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There are a couple new personal and professional projects in the works, and we’ve been messing around with video a bit. This short piece came from a morning on the river. What do you think? Are you a fan of video storytelling? Audio? Still photos? Just words?

It’s getting to be that time. Rivers are thawing, the ice is breaking up. Two days ago there was a small hatch. Yesterday a truck parked at the sign hole. Tying is getting a bit more frantic. Dreams are starting to take shape, and soon, with a bit of luck and a whole lot of planning, they may just look like reality.

On that note, Patagonia recently released its Spring 2014 Fly Fishing digital lookbook featuring amazing images from around the globe. Toward the end of the book is a short essay by Northwest fly fisherman and writer, Dylan Tomine. It’s pasted below (click on text below and scroll through images for original version). Check out more of Tomine’s writing and life at his website, located here.


** this post originally appeared on Tasty Takes.

Back in June our friend Eliot from Greasy Beaks Fly Fishing left me a voice mail. It was pretty straightforward. “Hey, I think you should call this guy, his number is 555-555-5555. There might be a chance for you to go to Labrador to fish for trophy brook trout. I promise it’s on the up and up.” No other real details, just a name, a phone number and the hint of an epic. That was it.

Two months later I was tucked into the back of a seat of a de Havilland Beaver float plane with the writer John Gierach and Gray Ghost Production’s Carter Davidson. We were headed for interior Labrador and two weeks of nearly non-stop fish stalking. Above is the trailer for the video, North of Wild, that was born from the trip. The full film will premier in the 2014 Fly Fishing Film Tour. Full trip report to come soon.


More from Labrador at the second posting on the Orvis fly fishing blog.

BT 42

For an hour we moved up the river in that fashion. Come to a pocket, make a few casts, catch a few fish, and move up again. It got to the point where like Babe Ruth we were calling our spots and calling our fish. Twelve-incher top of the pocket left side. Just on the tongue of the white water, fourteen-incher.

Check out the field report on the RIO blog, here:

There's something about the first one. And the second.

There’s something about the first one.

Short update from Labrador over at the Orvis blog.

Streamers, Dalis, and Clousers. Oh My!

Streamers, Dalis, and Clousers. Oh My!

We’re leaving for Labrador today. It’s going to be an adventure! Stay tuned for updates.

Photo by Catalina Jean Dow.

Photo by Catalina Jean Dow.

Time flies when you’re having fun, and summer seems to be moving at speeds well past the posted limit. Below is a quick update on where I’ve been and where I’m headed in the next few months.LowerGunny_628

In early June Mike and I traveled back to Oregon where we proceeded to fish, bike, run, work and get married in a several week long celebration of friends and family. It was an amazing time, and I am so thankful. On a professional note, I changed my name from Brown to Eaton, and my writing byline moving forward will be Aimee L. Eaton. I understand that changing my name after publishing under it for several years presents some challenges, but it feels right to me. Please, if you have questions about what I’ve written in the past, or what I’m responsible for in the future, don’t hesitate to contact me.

We came home to the western slope to find summer had kicked off in force. The trails are clear of snow and fishing has been amazing. Plenty of walk wading in addition to regular float trips (the raft came out to CO with us, and I’m attempting to learn to row. Talk about a junk show.).

In August I’m headed to Labrador to fish for landlocked Atlantic salmon and trophy brook trout with Gray Ghost Prodcutions. To say I’m freaking out would be an understatement. If everything goes as planned there will be a few stories and films from the trip.

CollaredThen in October, my book, Collared: Politics and Personalities in Oregon’s Wolf Country will be published by OSU Press. I’m finishing up the last details for the manuscript now, and the press is beginning marketing work.

In the meantime, I’m working on stories, working as an editor at the Crested Butte News, filling a few shifts at Dragonfly Anglers and in general rocking and rolling.

Here’s hoping things in your world are amazing.


We spent all of November fly fishing for Chinook on Oregon’s south coast. When we were done I wrote a feature story about the experience, the fish, and the weather. It came out today in the new issue of The Fly Fish Journal. Here’s a bit of the piece. I hope you’ll support small publishing and check out the rest at

Scratch Tickets, The Fly Fish Journal v4.3.

They come on the incoming tide. They come on the outgoing tide. A negative tide brings them in like seagulls on trash day. They’ll come when it rains. When it clears. When pigs fly and hell freezes over. The 14th is the peak. We’ll see them in December. You’re too late; they came in October. Try the mouth. Try upriver. Up coast. Up yours. There aren’t any fish in this river. They were rolling this morning. Last night 50 moved through and the wake trailed for miles. They were getting them at the bridge, at the Grange, at the snag hole. It’s like seeing Sasquatch. Pulling all cherries at the slots. Catching a unicorn. Finding the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. It’s luck. It’s skill. It’s scratch tickets.


I have a piece out in the new issue of The Fly Fish Journal. Full content of the journal is not available online, but it’s a beautiful book and worth picking a copy up.

In September 2012, I was fortunate to spend time with the group Casting for Recovery, and Steve Duda at the FFJ believed in the organization, and the story, enough to give a piece about the lives of women affected by breast cancer a home in a dominantly male-read publication.

Here’s an excerpt from the piece, The Courage to Cast:

Clad in dark scrubs and operating gowns a team of doctors clusters in the center of an operating room. The surgeon holds a scalpel in her right hand. She grips it as you would hold a steak knife. On the table is a woman’s draped body. We know it’s a woman because only her breasts are exposed. They are covered in smooth skin the color of cream with rosy nipples that stand erect in the cold room. They are perfect, gravity pulling them only slightly out of the round. They are also deadly.

Leaning over table and pressing down hard with the blade, the surgeon uses her 15 years of experience to carve a slice along the top of the breast. Blood wells from the cut and is daubed away by one of several assisting nurses. The surgeon shifts angles and moves along the bottom of the breast following its parabolic half moon curve. The cuts form an eye-shaped wound that surrounds the areola.

Over the next several hours these cuts will be repeated on the left breast. More than four pounds of tissue will be removed from the body during the course of the double mastectomy. In place of the nipples, which will be removed as just more bits of skin, there will be lines of black stitches.

In the morning, the woman who was on the table will rise from her recovery bed and unwind the ace bandages and gauze pads from her torso. She will stare at the concave surface that was once her breasts and she will cry. Friends and family will come to visit as she recovers and they will tell her she is lucky. Lucky that the cancer is gone. But she won’t feel lucky. She won’t even really feel like a woman.

After a month, the surgeon will call to see how she’s doing, and to see if she’s been doing her recovery exercises. She’ll be honest and say not good, and no. After a pause, the surgeon will ask simply, “Have you ever been fly fishing?”


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