Hi! I am the tenkara ambassador. My wife was first to suggest that moniker for me. Seems like I am always extolling the virtues (as I see them) of tenkara to other anglers astream. Like many, I am haunted by rivers, specifically mountain rivers. Cold, transparent water obeying the imperatives of gravity and terrain. The promise of trout, the sudden snatch of the fly, the electric connection to a fish via rod, line, and fly; somehow its energy flowing to me in reverse; the possibility of fooling a trout with my counterfeit. Haunted also by shards of persistent snow on a Rocky Mountain peak in summer, by the unique clarity of mountain sunlight, by the cool, dry air on my face; possessed too by the fecundity of an Appalachian stream, its pleasant claustrophobia of mammoth rhododendron, mountain laurel, and spruce, so overwhelmingly green. I dream of a ceiling of stars on a new moon night, bright pinpricks in the dark celestial fabric above a leaping campfire, or of a bright moon with its peculiar quicksilver light casting a tent-shadow on the snow. I imagine myself now standing in the river, the pleasant press of moving water against my legs, straining to hear the whispering of the water, trying to decipher its language, so ancient that none can understand it perhaps but the wind. I am haunted by rivers…and I’ll bet you are, too.