As soon O’Kelley and I turned into Bennett Spring State Park, we were in a foreign land. We had gone to the park with great hopes, having heard accounts of the place’s beauty, tales of strong trout jumping from the spring river at well-cast dry flies, and of the relaxing…
Leave a CommentAuthor: Patrick Dobson
Dr. Patrick Dobson is a work in progress until his termination. In the meantime, He is a writer, scholar, postman, and college professor living in Kansas City, MO.
The University of Nebraska Press published his travel memoirs, Canoeing the Great Plains: A Missouri River Summer in 2015 and Seldom Seen: A Journey into the Great Plains in 2009. Canoeing the Great Plains won the 2016 High Plains Book Award in Creative Nonfiction and the Thorpe Menn Literary Excellence Award. His essays and poems have been published in New Letters, daCunha, Kansas City Star, Garo, Wood Coin, and JONAHmagazine, and others.
Dobson earned a doctorate in American History and Literature at the University of Missouri-Kansas City in 2013. He has edited books, taught journalism, and been a union ironworker. He now teaches American History, Modern Latin American History, and Western Civilization at Johnson County Community College in Overland Park, KS.
He looks forward to hearing from you soon.
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,…
Leave a CommentIt might be a tough weekend, I thought. O’Kelley and I were good together. Each of us knew what the other was capable of, what each of us needed to get out of the woods. Inviting someone else into that could make everything different, screw up the rhythms we’d established,…
Leave a CommentWilliams the Australian looked like a kid—skinny and playful. He looked a lot younger than he was. He possessed a heavy Aussie accent and bull-like determination. We stood at a crook in the trail that led up the side of a rocky mountain-ish hill. He was happy, intrigued by the…
Leave a CommentFor the next few days, I am publishing some very short, memoir-ish travel tales that have been swimming around my files for years. They aren’t necessarily about trout fishing though our hero goes trout fishing in them. Together, they form an odd, little book. I hope you like them. This…
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