With the announcement this week by the American Fly Fishing Trade Association (AFFTA) that it would “sponsor and/or endorse and/or ignore and/or relocate an Independent Fly Fishing show in 2010,” it came as welcome news to the industry this morning that the trade group has settled on the lobby of the Rock Springs, Wyoming, EconoLodge as the location.
When John and Shirley Hagan first opened Portland’s Northwest Flyfishing in May of 1993, Czechoslovakia was dissolving, Rodney King was testifying, and the Second Coming of the Spey rod was still a decade away. But 17 years later, the Hagens still offer the quality products and service that East Side Portlanders have come to expect.

DALLAS—September 23, 2009. In some surprising post-tradeshow industry news, Temple Fork Outfitters president Rick Pope announced today that novelist Ernest Hemingway recently rose from the dead and asked to join the advisory staff of Temple Fork Outfitters.
Orlando Outfitters first opened its doors in January of 2005. Since then, Tim and TJ Bettis, along with shop manager Chris Barco, have shown that Orlando has much more than just the Magic Kingdom. With three full-time employees and a couple of part-timers, the shop always has someone ready to talk fishing. Redfish and seatrout are the primary targets for the guys at the shop, but they also fish for warmwater species like bass and sunfish, as well as snook, tarpon and black drum.
“I think a writer owes the readers a new way of telling a story.”
—Ken Kesey
As the 15th Drake makes its way across the country this fall, I find myself intrigued by all the recent chatter on the downfall of magazines, most of it coming from new-media pundits shouting their favorite proclamation: “Print is dead!”
An excerpt from the winter/spring issue—on shelves now.

April rains are metaphysical fertilizers that pollinate your inner wuss, thus giving life to an emotional suckathon. This can threaten to close down winter steelhead season. Yet, despite few fresh upriver fish, with even fewer windows of fishable conditions, and with wet campfires that seldom aspire to more than smoke, it'd be criminal to deny April its due.
Written by Monday, 11 January 2010 16:19
"This," Guy Lobjoit says, with a sweep of the hand toward a tangle of reeds and dark water, "is where I was killed by a hippo last year."
The time was hard dusk, about the same as now, and the trio had just pushed through the papyrus thicket blanketing the narrow isthmus between a delicious little lagoon and the Okavango River, right about over there.