Our new garden up on Fire Mountain, in Oceanside, looked like hell I grew up in Southern California suburbia and hated gardening. It was called yard work, which pretty much explains why any kid would …
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Stories by Scott Sadil
A model trout habitat in Baja Two years ago, when I first began my search for Salmo nelsoni, the Baja rainbow trout, I contacted Don Albright, a longtime Baja aficionado who regularly leads friends and …
Wave Gangsters Socially, Van Artsdalen became a marked man. His reputation as a brawler traveled beyond the predominantly white population of La Jolla to tougher neighborhoods. Butch had already proved himself among the few black …
Largemouth lust The casters trade rods back and forth. Watching them, I can feel more sympathy for the obsession with equipment. I’m obsessed too; it’s impossible to be a serious fly fisherman and not be. …
The chicken or the ego? Are chickens the proper enterprise for the modern family? Let’s get real about this right now. Chickens teach us about husbandry, domesticity, and death. The sole caveat to raising your …
Explosion! The sighting of San Diego was a welcome event for the crew of the GSS Bennington on a sunny July 19,1905. The patrol gunboat had just completed a rough, seventeen-day journey from Hawaii, and …
It was one of the weekends when my wife announces, out of the blue, that she is miserable, and except for our son, our marriage, essentially, is a disaster. I was building a chicken coop. …
You are merely tolerated. They do not need you. You love them anyway.
I carried a drink outside and squatted down on the lawn in the lee of the big bottlebrush, an ancient beast gone from shrub to tree with a trunk as broad as my waist, and I thought some about the frightening new notion of home ownership.
Sandy and a girlfriend had gone into a liquor store, robbed the clerk, They locked the clerk in a walk-in cooler. Sandy started feeling bad about the guy. She went back and let him out.
In the Southland tract where I was raised, developers planted geraniums in front of every house for purpose of immediate, colorful effect; and geraniums were the first things you pulled out to make room for more “sophisticated” plantings.
We also didn’t want to find ourselves short of water, but twice we came perilously close. I remember giving my fiancee my canteen and telling her to hold that last swallow as long as she could in her mouth.
Do you know what it is to be an old surfer? To hustle waves from kids who weren't even born when you first learned how to catch a wave? To pull out all stops beneath …
Immediately I had a strong sense of my father's love for that gun; when he handed it over to me, I knew it wasn’t without some regrets. “It’s yours, under one condition. Don’t you ever sell it.”
Is surf fishing the domain of the little man? Let’s nip this one in the bud. Surf fishing breeds intimacy with fish, the sea, and freedom. The spirt of the game is its refined simplicity.
You come full circle, making of fly-fishing what nothing else in your life can ever quite offer. Beyond the intangibles of sport, which are no small part of human psychology, fly-fishing affords one the pleasure of learning.