FOCUS We floated through cascading canyons of red rock, we fished murky fast-flowing water, catching some trout here and there.
© Photo Jessica Haydahl Richardson
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The Soul of Fly Fishing
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SUPER TIPS FOR ALL YOUR TRIPS Jordan Oelrich, Brian Chan, and Ryan Sparks From time to time, we like to revisit some tips and tactics tailored to the beginning angler. We turned to our experts, Jordan Oelrich, Brian Chan, and Ryan Sparks, to bring you some of our favorite tips for saltwater, stillwater, and general trout angling.While you may know some of these tips by heart, we hope that others will cause you to raise an eyebrow and will hopefully provide you with some helpful advice for your next fly-fishing outing.
REDEFINING ADVENTURE Jessica Haydahl Richardson Does your definition of adventure involve near-death experiences, trips to international hospitals, and altitude sickness in Peru? For Jessica Haydahl Richardson, that was definitely her definition—at least until she went on a relaxing, recharging float trip on Montana’s Smith River with a group of eight other women.
A DIFFERENT KIND OF FLY-ROD REVIEW Jeff Wagner Not every fly-rod review is built the same. Especially this year. In light of current limitations on supply chain and inventory, our fly-rod review features a wide variety of fly-rod weights, lengths, and applications rather than a bevy of similar models. Department Editor Jeff Wagner tackles these diverse rods with his trademark attention to detail and technical mindset.
WHAT’S NEW IN THE TYING GAME? Dana Harrison Fly Fusion’s resident fly-tying master Dana Harrison takes a look at several new fly-tying products on the market for 2021, highlighting his favorite gadgets, materials, vises, and more. If you spend more time daydreaming about your next new pattern than you do about what to have for breakfast, this is for you.
INSIDE 12 44 46 50
Stream Lines Profiles Long Lines Wandering Currents
54 58 64 66
Stillwater Secrets New and Noteworthy Gear Watermarks End of the Line
© Photo Paula Shearer | © On the cover: Christian Graham
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STREAMLINES
On Fishing In Camera
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. © Illustration Shauna Jasken @definedlinepainting
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p until a few months ago, Jim (my Fly Fusion TV co-host) and I never actually fished together on a non-work-related outing. In other words, it’s accurate to say that I’ve only fished with Jim on camera and not in camera (meaning not with cameras). Being this is a column more closely connected to entomology than etymology, I’ll pull myself back from that rabbit trail leading away from the river. Suffice to say, on multiple occasions Jim and I both commented that we needed to fish together in… without cameras. But whenever I drive the 15 hours back to my hometown in the Kootenays, the last thing I feel like doing is hopping back in my vehicle to travel for another two hours to meet Jim at a halfway point (he lives four hours from my hometown and if we both travel at the speed of 100km per hour…sorry, I digress again). This is especially true because all the streams I want to fish are less than an hour from the back door. But unforeseen circumstances caused lengthy delays between work trips and Tennyson was right when he wrote, “absence makes the heart grow fonder.” So I contacted Jim to let him know I’d be back in the Kootenays in late June and wondered if he’d be interested in fishing together. It wasn’t long before we decided on a stream and a day. This particular time I planned my annual summer Kootenay trip to coincide with the start of the stonefly hatch on a few of my favorite Rocky Mountain streams. Unfortunately, as 2020 luck would have it, an unseasonably late snowmelt mixed with heavy rain laughed in the face of our plans. When I arrived, the rivers looked like a torrent of chocolate milk, not at all the normal flow or color for that time of year. I let Jim know the river was not cooperating, so he did some digging and found a stream on his side of the Rockies that was running seasonably high, but not so high it was unfishable. Once we adjusted our plans, Jim told me the name of
the fly shop where we’d meet. Because of the distance for both of us to drive, we decided to meet at 9:00 that morning. The day came and I got to the fly shop 10 minutes early, which was just enough time to go in and talk to a local expert who assured me the river was in great shape. Then I went outside and waited…and waited. No Jim. Was he one of those guys who’s 20 minutes late for a fishing trip? I asked myself. That didn’t seem like him. Was non-work Jim different than working Jim? I called him but didn’t get an answer. I waited 10 more minutes and then called again. He picked up. “Where are you?” he said. “I’m waiting in my vehicle outside the fly shop. I’ve been here since ten to nine,” I said with an air of superiority knowing that I’m usually the one who’s 10 minutes late. I got out and looked around for him. “I don’t see you. Where are you parked?” “I’m in front of the fly shop. I don’t see you either. Are you at the right fly shop?” he asked. “This town has a population of 10. There’s more than one fly shop?” I questioned. “I’m at the one you said to meet you at—the Crowsnest Fly Shop.” Jim chuckled. “You’re at the Crowsnest Café and Fly Shop. I said to meet at the Crowsnest Angler Fly Shop. The section of river we’re fishing is in this direction. Drive here and then you can follow me to the river.” After my initial misstep, the day went as planned. Jim arranged to fish a secluded section of river in front of his friend’s ranch. To say Jim is connected is an understatement. I’ve had enough meals with him in restaurants to know that it’s tough to make it through an entire burger without someone coming up to the table saying “Jiiiimmm” or a “Are you Jim McLennan?” But after walking through the fields along the river, it’s also safe to say he is well connected. He’d fished this stretch before, so he started the day by methodically casting dries into a deep cut bank as he moved his way upstream. I chose to nymph in a riffle just downstream. We both fished for about 20 minutes without a
bite before I caught up with him. Not long after, he changed from a dry to a streamer. A few casts later he was into his first trout—a chunky 18-inch rainbow that jumped a number of times before it came to the net. After releasing it, Jim reached into his fly box and handed me one of his “magic” streamers. We fished the same run—he at the top and me below. I cast across to the far bank into a seam break that looked promising and stripped quickly. A large trout ambushed my fly after two strips and I fought the fish for long enough that Jim reeled in and walked downstream to net the fish. He arrived in position just in time for me to lose the trout, which incited a lightly sarcastic, “Seriously? You couldn’t have lost it before I walked all the way down here?” Later we fished a number of promising runs up higher that produced nothing on streamers. This sent me scrambling for my fly boxes again and eventually back to streamers before I decided to cross the stream and fish the opposite bank. I found a riffle that was too good not to hold trout, so I stood there and changed flies until I got it right. I pulled streamers through the riffle and got nothing. I drifted large dries with the same result. Then I went back to the way I started the day. I nymphed a large stonefly through the run and found a portly 18-inch rainbow on the first cast and one that looked larger just a few casts later. Not long after that, I like to think I saved Jim’s life. A large black bear lumbered down the hill just a few hundred yards behind him. Obviously he heard Jim was in the area and wanted to drop by and see the fly-fishing legend for himself. Regardless of the bear’s intentions, I yelled to Jim telling him to grab his bear spray. I’m not sure how much he could hear across the stream, but my flailing and yelling proved to be enough to communicate that he was in some sort of danger. He pulled out his spray just as I lost sight of the bear in the undergrowth. Apparently my fussing about caused the bear to change directions, thus saving Jim’s life. A life for
a streamer, perhaps? You may think Jim’s indebted to me, but you haven’t seen Jim’s streamers. I’ll need to save his life at least once more before we’re even. At the end of the day we stood at our vehicles chatting about writing and life. The time in conversation passed in the same way the day on the water passed… far too quickly. Driving home and reflecting on the day, I realized something new about Jim. Jim is the same person he is on camera as he is in camera. Being that I’m from British Columbia, I assume he’s what the ranchers and farmers of the prairies call “good folk.” Jim is Jim. He’s a far better angler than I am, but he never makes me feel inferior. He’s far more knowledgeable than I am, but he never uses his knowledge to construct any type of hierarchy. He embodies all the qualities a person looks for in a mentor and friend. Sorry Jim. No…not for getting sentimental. I just realized I have unknowingly made our trip yet another work trip by writing about it. It’s therefore no longer in camera. Sigh. Looks like we’re going to have to meet again the next time I’m back in the Kootenays. I can live with that.
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