WeSportFish.com

written by Thom Garrett; edited by Danna Colman

My go-to on smaller streams is an elk hair caddis, but the choice isn’t so obvious on the Bitterroot or the Blackfoot. There are days in the early spring when it’s a tiny blue-winged olive or nothing. …


Chasing Butterflies — The Graphics Fairy

The morning air was cool and crisp, and the allure of the fluttering black and yellow wings was irresistible. Little Jack gave chase, oblivious to the lines adults draw between this place and that, or why it was okay for him to be here, but not over there. …


“And a word to the wise, Mr. Andrews,” he said in a thick brogue. The wrinkled old man dropped the heavy ring of keys into my hand, and I wondered again if he had been hired for his looks just to impress the tourists. “Gates are locked for a reason…


The Quaker (detail), by Andrew Wyeth

“Gramma, whatcha doing?”

I looked down at her intensely curious eyes. Emily was not four. She was proudly four-and-a-half as she would loudly proclaim if you happened to forget. She and her mother, my Elizabeth, had just moved into my guestroom.

I patted the sofa cushion next to me and…


Mayfred Yodal slept and, perchance, dreamed.

Edna shook her older sister awake. “Mayfred! Wake up, you slug!” Edna turned toward the door and shuffled forward as fast as she could with her bad hip and her walker. “We gotta get moving! That old hussy Beula Mae finally kicked it and…


There once was a time when men and women were almost gods, and gods were almost human. One man at that time grew so in his talent as an artist, his skill as a craftsman, and his understanding as a philosopher that it was said there was no one on…


“Wakey-wakey!”

With no small effort I blinked my eyes open. What I saw was somehow both comforting and disturbing.

“There you are, dear. So glad you finally made it. Now, how about a nice cuppa?”

She was elderly, but not old; fit, but not trim; familiar, but a stranger. She…


He hated the rain. He sat in the driest spot he could find, his back pressed against the dirty brick wall. He drained the bottle he’d been nursing all afternoon and tossed the empty a few feet away where it blended in with all the other garbage and filth that…


“Oh, dear Edna, what would we do without you? You are a saint!”

“Ha! Saint Edna, the patron saint of empty pews.” Edna, silver haired and wrinkled, shuffled the length of a pew, the handle of a blue plastic bucket draped over her right wrist. At the end of the…


Ol’ Mimsy, like any old granny, puttered. The kitchen in which she puttered, however, was not like any other old granny’s kitchen. She dusted her jars of preserved eyeballs, all in a row like very alert sentries, and ranging in size from tiny spider eyes to enormous cow eyes. …

Thom Garrett

Writing about life and love, along with a few crazy stories just for fun.

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