We stood in the trees near the shoreline, waiting for sunrise. The morning was frigid and windless. A few feet beyond, lake ice folded against land. As far as I could tell, we’d be the season’s first ice anglers; it was early December and a week-long cold snap had hardened my favorite local lake. In a month’s time the lake would be dotted with shanties, alive with the echoes of power augers and snowmobiles, but this morning it was empty and...

Full disclosure, most of the season I make my living driving up and down the lake in an expensive, sparkly disco sled of a boat with the intention of catching the biggest walleyes around. But, truth be told, my favorite time of year is actually when I can leave the boat on the trailer and grab a pair of waders to look for big walleyes at night.
Regardless of where you live, leaves starting to fall off trees signals some of the best fishing of the...

On episode 3, the crew headed to the Delmarva Peninsula for Sika deer and blue crab.
They spent the first couple days archery hunting. The crew had some close encounters, but ended the archery season empty-handed.
The following morning, the crew headed out on the Chesapeake Bay to catch blue crab.
In this area, the preferred method of crabbing is a trotline baited with chicken necks.
They checked the trotlines later that day. Steve was manning...

Sunrays arced over the Bitterroot Mountains as I pulled into the lodge parking lot. I stopped my truck and trailer next to Freddy Bensch’s rental, its roof somehow caved into a dent mimicking his 5-foot-8-inch frame. As I prepped my boat for the day of fishing, Bensch rolled out of the lodge, coffee in hand, steam rising with each sip.
Six more trucks and trailers pulled in behind me; Freddy looked over the crew of guides, swiveled his head with...

My love affair with offshore fishing began as a kid. We’d spend days off the Florida Keys, venturing out in search of diving birds, trash, and weed lines—the essential clues for finding mahi. I also learned a lot about preventing and treating seasickness.
Hours of trolling in sweltering heat were justified when a blue-green streak clobbered a skirted ballyhoo, line ripping from the outrigger, reel screaming as a hooked mahi ran wild.
A few...

While the fog wisped off Kentucky Lake to reveal a rolling, silhouetted landscape, my mind remained socked in a haze. I was running so low on fumes  no energy drink could throttle me up. I tried—32 ounces worth. My tournament partner and I were, nevertheless, methodically casting along a flooded shoreline, searching for the first bite of our season-opening collegiate bass tournament.
We’d left campus in Madison, Wisconsin, the previous afternoon...