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Month: February 2017

Twelve: Red-shirt cutthroat

When I first visited Wyoming’s breathtaking expanses of sky, sagebrush, pine woods, and splashes of cars and junk strewn around trailers like exploded bombs, I lived in a brick room at the university in Laramie. I’d have never had known about Wyoming from my concrete and baked-clay cell. It had…

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Eight: Uncle Phil’s “trout”

My Uncle Phil is the world’s worst fisherman. His fishing is nearly always a production closer to moving into a new house or conquering a continent than taking in a breeze. He carries three or four rods of differing lengths and two heavy tackle boxes. After he’s baited, strung, checked,…

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