At the Grave of the Unknown Fisherman is a collection of Coloradan John Gierach's wry and sharp-witted linked essays illuminating one of man's favorite sports - fishing.

A Daily Times-Call of Longmont columnist and frequent contributor to several national angling magazines, Gierach's artful observations will satisfy anyone who has ever baited a hook, braved a freezing Colorado or Wyoming riverbank or endlessly waited to catch a fish, debating the reasons all the while.

"When it was a long time between strikes," Gierach writes, "you could almost begin to wonder if it was worth the trouble. Lots of things occur to you while you're in the fisherman's trance, but the day you actually begin to wonder why you do this is the day you might as well sell your tackle and buy a bigger TV."

Armed with this attitude, Gierach punctuates his musings and witticisms with fishing anecdotes and characters, such as his friend Mike Clark, a fly rod craftsman/guru. Gierach says some of Clark's customers complain from time to time when he closes his shop to go fishing. "You wouldn't want to buy a rod from a rod-maker who doesn't fish, would you?" Gierach retorts.

And then there's Mike Price, the very definition of a "real fisherman," Gierach writes - "someone who works hard at a regular job and then fishes just as hard when he's off."

Gierach's prose has the same validity. The experienced fisher can tell the author's poignant nuances could be written only by a fellow angler.

Whether it's spring, summer or "frostbite fly-fishing" (fishing in the dead of winter), Gierach brilliantly describes the art of the sport, which he says can have a macho aspect. The fly-fisherman may use tiny flies and flimsy rod," he concedes, "but by God it takes a real man to brave the elements."

"Winter fly-fishing is one of those things you love, but don't quite remember why when you're away from it," he adds. "Descriptions of it sound exciting one minute and pointlessly uncomfortable the next."

Although Gierach says he's not as superstitious as some anglers, he recalls the day he nervously bought his fishing license from a tackle shop instead of the same hardware store where he'd purchased one the past 20 years.

"It's only a piece of paper, after all - but I still couldn't help wondering if breaking the old routine could put a whammy on the whole season," Gierach writes.

At the Grave of the Unknown Fisherman is a fisherman's journal. Those who document their experiences similarly fall into three categories, he writes: technicians (who fill their journals with excruciating details about water temperatures and moon phases); scorekeepers (who painstakingly add up the total number of fish caught, lengths and weights); closet poets (who'll forget to mention if they caught any fish, but will fill their pages with observations of nature and the meaning of life).

Gierach fits comfortably into the last, with a hint of the other disciplines as he describes his hike to "a sleeping beauty" - a trout-filled lake that appears as a blank spot on a map.

"I rigged up a size 8 dark stone fly nymph with some lead weight on the leader and a yard strike indicator," Gierach writes. "The stream was a watery, coffee-with-cream color with dirty foam lines along the edges of the currents. I told myself it was fishy-looking. After about 10 minutes . . . I hooked and landed a little rainbow."

Well crafted, contemplative and poetic, Gierach's approach bridges the gap, hook, line and sinker, between literature and Field and Stream. A tackle box essential.

Laurence Washington is co-Publisher and editor of Blackflix.com and teaches journalism at Metropolitan State College of Denver.