THOSE who have read Sowbelly and Lords of the Fly will have high expectations of the author’s latest work, a collection of 31 pieces that he has written over the past 20 years for various august publications such as The NewYorkTimes.

Monte Burke’s writing offers verve, pace, originality and wit. Furthermore, he has the key to the inner sanctum of fishing’s elite, populated by such names as Andy Mill, Steve Huff, Lefty Kreh, Nick Lyons (a lovely, tender interview) andTom McGuane.

There’s always a danger when writing about such luminaries that articles about them become embarrassing hagiographies, as if the interviewee feels he has landed an exclusive interview with God.Thankfully, Burke doesn’t fall guilty of this, though being one of the chosen few allowed to fish with Huff as his guide means he has probably tempered down some of the more scandalous yarns.You’re not going to muddy that particular water for the sake of a story.

In general, his more recent work is better, though the early stuff, dating back as far as 2003, is still pretty darn good. He has great skill at conjuring atmosphere, and is admirably sparse with his use of adjectives and adverbs, especially in describing people.

”The Loon is as skinny as a pipe cleaner. He was a wrestler back at school and could still make weight even now in his 60s. He has a grey moustache and wears one of those floppy sun hats like Lefty does. He uses his entire body when he fishes. His casts seem to originate from his toes. He walks a bit like a heron, using only his legs.”

Burke is so good at creating atmosphere, finding the perfect phrase.This is from a 2010 piece on Ephemerella invaria, better known as sulphurs. “It seems to defy logic: the trout are ignoring an unbutton-the-top- of-your-pants meal for a handful of peanuts Sulphurs must simply taste better. I can report from first-hand knowledge that, to humans anyway, they taste like a blade of grass with subtle hints of earwax.”

Being a star writer has its benefits.You’ll find interviews with Andy Mill, Lefty Kreh, even the 41st President, George HW Bush, whose sporting prowess might surprise you. (A 145lb tarpon, a 10,000ft skydive, golf with Arnold Palmer, tennis with Anna Kournikova). Life’s full of surprises..

Burke is an unbending fly-fisher, and is dismissive of “bait and lure chuckers”, as
if they occupy a lower rung on the fishing ladder. Shame, that. So much for brothers of the angle. Still, you can sympathise when he discusses a favoured spot being populated by Russian “fishermen”.

“They often come over on jet skis from an unknown location. Often they are accomp- anied by very young-looking women wearing wispy bikinis.These women cling to their pilots, wrapping skinny arms and legs around ballooned bodies.”

There are episodes here that record his adventures in the Bahamas, Labrador, the Kola Peninsula, Chile and Nova Scotia, and these are refreshingly free of the “I’m-on-a- freebie-here-so-I-gotta-write-nice-things” that are all too common. He uses the explor- er Cartier’s description of Labrador:“The land God gave to Cain.”That’s not going to land him a business-class seat with Labrador Air, is it?

There’s plenty of stuff closer to his New York base, too, like researching whether an AJ McClane yarn about a brook trout being found when a water main burst on Broadway was actually true, and a piece written during Covid that will resonate with those who were badly affected by the pandemic.

It’s all very readable, especially the 2006 summary he wrote that summarised Sowbelly. For those who haven’t read this book, it’s a true story of obsessive fishermen trying to break the 1932 largemouth bass record, with a wonderful twist at the end.

Burke writes with such authority that it’s a surprise to find any fault. I only noted one: his claim that the Andean condor is the largest flying bird on the planet. (It’s actually the kori bustard.) The only other thing you can take issue with are the dozen photos that occupy the centre pages. He’s one hell of a writer, but no photographer. Doesn’t matter.The pictures he draws with his words are infinitely better than the images that he’s captured with his box Brownie.

Keith Elliott