In memory of my father Richard C. Armstrong Ⅲ We didn’t know we were going for gar when we pulled the canoe from atop the 4Runner, dragging it over the guardrail and down the hidden trail which runs two-hundred yards to the water through thick, Texas scrub. We didn’t know we were going for gar…Read more
About: Richard Armstrong III
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April in steelhead country is a time of long light, longer floats, and “just-one-more-cast” dreams. A time of high hopes lost to high water. A time of landed trophies and of long, quiet rides home. It is a time of last chances, of redemption, and of regret. Most of all, it is a time of…Read more
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