The first entry in a year-long, four part series of narrative editorials about fishing the Swift River, one of New England’s best and most ethereally transportive fisheries.

Let’s have a try doing what we need on social media, and then channeling our attention and energy into creating a new ‘right way to do things,’ hopefully one that’s based in what drives individual passion and propels one towards an original definition of success. If my math is correct, it’d be a short time after that the subjectivity of success would become inarguably apparent, and with it, the notion that we are only imposters in aspirations which are not our own creation…

The beauty and obsession of angling may all but entirely lie in the very fact that it is reliant on an infinite set of conditional variables that no angler who’s ever thrown a cast has had a morsel of control over. Sure, steelhead are a bit of a special case…

I think back on those early days when I was falling in love with this—of those first fish and experiences that would prove to be the foundation of a lifetime in fishing—and I realize that my ability to view every fish, every cast and every moment as an irreplaceable gift of memory…