For as long as I can remember, the quiet focus of archery hunting occupied my every thought. The discipline, the patience, and the sheer thrill of drawing back a bow and making a clean shot - was more than a pastime; it was a way of life. I spent my early years deeply immersed in what I thought to be the world of bowhunting, learning the woods, understanding the wind, and striving to perfect my shot.

Then, something changed.

I was traveling the world for work and heard people say: "You’re from Bend, Oregon? I went to Bend to fly fish." I found myself puzzled. I loved to fish, but was the fishing at home really that good? How could it be, and I know nothing of it? The next time I was home, I sought out a friend I had heard fly fished and asked if he would teach me. He was a plumber, and every Thursday, he went fly fishing.

Fly fishing found its way into my life, and with it came an obsession—swinging a fly for steelhead. There’s something meditative about the rhythm of casting, the connection to the river, and the powerful eat that feels like a freight train snagging your fly as it rushes past. The shift was gradual but undeniable. Before long, my bow was gathering dust September after September, and my hunting clothes had become just layers under my waders.

My fly rods had become an extension of who I was. I could now enjoy my passions found in the woods and wilds daily instead of seasonally. I could throw my fly rod and gear in my suitcase and pursue my newfound passion worldwide.

Years passed. I started guiding fly fishing trips when I got home from work. My passion had now become a job. Then, the work travel stopped, and I soon found myself employed full-time in the fly fishing industry.

Eventually, I felt something was missing. The days no longer held that sense of unknown and adventure; instead, it was becoming a daily grind. My hunting clothes were long gone, and I wasn’t even sure if my bow was still usable.

One afternoon, the phone rang. "How much room do you have in your freezer?" A good friend and fellow guide was calling—he had extra elk meat he couldn’t store. And just like that, My passion was revived. The pull of the wild, the rawness of the hunt—it all called me home. I now found the roles reversed. I was no longer buying fishing gear; I was buying camouflage that would work when fishing.

But just as I was settling back into my roots, a new thrill emerged: traveling the world in search of remote, untouched fish willing to eat a fly. And then... And then... TARPON.

I had taken a new job building, developing, and hosting fly fishing trips worldwide. Within a couple of months, my boss took me tarpon fishing in Boca Grande, Florida. The sight of these Silver Kings cruising the shallows, the adrenaline rush, the hunt, the stalk, and the chaos that ensued—even when not hooking fish—it was addictive in the best way possible. I had found the next obsession to consume my every thought. Now, it was time to put in the effort: first to make the cast, then to feed one, then to hook one, and finally, to learn the skills to fight one—all on a fly rod.

Those first encounters turned into a passion that became a lifestyle. Before long, I wasn’t just chasing tarpon—I was hosting trips, introducing others to the electrifying world of saltwater fly fishing. Then came Cuba—a place untouched by time and teeming with opportunity. The hunt for tarpon, permit, and bonefish in those pristine waters didn’t just become a new obsession—it became THE obsession. Now, I lead multiple trips a year to share the experience with others.

My journey has never been about choosing between bowhunting and fly fishing. It’s been about embracing the pursuit, the connection to nature, and the ever-evolving chase. The thrill remains the same whether in the ponderosa forests with a bow or on the flats with a fly rod. And as long as there are new waters to explore and hunts to experience, I’ll keep chasing what truly makes me feel alive.

Today, I find myself shooting my bow daily, planning the next new adventures, and anticipating the annual favorites. Next is a new archery hunt in Argentina for Red Stag, followed by a return to Cuba—my home away from home—to chase the Silver Kings as they gather in force.

So, what’s the point of this story?

The point is simple. If you love to hunt - big game archery hunting, chasing your local upland species, or hog hunting at the grandparents' farm - fly fishing has never tipped the scale... IT CAN!

You just haven’t hunted the right fish yet.

Let us help you on that journey to find that fish—the fish that tips your scale. A fish that you hunt, that you stalk, that you battle. A fish that can create an undeniable obsession. A fish that will change you that occupies your thoughts completely, that you can’t stop dreaming about.

A fish that makes you feel alive.