracks

One of my Grandpa's stories.

My Grandpa is a little Native American man. He flyfishes and has a wicker kreel and waders. He was fishing in the Jocko River. A black bear came down the trail and stopped and sniffed one of my grandfather's footprints. The bear spent a lot of time sniffi...

Illfyfel Pier

A fragment of one of the tales of Illfyfel is translated

It was the wettest day of the year. The rain splattered down, thumping into the proud roses until they drooped their newly-humbled heads, forcing the baby bees to stay at home and swarm all over each other until their fathers gave them short, stinging sla...