May 1, 2008! The last time I have fished on a river. Cancer came calling at my door and I went through chemotherapy and radiation in the attempt to rid my body of the deadly disease. For one year I’ve looked out my kitchen window to see my kayak calling me back to the waters I love; back to the beautiful creation God has handed to man for enjoyment. My fly rod and casting reels collected dust and I slowly watched the months pass by with nausea, vomiting, fatigue, weakness, shingles, blood clots and peripheral neuropathy. I kept looking at articles and websites related to river bassing and longed for the day when I would get to return, but I had bigger things on my mind as survival, family and friends took center stage. Read the full story

By Phillip Potter, aka TarDevil

Driving to the river recently I passed an elderly fella walking by the road and he raised his hand to me as I drove by.  Got me wondering about salutations, waving, acknowledging folks ya don’t know – never met and perhaps never will.  Just a friendly nature?  The desire to impart a wee speck of goodwill and a warm “hello?” I dunno, do you? Read the full story

By Phillip Potter, AKA TarDevil

Fly fishing has garnered the image of an elitist sport, reserved for the privileged with means and time to burn. The words “fly fishing” typic-ally conjure images of gents and ladies resplendent in the latest attire and equipment from the top shelves of the Orvis warehouse, deftly casting immaculately crafted imitations under directions from reputable well-paid guides to hungry rising trout. Read the full story