I don’t build my own rods, tie my own flies, or fish from a hand-layed wood drift boat that I built myself. In fact, I don’t even own a drift boat, but not because I don’t want one. I don’t take fishing vacations to far-off and exotic locales (unless you consider Montana and Idaho exotic). I don’t fish as often as I would like, though I fish as often as I can. And I am NOT a fishy dude. In fact, I could well be the guy that coined the phrase, “There’s a reason it’s called fishing, and not catching.” You’ll not find gear reviews here, because that would be laughable. However, from time to time I may rave about a rod, reel, or other piece of equipment I own. You’re not going to find awe-inspiring fish porn here – at least not on a regular basis. (Caveat: if I do take a cool trip or land that one incredible fish, you can bet I’ll report on it here, but for now you’re safe from such grandeur).
No, what you’ll find when you stop by the Unaccomplished Angler are tales of my experiences as pertaining to anything fishing related. If you’ve had one of those days on the water where you felt like you were fishing under a dark cloud of despair—a day so demoralizing that you’re on the verge of selling all of your fly gear—don’t do anything rash: Stop by and visit. Misery loves company, and there’s a solid chance that my experiences will be good for your self esteem.
I love to fish, and I do get out as often as I can—nearly year-round in pursuit of that one great fish, or that one banner day when everything seems to go just right. So far it hasn’t happened, but I keep waiting. Maybe that’s what keeps me going—the knowledge that my best day on the water has not yet happened. There’s always room for improvement, and in my case, that room is vast. And I am a glutton for punishment.