United States (National)
Not enough data
Wade Robertson's coverage primarily revolves around local sports, outdoor activities such as fishing and hunting, memories, and seasonal topics. Given his focus on seasonal content and investment analysis to a significant extent, he may be interested in pitches related to upcoming local events or trends affecting the community.
Considering his thematic preferences for sports and house & home topics, he might appreciate pitches that offer unique angles on these subjects within the context of New York or Olean. If providing investment-related insights, they should be tailored to resonate with a local audience.
For Wade Robertson's articles that discuss holidays and memories extensively (45% Seasonal), there is an opportunity for contributions focusing on personal experiences during various seasons or noteworthy holiday traditions within the specific geographic area of interest.
This information evolves through artificial intelligence and human feedback. Improve this profile .
By: Wade Robertson
The spinner arced across the stream, landing a foot from the bank. I flipped the rod tip up to start the blade, lowered the rod and began the retrieve, quartering the lure downstream, barely fast enough to keep the blade turning.
By: Wade Robertson
As the years stretch out and the view in the rearview mirror appears considerably longer than the road you see stretching ahead, one becomes more introspective. Looking back, turning points leap out, moments when someone touches your young life, changes you, points the way, gives direction. Of those many teaching moments I was fortunate to experience, two stand out clearly. The steel, waist-high brace kept polio from twisting my legs,...
By: Wade Robertson
The alarm blared at 3:45 a.m., the strident sound cutting into my sleep. My entire body revolted; I'd been cuddled beneath warm blankets, in blissful slumber. Even in my semi-comatose state my mind, I instantly asked, “Is a turkey worth this?”
By: Wade Robertson
The alarm blared at 3:45 a.m., the strident sound cutting into my sleep. My entire body revolted; I’d been cuddled beneath warm blankets, in blissful slumber. Even in my semi-comatose state my mind, I instantly asked, “Is a turkey worth this?” I stretched out a hand, shut off the alarm and refused to consider anything but getting up. To think, reason, allow any type of excuse, the great majority of...
For spring gobbler season, May 2026 was the most difficult I can remember — and some excellent hun... Your Privacy Choices Notice at collection
By: Wade Robertson
For spring gobbler season, May 2026 was the most difficult I can remember — and some excellent hunters I know never bagged a bird. To quote an extremely frustrated Art McMurtry: “I HATE turkeys!” Gobblers can and will do that to you. However, this year I met up with the son of an old friend of mine, Dave Severns. Dave Severns Jr. seems to have gobblers figured out. To all...
By: Wade Robertson
Serious writers are a unique set of individuals. Without exception, everyone has something to say and an internal driving force to do so. I’ve thought about this at some length and discovered, in my case at least, that writing’s the only outlet available which allows me to sort through those impulses and crystalize those deep, unexpressed, stirrings deep within my heart and soul, giving them meaning, shape and form. Putting...
By: Wade Robertson
A group of us were hunting snowshoe rabbits in McKean County some years back. It was the day after Christmas and we were all eager to get outside and exercise after the traditional huge Christmas feast and deluge of delicious, calorie-laden desserts we simply had to try. Larry Douthit and Max were there along with Max’s two boys, Eric and Matt. Gus Crissman, his son, Tim, and I made up...
By: Wade Robertson
The lake was shimmering, its oily surface as smooth as glass. Scattered patches of fog hung randomly here and there as floating misty phantoms in the growing light. It wasn’t 5 a.m. yet, the cabins nearby silent. Nothing disturbed the all-encompassing peace surrounding me. A few small birds peeped and, then, far across the lake, a loon called — the eerie, haunting sound echoing, reawakening deep in my soul emotions...
By: Wade Robertson
The lake was shimmering, its oily surface as smooth as glass. Scattered patches of fog hung randomly here and there as floating misty phantoms in the growing light. It wasn’t 5 a.m. yet, the cabins nearby silent. Nothing disturbed the all-encompassing peace surrounding me. A few small birds peeped and, then, far across the lake, a loon called — the eerie, haunting sound echoing, reawakening deep in my soul emotions...
