Executive Publisher Jennifer Bird Founding Editor Derek Bird Managing Editor Bob Covey Associate Editor Gary Bird Art Director Terry Paulhus Content Administrator Kim Carruthers Office Administrator Kaylee Davis
Department Editors Derek Bird Frank Brassard Brian Chan Kastine Coleman Jim McLennan Derek Olthuis Jeff Wagner Contributors Teddy Cosco Jake Dicks Fly Fishing Nation Peter James Glenn Aaron Goodis Brian Grossenbacher Julius Kogel Sarah Landström Emily Roger Luke Saffarek Laurel White
Executive Producer Film & Television Chris Bird
Fly Fusion is published quarterly by Fly Fusion Ltd, a division of Bird Marketing Group Inc. 111, 7 Avenue S, Suite A Cranbrook, BC V1C 2J3 1-888-435-9624 info@flyfusionmag.com flyfusionmag.com The current issue of Fly Fusion can be found across North America in specialty fly shops, sporting goods stores and retail outlets for $8.99. One-year subscription: $28.95 Two-year subscription: $49.95 Three-year subscription: $69.95 Add $12.00 shipping and handling per year for international subscriptions. Editorial submissions are welcome and should be sent to the address above attention to the Editor. Email queries can also be emailed to editor@flyfusionmag.com. Visit flyfusionmag.com for the full writer and photographer guidelines. Unsolicited submissions will be considered and must be accompanied by a self-addressed stamped envelope. Fly Fusion assumes no responsibility for the return or loss of solicited and unsolicited material. All facts, opinions and statements appearing within this publication are those of the writers and are in no way to be construed as statements, positions, or endorsements. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any manner without the written consent of the publisher. Copyright 2023 Fly Fusion Ltd. Printed in Canada. Canadian Mail Publication Agreement #41202551. Return undeliverable Canadian addresses to: Fly Fusion, 111, 7 Avenue S, Suite A Cranbrook, BC V1C 2J3 Return undeliverable US addresses to Fly Fusion, PO Box 227A, Eastport, Idaho 83826. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada. © Photo Aaron Goodis
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The Soul of Fly Fishing
CONTENTS 14 LOVE AT FIRST STRIKE Laurel White
Getting to Patagonia isn’t necessarily easy. Falling in love with Argentina, on the other hand, happens quick. From spring creeks requiring stealth and patience, to chuck-and-duck fishing from a drift boat, the fish are plentiful and the views are intoxicating. Then there’s Juancho, which will literally blow you away.
22 COACH AND RELEASE Emily Roger
Endurance athletes are used to feeling the burn. On the hunt for the elusive Grand Slam—hooking a permit, a bonefish and a tarpon all in the same 24hour period—before she can hook up, angler, cyclist and ultramarathoner Emily Rodger has to learn to let go.
28 PISCATORIAL PRESCRIPTION Teddy Cosco
In the wake of a global pandemic, if they didn’t engage in physical and social activity, Canadians 45-years-old and older experienced more symptoms of depression and anxiety. Which is why standing waist-deep in a glacial river with the sounds of rushing water and the anticipation of the next cast is not just nourishing, but necessary.
34 TROUT BUM IN STEEL TOWN Bob Covey
In Steelhead Paradise, the rivers are wider, the rods are bigger and the required casts are longer. But for visiting anglers, there’s another context to learn: the Indigenous nations who call this area home have sovereignty, and much more critical than my desired battle with a salmon, they’re fighting for their home.
12 42 44 50 54
Stream Lines Profiles: Amie Battams Tight Loops, Tight Lines On the Vise Long Lines
56 60 64 66
Wandering Currents Stillwater Secrets Water Marks End of the Line
© Contents Jake Dicks | On the cover: Fly Fishing Nation
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STREAM LINES
Walk A Mile Derek Bird I’m always willing to share a few fly-fishing secrets. My favorite fly, for example, is the one the trout are taking. My favorite season is the one when trout are biting. My favorite stream is the one where the trout are plentiful and the anglers are few.
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The Soul of Fly Fishing
The utility of wading boots and the usefulness of reserving judgement
D
on’t judge me. My garage has six or seven pairs of wading boots half-tucked under a storage shelf. Right now I only use two pairs consistently, and one more than the other. When my wife asks me to clean them up and get rid of the ones I don’t use, I tell her I need them all for when someone might need to borrow a pair. I hate the thought of parting with them, even if they’re tattered and torn. I’m not sure why I’m averse to throwing them out. Maybe it’s because I’m not sure what to do with them. Can a person recycle a pair of old wading boots? I don’t know, so they sit in a line, in cobwebbed limbo, not being used but not heading to the trash. I don’t have a boot fetish and I’m not purposely accumulating them. They’d be an odd piece of flyfishing gear to collect. Wading boots are the most abused item in my angling arsenal—even more so than my waders. Many pairs have torn stitching which separates the section between the reinforcement and the fabric. Other pairs have rivets pulled out because they’ve been yanked on too many times with numb hands. Then there are the the soles. Those usually falter first, little by little. The glue between the boot and the felt gives way—slowly at first, usually at the front but sometimes from the side. Then one day, if I’m not careful, if I’ve pushed it a little too far, I step into a river and feel extra drag on one foot and know this is the last time I’ll wear this pair. Because even if one boot is still holding together, they both get shelved. They’re a team. They win together and they lose together.
Collection predilection Not to romanticize them, because wading boots are just something that shod my feet and help me to get from one run to the next, but I wonder if I shouldn’t enshrine them—like my son does his basketball shoe collection. He buys and collects basketball shoes like a Royal watcher collects stamps of the Queen, or like my angling friend David collects fly rods and reels. That makes sense to me (not the stamp collecting). Antique fly rods and reels deserve a place on the mantle. It’s easy to feel attachment to a fly rod. I remember my first fly rod, but I don’t remember my first pair of wading boots—certainly not with any nostalgia. If I try really hard, I can recall they were a pair of Hodgman boots in fecal matter-brown, with a translucent yellow strip which separated the sole from the felt bottom. That took a lot of effort. Much easier to bring to mind are the high school basketball shoes I wore: fourth generation Air Jordans, mainly white, accented with red and black. Those shoes spoke loud and clear. They said I was serious about the sport. They said I could Be Like Mike. The fact that wading boots are relatively forgettable speaks to their purpose—utility. There’s little about them which could be called fashionable, and there’s certainly no status gained by wearing them. Wading boot talk, if there is any, is usually reserved to how long they last. If they last a full two seasons and they keep me upright, they’ve done their job. Their telos is simple. Wading boot designers are doing what wading boot designers should do: Create comfortable boots that reduce slippage and that stand up to multiple seasons of abuse. Simple. There’s something unifying about simplicity.
Complicating purpose has the opposite effect. In so many other areas of life we do what the old proverb tells us not to do: to judge others before we’ve walked a mile in their shoes. But it’s easy to judge a person based on their shoes because nowadays footwear is marketed to communicate more than its purpose. Footwear can communicate style, affluence, power, class or athleticism. But wading boots? Not so much. How long do they last? How much abuse can they take? Do they keep me stable? Wading boots say it best when they say very little. Sometimes I catch myself judging others, and when I’m healthy I remind myself to stop, but I’m not always there. The other day as I perused the fly selection in a fly shop a lady walked in headed toward the wading boots. Her outward appearance from her haircut right down to her shoes reinforced a certain stereotype I’d heard bandied about on social media, and within about a second I placed her in a category adjacent to mine. I’m actually embarrassed to be writing this. At my age, with the different roads I’ve walked down, some chosen and some forced, some assured of my direction and others ambling aimlessly, hoping I’d discover something along the way, I should know better. I’d like to say that I caught myself, or that I thought, “Hey great, another fly angler enjoying the fly shop” but it was neither of those that reminded me I need to always be willing to walk a mile. When she turned to go to the counter holding her new wading boots, I glanced up again from the fly trays. That’s when I noticed a semicolon tattoo on her neck, just below her ear. I know enough people with semicolon tattoos to know that they often mean the wearer, or someone they love, has overcome some sort of hardship in their life. The semicolon has become a symbol of hope for people who have battled depression, anxiety, addiction, and other mental health issues. The tattoo is there to remind them there’s more that comes after the semicolon; it’s not an end but a pause.
Remaining upright The lady with the wading boots was just trying to make it through life. Just like me. She’s a fly angler. Just like me. She wants to catch fish, just like me. And I assume she’d
rather people get to know her rather than judge her … just like me. If I had the courage to walk up and ask her what she wanted most from wading boots she likely would have said durability, stability and comfort. I think that’s what most humans want: a long life, to remain upright even when life’s murky waters are pushing hard, and a safe place to rest at the end of a long day. Don’t judge a person until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes is a peculiar aphorism. It’s strange because it doesn’t say don’t do it, it says don’t do it before walking with them. But I know when I’ve actually followed this advice, I no longer feel the inclination to judge. Walking with another person does something. It stirs up empathy and compassion. In the wasteland of social media, often I look at a photo or hear an opinion and I think I’ve walked with a person, but I really haven’t. In the same way, I know nothing about a wading boot by simply staring at a picture. The wading boots I know best are the ones sitting in the line in my garage. And the person I know best—and who can always be better—is the guy who’s walked a mile in them.
© Illustration Peter James Glenn @peterjamesglenn
Still waters run deep
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Love at first strike Finding Patagonian paradise Laurel White
© Photo Fly Fishing Nation
D Laurel White Laurel is a registered nurse by trade but fly fishes as much as possible in her free time. Travelling has been her lifelong passion with fly fishing a very close second. Her favourite species to target are brown trout, grayling and pike. Since moving to the East Coast she has also discovered a new appreciation for targeting striped bass. All photos Fly Fishing Nation
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The Soul of Fly Fishing
isembarking from the plane, we were besieged with the heat and humidity. My husband Julius and I were in Buenos Aires, Argentina, en route to the upper Patagonia region. We were with our friends Stephan and Marina and our destination was the incredible Carrileufu River Lodge, near the small town of Cholila. We planned to fish for the beautiful brown and rainbow trout which sip flies from the surface of the rivers and lakes at the foot of the Andes Mountains. But first we had to get there.
Fast friendships Acclimatizing as best we could coming from a cold German winter, we were sweating through our t-shirts as we hit the money exchange and found a restaurant to partake in a famous Argentinian beef steak. We wanted to seek out Buenos Aires Anglers, one of Argentina’s oldest fly shops, but finding it was like going on a scavenger hunt. Tucked into what looks like an apartment complex, the doorman snickered as we asked if we were in the right place. Eight floors up, at the end of a maze of hallways, we were greeted by Marcelo, the owner, and his dog. The shop is well-equipped and the conversation with Marcelo—about the economy, the concept of his unique shop, and most importantly, the fishing in Argentina—was worth the stop. A three hour flight the next day brought us to a tiny regional airport in Esquel, where we were picked up by a
driver whose name was Germán, but who is known to his passengers—and his lodge guests, and his clients on the river—as The Joker. We soon learned The Joker can fill any role at the lodge, including that of a fantastic fishing guide, but before we could see his skills in action, we had a slight problem at the airport: my rod tube, with all of my rods and one of Stephan’s, was missing. An angler’s nightmare! Luckily, technology has taken the edge off of such anxious moments. The Apple AirTags Julius had smartly stuck to the rod tube told us exactly where it was. The airport staffer who we explained this to was surprised by our luggage-divining skills, but eventually another employee came walking in with the precious cargo. Hallelujah! With Germán, it felt like we were old friends catching up after a prolonged absence. The drive to the lodge was over in a flash. There, Malbec in hand, we were welcomed by the staff, shown around the magnificent property and fed an incredible dinner. With a stunning view of the Andes mountains from the great room, we were excited
to see how the Cerro Tres Picos (Three Peaks) looked at first light—when we’d be eating a hearty breakfast before heading out on the water.
Candy land Our first float was on the Rivadavia River in the Los Alerces National Park. Julius and I were rendered speechless by the turquoise waters, framed as they were by the rocky Andean peaks. It was hard to believe we were there during the lowest water levels—and apparently the most difficult fishing—in the last 20 years, because the amount of trout we saw in the river was unbelievable! Trout rose all around the drift boat, and we could see fish on the river bottom inhaling nymphs. Deciding where to cast was almost overwhelming. I felt like a kid in a candy store, and when Julius landed the first trout of our trip on a dry fly—a beautiful, feisty rainbow with gumball-pink cheeks—and then I caught its double, it was game on. I caught myself forgetting to admire the surroundings because the action was so hot.
We stopped at a spring-fed creek for lunch, but the break only served to whet our appetite for more fishing— the creek was full of trout! Our guides beckoned us back to the barbecue, assuring us we’d return to the honey hole the following day. And we were glad we got moving: not long after we were introduced to the angelic setting at the creek, we were acquainted with Juancho—the hellish winds that Patagonia is infamous for.
Precious gems, valuable lessons The next day, when we found our way back to the creek as promised, we discovered there was good news and bad news when it came to enticing a trouty take. The good news was there was a secret nymph that these trout went crazy for. The bad news? There were only four of these little gems left. The four of us—Julius, Stephan, Marina and I—received one each. No pressure. Almost immediately, Stephan and Marina lost theirs. Knowing the value of this golden morsel, I was being as careful
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