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Anglers Journal

Anglers Journal

Fall 2020

Anglers Journal celebrates the best writing, photography, illustration, design and sporting art on the topic of fishing. Come join some of the most prolific fishing editors and writers in the industry for the best angling experience on the water.

United States
Active Interest Media
Leer Más
USD 19.95
4 Números

en este número

1 min.
subscribe today

OUR MISSION Anglers Journal is not your run-of-the-mill fishing mag. We created this publication for that special band of enthusiasts who feel most alive when they are on the water. This award-winning quarterly features gorgeous photography, great writing, art, adventure, commentary and more. Let us remind you why you first got hooked so deeply by this special world. Let Anglers Journal take you home. SUBSCRIBE Subscriptions are $29 for four issues (Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall). Call (800) 877-5207 anglersjournal.com Editorial offices: Anglers Journal 10 Bokum Road Essex, CT 06426 wsisson@aimmedia.com…

3 min.
subscribe to anglers journal

Call (800) 877-5207 or visit anglersjournal.com. Subscriptions are $29 for one year (four issues: Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall). Please send letters and comments to Anglers Journal, 10 Bokum Road, Essex, CT 06426, or email wsisson@aimmedia.com. A PICTURE IS WORTH … I am enamored with Anglers Journal. It is, quite simply, the best. I think of this image I took a few years ago when I look at the beautiful photography in every issue. It was taken at dawn, during autumn, just north of Port Aransas, Texas, while tossing out a line with a live shrimp on the end. Pure bliss and the awe of Mother Nature. Christopher Brundage San Antonio, Texas NEVER ENOUGH I’m new to your magazine, and I absolutely love it. The quality is outstanding. Having worked for Capt. Al Anderson (“Skippy”) for…

6 min.
striper moon

I was 17 and on my way to pick up a date for a high school dance when I caught a glimpse of a rising moon on a cool September evening. Bright and fat as a peach, it stirred me. I rushed home, grabbed the keys to Dad’s boat and headed out in search of striped bass. In my delirium, I forgot my date. True story. It was, after all, a striper moon. The incident inspired my oldest brother to create a collage of images clipped from magazines. On a beach in the foreground stood a beautiful woman glancing longingly out to sea. Far in the distance was a figure fishing from a small Boston Whaler like my father’s. The caption read, “Oh well … I guess he’d rather chase bass.” One…

6 min.
the offshore life

The walking hour is early, just after 4.am. Only those who work with their hands rise at these hours Darkness lingers over the dock as the bridge mounted flfloodlights click on, illuminating the cockpit in a blinding glow that bounces off the fiberglass. The coffee pot hisses, bubbling hot water onto the grounds. The deckhand’s mind, however, focuses on different grounds. ThThe continental shelf. The Gulf Stream. ThThe off shore grounds. ThThe captain is still snoring in his berth as the mate moves by muscle memory. The young man’s body is fatigued from the lon day yesterday. ThThey found the bite. ThThe reports were on the money, and the blue marlin chewed. Today, he hopes, will be even better. Coffee is consumed, and frozen bait is removed from the freezer. Today the sportfisherman…

8 min.

EDITOR’S NOTE: In the late 1970s and early ’80s, something unique happened in the quiet, little town of Homosassa on the west coast of Florida. The best fly anglers in the world gathered to chase the world record for the most glamorous and coveted fly rod species, the tarpon. It was a collision of circumstances and personalities that was unprecedented in the world of fishing and one that will never be seen again. Monte Burke explores this chapter of fishing lore in his new book, Lords of the Fly. The following is an excerpt. By 1978, all of the players were in place in Homosassa. Stu Apte was born in Miami on Mother’s Day in 1930. He pronounces the name of his hometown as “My-am-uh,” in the same way that Flip Pallot…

11 min.
over the rainbow

I had just stepped off the de Havilland Twin Otter that brought us from Comodoro Rivadavia, Argentina, to Jurassic Lake Lodge’s private landing strip when my hat blew off. It landed about 30 feet away, and a guest who was leaving the lodge snatched it up and returned it with a smile. The smile was a premonition of the week to come. I was about to experience an otherworldly rainbow trout fishery, but I first had to make friends with the wind. I’d known of Jurassic Lake for many years. Its actual name is Lago (Lake) Strobel, and it’s in southern Argentina, about a six-hour drive from El Calafate, the nearest point of civilization. The landscape surrounding the lake is pretty much what one would expect to see on Mars: rough, dry…