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Outside magazine, May 1996
“As a former academic and a natural history book reviewer I was astonished to discover, on being threatened with a two-month exile to the primary jungles of Borneo, just how fast a man can read. Powerful as your scholarly instincts may be, there is no matching the strength of that irrational desire to find a means of keeping your head upon your shoulders; of retaining your
“The stench of wet dogs, kerosene, cigarette smoke, molding cheese, and sweat-stained clothing saturated the air of the Soviet ‘flying coffin’ as we closed in on Antarctica….My partner in this expedition-to-be…insisted the smell that permeated the tense cabin and increased the tension was one he recognized. it was, he said, the smell of adventure.”
“In our family, there was no clear line between religion and fly fishing. We lived at the junction of great trout rivers in western Montana, and our father was a Presbyterian minister and a fly fisherman who tied his own flies and taught others. He told us about Christ’s disciples being fishermen, and we were left to assume, as my brother and I did, that all first-class
“Days and months are travelers of eternity. So are the years that pass by. Those who steer a boat across the sea, or drive a horse over the earth till they succumb to the weight of years, spend every minute of their lives traveling.”