by Joe Cermele

Per Kirk Deeter's FlyTalk blog post this morning, apparently I am not a wuss, because I live in the Northeast and did not feel the least bit "crippled" by Sunday's snow storm. I also fished yesterday, which makes me even less of a wuss according to Kirk. But I did make an observation on the trout stream that is driving me bananas.

by David Draper

Win friends and influence people on New Year’s Eve with this smoked salmon dip. It’s easy to make, which is good, as you'll want to whip up a big batch because it doesn’t last long. Be sure to save some to spread on a bagel when you finally roll out of bed on New Year’s Day.

I’m assuming you have some smoked salmon lying around, or, if not, have befriended a salmon fisherman who does. If not and you want to learn how to smoke a salmon, there’s a good tutorial over at Salmon University. As a last resort, you can also pick up a package of smoked salmon at most good grocery stores, but do me a favor, make a New Year’s Resolution to catch a salmon before this time next year.

by John Merwin

For all the grousing I hear about federal and state governments these days, there’s still a silver lining for state fish-and-wildlife budgets. Most states are in terrible financial shape these days. That’s the bad news. The good news is that the primary sources of state fish-and-wildlife funding are protected by law from political pillaging as budget officials seek to fill gaps elsewhere. Here’s how it works...

You and I as sportsmen ultimately pay federal excise taxes on everything from rifles and ammunition to fishing rods and reels to recreational boating fuel. More correctly, the manufacturers pay the taxes and then include them in the purchase price that we pay.

Importantly, those tax revenues are specifically dedicated to fish and wildlife. That is, dedicated by federal law. So that tax money—millions of dollars a year—can‘t be diverted to other programs such as highways or agriculture.

by David Draper

On Tuesday, I will join the masses of post-holiday travelers subjected to the whims of the TSA, the airline industry and the remnants of a blizzard. I’m still surprised people, including myself, pay for this privilege, but until we get personal jetpacks or bullet trains, it remains the quickest way between points A and B most of the time.

In this column from The Atlantic, Corky White takes up the familiar complaint regarding the food, or lack thereof, airlines subject their passengers to:

“... on this very plane on which I sit on my way to Tokyo, there is a slab of this horrendous stuff on my black plastic tray, trying to hide under an equally doubtful pile of stuffing mix. It is punky pinky white inside, bouncy, uniform, and—the telltale sign that we're all going to the demnition bow-wows—it's moist. No actual chicken breast served in economy class is moist inside: the shreds are dry and overcooked. The shriveled hard green peas next to it were by contrast consolingly "natural." I held the chicken up on my plastic fork to investigate it as a steward came by. "Is there anything wrong?"