Blog Posts

Fishing and Floating the John Day River

I’ve never had any interest in fly fishing for carp, but when you float down a slow, lazy river in the baking heat on a stand up paddle board for a few days, the idea starts to seem like a good one. They swim in the murkiest, calmest, warmest pockets of water on the John Day, cruising below my SUP with the confidence of small sharks. We were fishing for small-mouthed bass. I was fishing poppers, the most adorable fishing

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Five reasons why you might want to stay inside.

condon motel

Spending 10 days on the road, camping, fishing, mountain biking and trail running might sound like a pretty fun vacation (and it is!!), but as I try not to scratch the bug bites on my arms, and scabs are starting to itch as scratches heal, I realize this style of vacation is not for everyone. Bugs. I was outside for most of 10 days and my arms, legs, hands, back, belly, head and ears are covered with an assortment of

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The Mighty Mosquito

mosquitoes, courtesy of the Field Book of Insects

If you are a fan of gin and tonics, you might want to read this book. It’s a very entertaining history of tonic water, which has quinine as a main ingredient, which was used to treat malaria, which is spread by mosquitoes. “Malaria is not the mosquito’s fault, but mosquitoes suck anyway.” I happened to be reading it in the tent last weekend, with a line of fresh mosquito bites on my forehead, exactly following the bottom edge of my

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It’s all about the the process, right?

catching not landing

I am a huge fan of change and of learning new things. The consequence of this is that I am not very good at all of the things. There is so much research and buzz about doing something over and over and over and over and over to master, to perfect, to become excellent. And while I am also a huge fan of excellence, I rarely achieve it. But it doesn’t matter! As long as the process is fun and

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Images From A Mountain Bike Ride

drawing by Laurel Hunter

The missing tooth in the mouth of the rider who passed me at the rock garden. He didn’t clear it either, but “life goes on,” he said. He was wearing a blaze orange vest, unzipped, flapping at his sides as he pedaled away. This same rider on the trail, riding up “Gravity Hill.” The spring green sloping ridge was backed by a wall of steel blue rain clouds. The orange vest a vivid, slow moving dot against the sky. A

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