SUMMER 2021 | VOLUME 18, ISSUE 3

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FOCUS Bull kelp beds are hangouts for coho salmon and are pulled back and forth with the tides.

© Photo Jeremy Koreski

Publishing Team Chris Bird Jennifer Bird Managing Editor John Van Vleet Editorial Team Derek Bird Gary Bird Group Art Direction Terry Paulhus Circulation Consultant Scott Bullock Office Administrator Kim Carruthers Websites Breeze Web

Department Editors Derek Bird Brian Chan Dana Harrison Jim McLennan Derek Olthuis Jeff Wagner Contributors Jesse Bone Frank Brassard Jeremy Davies Martin Ejler Olsen Brent Gill Jeremy Koreski Landon Lacroix Todd Moen Tatum Monod Kayla Smith Rasmus Ovesen Steve Rennals The Bug Parade Jake Vanderweyden Paul Vecsei Jeff Wagner Odom Wu

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© Photo Kayla Smith

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

CONTENTS 14

22

28 34 42

BEST TIES FOR SUMMER FLIES Frank Brassard, Jeremy Davies, and Jake Vanderweyden One thing we never shy away from is a good fly-tying feature. We turned to three of our favorite tyers—Frank Brassard, Jeremy Davies, and Jake Vanderweyden—to bring you some of their favorite dry-fly, terrestrial, and nymph patterns for fly fishing over those warm summer months.

WHERE THE WILD SALMON ROAM Jeremy Koreski, Words: Tatum Monod Haa Nee Naa is a gorgeous floating lodge located on the North end of Dundas Island, tucked into a secluded cove where eagles, fish, wolves and whales are the main residents. Take a peek through the lens of Jeremy Koreski as he captures Tatum Monod targeting Coho, Chinook and the odd Halibut flanked by the snow-capped mountains of the Alaskan Panhandle.

A TACTICAL APPROACH TO CARP Jeff Wagner If a feature article about carp in the pages of Fly Fusion seems foreign to you, you’re not alone. But what you might not understand is just how enjoyable (and difficult) targeting carp on the fly can actually be.

IN SEARCH OF LABRADOR’S TROPHY BROOK TROUT Rasmus Ovesen Labrador is world-famous for its immense brook trout, but the search for monsters isn’t always easy. Join Rasmus Ovesen on his quest to catch one of Igloo Lake’s massive 8-pound brookies.

FISHING IN SOLITUDE Steve Rennalls While fishing with friends is almost always enjoyable, sometimes the most special moments on the water occur when it’s just you, the fish, and a pair of soaking-wet waders.

INSIDE 12 40 48 52

Stream Lines Profiles Long Lines Wandering Currents

56 60 64 66

Stillwater Secrets On the Vise Water Marks End of the Line

© Photo Jeremy Koreski | © On the cover: Kayla Smith

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STREAM LINES

Life Like Evan

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 Paul Vecsei @fish_as_art

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

E

van is an elderly gentleman I’ve run into at least five times in the last three years. He walks the paths near where I fish for steelhead and cutthroat through the late winter months. I actually don’t know his name, though we’ve spent enough time talking now where I feel like I should know his name, so it’s going to be awkward when we finally get around to formal introductions. Though realistically, I’m really not sure he recognizes me from our previous conversations. Regardless, he looks like he could be an Evan.

He’s relatively short with glasses (and without I assume) and looks like a kinder, happier, wispy haired version of the actor Ed Harris.

The first time I ran into him, he was walking with his younger wife (or possibly an older daughter—forgive me as I’m quite bad at judging age). The conversation started as a passing hello, but then Evan stopped, nonverbally indicating he wanted to chat. Stopping to converse goes against my nature when I’m walking from hole to hole, but Evan asked if I’d caught anything. I replied, “No luck yet” simply slowing my stride. Then he carried on as if ignoring my hurried body language: “Not many steelhead left, but there’s a chance you may get a cutthroat.” So as not to be rude, I stopped and engaged in the conversation.

It went on for at least 10-minutes as we talked about steelhead numbers, the cutthroat tagging program, and water levels. He conversed easily as I learned facts about the river Google could never provide. His walking companion stated they should continue on their walk a number of times throughout the discourse, but due to his focus on me (or his matrimonial deafness) he ignored her and carried on.

Throughout the conversation, he impressed me not only because of his knowledge, but also because he treated me like a familiar face and not a stranger.

When I got home, my wife asked how fishing was. I said, “It was great. No fish, but I met a guy who I want to be like when I’m old.” Then I went on to tell her about our

conversation, about how he’s walking the paths along the river, and how he’s in tune with what’s going on with the fish.

I’ve had a number of similar encounters with Evan along the river paths. We talk about fishing and water levels and sometimes he asks me about my gear. The last time I bumped into he and his companion was a month or so ago.

After spending the morning hours swinging flies, I trudged up the last hill on the trail and into the parking lot. Nearing my vehicle, a noiseless vehicle pulled up beside me and the passenger lowered her window. Evan leaned over from the driver’s seat and said, “Any fish today?”

“Got a healthy cutthroat but no steelhead,” I said. We carried on about fishing for a few minutes, and then I told him I liked his new electric vehicle. He asked if I had one.

“Not yet,” I said. “I’m saving my pennies. I’ve got my eye on one but it’s pretty pricey. It’s an off-road EV.” Then he said the name of the company. “Is it that one?” he asked. Wow. I thought. Evan’s an old guy who knows new technology. When I walked through the door, my wife asked about fishing. “I ran into Evan again today. Did you know he drives a new EV? I want to be like him when I’m old,” I reiterated.

“What do you mean when you’re old? You’re old already,” she said playfully.

“Three years older than you makes me 32. That’s not old.” I calculated how many 29th birthdays she’d had to that point as I took my shoes off, and then thought it best to stop the addition if I wanted to avoid the relational red. “He knows the river. He hikes to the tough spots. He knows technology… he drives an EV. He stops and talks to people on the trail like they’re friends and not strangers. That’s what I want to be like when I get to his age,” I said again.

The times I leave the river after running into Evan I often think more about our conversations and less about the fishing. Admittedly I’ve never hooked a steelhead on a day that coincides with an Evan encounter, so I’m not sure who will win out in that situation, but I have a suspicion it would be the steelhead. Nevertheless, I think a lot about our

conversations and I have a few take-aways I’d like to pass along just in case you never run into Evan or someone like him when you’re out.

In an era of “you do you” and the impassioned search for the authentic self, I suspect Evan understands something universal about the human experience that eludes many of us who arrived after him—the concept of letting go in order to truly discover. For example, letting go of youth in order to fully embrace the next stages of life. By all appearances, Evan’s an old guy who possesses a timeless aura because he embraces his age.

The older I get the more I believe life is all about paradoxes like that. The rivers teach us this. They are all-powerful until we strip them of their power. They are life-giving until we rob them of their life by polluting them. They run forever until the human race changes the climate. Trout and steelhead thrive within their banks until we tinker too much with their ecosystem by stripping the hills bare.

People like Evan seem to have figured out how to be part of the puzzle in the portrait of themselves. His pieces make up a very small portion of the image. He’s surrounded by landscape and knows where he fits within the landscape. He’s down the hill from the parking lot near the river talking to anglers about the fishing and the fish.

From our conversations, I’ve also begun to realize personal longevity comes with a cost beyond individual rights. I’ve have the opportunity to enjoy this global playground for more years now because civilization has partly figured out how to survive plague, famine, and disease. So I, statistically speaking, have a greater chance than my ancestors to become an old guy who walks the riverbanks. Individual human rights are essential to personal freedom and something that we need to constantly fight for and protect. But there’s another side to basic human rights. Once we’re at a place where our rights are protected, individuals in an advanced society potentially evolve to a point where they have the capacity to explore their responsibilities.

Responsibility has everything to do with thriving, not just as an individual, but an individual within a culture, a community, and an ecosystem.

And maybe that’s the key to enjoying the rivers I fish for the duration of my years. If I really want to become

an old guy like Evan, I need to know my role and perform it unselfishly through each season of life. Though the cowardice in me gravitates toward selfishness (even though it wasn’t me that hoarded all the TP at the start of the COVID-19 pandemic), my heroic side knows selflessness is a better route to choose.

I say all that, but truthfully, if I end up in the middle of a conversation with Evan and see a group of anglers walking down the hill toward my favorite run, I’ll likely cut the conversation short and head toward the river ahead of them. In the words of Kevin Malone from The Office, “It’s only humanly natural.” Right? Guess I’ve got quite a few years of practice left before I become more like Evan—I really shouldn’t rush it.

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Best Ties for Summer Flies

by Frank Brassard, Jeremy Davies, and Jake Vanderweyden

O Frank Brassard Frank Brassard is a fly tyer and fly fisher based in the Rocky Mountains of Alberta. When he isn’t chasing trout in cold, glacier fed streams, he enjoys taking traditional nymph and dry patterns and giving them his own twist. Frank’s flies can be seen on Instagram at @ frank.brassard. © Photo credit Page 14-17: Kayla Smith Fly photos Page 17: Frank Brassard

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

ne thing that we hear routinely from you, our readers, is that you value and enjoy the fly-tying content we publish in the pages of the magazine. Well, we certainly have been listening and wanted to bring you a full-blown fly-tying feature in this issue. There is no better way to hearken the arrival of summer than to ask three of our favorite fly tyers—Frank Brassard, Jeremy Davies, and Jake Vanderweyden—to put together some of their favorite dry-fly, terrestrial, and nymph patterns for summertime fishing.

Dry Flies in high places

By Frank Brassard As I turn off a dusty logging road onto an overgrown and steep offshoot, everything changes; the light dims, the air cools down, and the vegetation reclaims its foothold on the intruding road that was built more than 30 years ago.

Leaving the truck behind, I grab my rods and make my way through thick rhododendron and willow. Holding my gear up above my head, I duck and dodge for 20 minutes.

Eventually, and without any warning, the stream appears.

This is a slow, deep, and meandering stream, a rarity in my neck of the woods. A typical stream for the upper foothills of Alberta’s Rocky Mountains is usually a shallow, cold, and fast freestone body of water. I have been exploring this particular piece of water for three years now. It interested me for two reasons: first, a healthy population of native Athabasca rainbow trout; and second, the stream has all the right characteristics for casting dry flies.

Nothing gets me into the present, into the flow, like dry-fly fishing on moving water. Psychologists define “flow state” as the mental state one achieves when performing an activity that is completely immersive and enjoyable for the participant. During flow state, time slows down and one’s focus becomes sharpened. Then, between heartbeats, a trout rises to the surface and slurps that small dry fly tied the night before. This is what got me into fly fishing and keeps me coming back for more.

Although you could throw dry flies at any time during the spring and summer months, there are some basic guidelines you should follow to increase your rate of success.

Timing Most dry flies aim at imitating mature insects that have hatched from their previous aquatic bodies and reached their final stage of life. During that stage, the adults are returning to the water to mate, lay their eggs and die. This transformation from the nymphal stage to the emergent, and then finally to the flying adult, is dependent on water temperature. The timing of hatches will vary from one region to the other. In my area, which is between 1,200 and 1,500 meters in elevation, this happens much later than at lower elevation and latitudes. Nevertheless, doing a bit of research for your local water around when major hatches occur and what types of insects are involved will direct you towards which patterns should be in your box.

Gear and Technique When feeding on a hatch of spent mayflies, clusters, or drifting caddis flies, trout tend to let their guard down a bit.

They move closer to the surface and make themselves more visible to anglers and aerial predation. Being able to see your target and its behavior is very exciting. It is tempting to start fishing right away once you get to a section of water where trout are actively feeding off the surface, but don’t

immediately start casting a fly to the first fish you see rising.

Take a moment to observe the scene and ask yourself the following questions: Are there other fish around? What are they feeding on? Where can I position myself so that I can cast without being detected?

Once you have completed your site assessment, try to match the hatch. Don’t go overboard with this. Choose something relatively close in color and size. Size and shape should take priority as the verdict is still out as to whether fish see colors as we do. If you don’t have something of the same size, pick something smaller.

Once you have approached the stream undetected, the next step is a good presentation. This is perhaps more important than what fly you are using. If you spook the fish, no matter how closely you have matched the hatch, you will not be successful. For a good presentation, you need to have the right cast and the right tippet-leader rig. When casting, the goal is to get a drag-free presentation. You need to align your fly, leader, and fly line in a way that the various currents of the stream won’t interfere with the natural movement of the fly on the water. Your drifting fly needs to move at the same speed as any other insects, bubbles, and debris on the

water. A reach cast, snake cast, and mending can all help with a drag-free presentation.

Pick the right tippet and leader. Go as small as you can with your tippet and use a leader that is as long as you can cast effectively. For size 12-14 dry flies, I use a 9-foot tapered leader with 3-feet of 6X fluorocarbon tippet. The smaller the tippet, the less visible it is, and the less disturbance is causes when hitting the water surface. Of course, the longer the leader, the harder it is to get that light, natural delivery of your fly.

Flies Although each region has its own population of winged aquatic insects, I have a few go-to flies that have been good producers for me over the years and are regularly recommended in tying books as general all-purpose patterns. The following patterns are meant to imitate the general shape, color tones, and floating behavior of insects.

Tying these in a variety of sizes and tones will help ensure you have the right offering for that special day.

To keep flies floating longer, you can use a floatant such as Gulff Duck or Loon Lochsa. Both are very effective and don’t mat CDC. Remember to apply these floatants before getting the fly wet. Once a fly is saturated, you can rejuvenate the treatment by using a desiccating powder.

Elk Hair Caddis

Brassard’s Sedge Twisted CDC Detached Body

Parachute Adams

Stimulator

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Summer Terrestrials

by Jeremy Davies

Jeremy Davies Jeremy Davies has been a commercial fly tier for over 20 years in the Calgary area. Just recently, he discovered that he is the father to a six-year-old son. He is looking forward to teaching him all about fly fishing and fly tying, following in Jeremy’s footsteps. © Photos: Jeremy Davies

Terrestrial insects refer to insects that are bred, hatched, and live entirely on land and accidentally fall in the water on warm, windy days. The most common terrestrial insects that we see on western Canada trout streams are grasshoppers, ants, and beetles. Terrestrial fly fishing is typically most effective from late June until mid-September, depending on weather conditions. I personally have success into early October in warmer years. Here are four terrestrial patterns that I have had a lot of success with in recent years.

Henneberry Hopper This is a very realistic hopper pattern that is quite easy to tie and floats like a cork. You simply have to buy the foam bodies and tie legs, an Antron wing, and an indicator on. I started using this pattern about three years ago and was immediately impressed by how accurately it mimics a hopper and that it was impossible to sink. I have found this pattern to be particularly effective in late summer when streams are low and super clear. It’s also quite easy to see and takes are often very subtle, almost like a trout sipping a caddis or mayfly.

Mickey Mouse Ant Black ants are likely the most common terrestrial insect seen on most of our streams. The main issue is they are typically tiny, and trout need a lot of them to satisfy their appetite.

The Double Hump Ant over the past few seasons has really

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Fat Albert

Armageddon Beetle

Henneberry Hopper

Mickey Mouse Ant

The Soul of Fly Fishing

produced in small-to-medium streams on windy days— particularly in late July until early Sept. In late July 2019, I caught a 19-inch brown and a 13-inch brookie in a mediumsized creek on this ant. The takes were so subtle, if it were not for the high buoyancy and visibility of the fly, I surely would have missed these two nice trout.

Armageddon Beetle Beetles often are blown in or simply fall into our favorite trout streams. I have had a great deal of luck using several beetle patterns, including the Armageddon Beetle, tight along the bank where trout are waiting for them to float by. The use of bright, metallic green foam would make this pattern easier to see, but I still use fire-orange Antron for the strike indicator.

Like most of the terrestrial or attractor patterns I use, this fly is easy to see and is almost impossible to sink. A couple of years ago I spent a lot of time July through September pounding the banks on cutthroat streams with this pattern, getting many subtle takes and fish 12-to-18 inches—as well as a 20-inch bull trout.

Fat Albert The Fat Albert has always impressed me in its ability to approximate virtually every terrestrial. This highly buoyant foam attractor is tied in a variety of colors and sizes that allows the fly angler to mimic a wide variety of insects— including all the terrestrials and even large caddis. When ants and beetles are happening on a stream, I will select a black Fat Albert tied in sizes 10 down to a 14. When hoppers are active, I will choose this pattern in tan in sizes 6 to 10.

I have even gone as large as a size 4 when large hoppers are seen in late summer. This pattern, if tied in the appropriate colors, can also be used to mimic cicadas, adult stoneflies, and crickets.

Fishing terrestrial patterns is an extremely exciting and visual way to spend your time on a trout stream. In general, more than 95 percent of a trout’s diet is subaquatic insects, fish, and adult insects such as caddis, midges, and mayflies. As a result, a large land insect such a hopper or beetle is an irresistible treat. The four flies featured in this article are just four examples of thousands of patterns out there. Experiment and see which ones work best on your favorite streams.

THE MOUNTAINS ARE CALLING

Jake Vanderweyden When he’s not fishing or casting you’ll find Jeff hiking or biking the back country with his family.

They also volunteer their time to conservation efforts with groups such as Fly Fishers International.

Oh, and during business hours Jeff does business stuff.

© Photo, Dana Lattery

PROUDLY MADE IN MONTROSE, COLORADO U.S.A ROSSREELS.COM

Jake Vanderweyden @theflyfiend

Simple Summer Nymphs

by Jake Vanderweyden Spring and early summer are probably some of my favorite times to be on the river. After a long winter, I spend countless days mapping out new rivers, lakes, access roads, and camping spots. I get very excited when I see all the snow start to melt, the temperatures rise, and the rivers open up after months of being locked shut with ice.

Keeping fly patterns simple and easy to tie has been preached for years. New tying products are constantly

Flip Rock Caddis

Peacock Perdigon

changing the world of fly tying, allowing us anglers to become more creative at the bench. Each year I keep finding myself without enough time to sit down and tie hundreds of different patterns for every hatch or situation that I find myself in on the river. Since there isn’t a fly that does everything, I try to keep my patterns on a wider spectrum of stages of the life cycle, allowing me to increase my success on the water.

Because these flies are not specific to a certain stage or species, these types of “ search/attractor “ patterns have quickly become a favorite in my fly box, especially when exploring new waters without prior knowledge or insight. Fishing new waters can be exciting but also greatly intimidating for any angler.

Staying stocked up with a handful of these flies can ultimately bring confidence when fishing the unknown.

Visit flyfuisonmag.com for materials list for all patterns featured in this article.

Glassy Peacock

20

The Soul of Fly Fishing

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Where the Wild Salmon Roam Jeremy Koreski Jeremy Koreski was born and raised in the coastal Canadian town of Tofino, British Columbia. He began taking photographs at age 13 when his father, a local oyster farmer, gifted him a Canon AE1 camera. Capturing friends developing their own talents in action sports like surfing and skateboarding, was one of Jeremy’s greatest teachers in a lifelong photographic education. To this day, Jeremy regards his clients as friends first, and relishes any opportunity to connect with like-minded individuals in the great outdoors.

Tatum Monod Tatum is a professional, award winning backcountry skier, born and raised in Banff, Alberta. Her father first introduced Tatum to fly fishing at the age of five and she continues to use it as a way to reset and unwind during her off-season.

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

JEREMY KORESKI, WORDS: TATUM MONOD

Growing up fly fishing for trout on small, intimate rivers, I was certainly out of my element salmon fishing in the deep blue sea.

Yet there I was, rod in hand bending with the powerful force of a wild chinook salmon fighting on the other end of my line.

Haa Nee Naa is a gorgeous floating lodge located on the North end of Dundas Island, tucked into a secluded cove where eagles, fish, wolves and whales are the main residents.

Every morning I pulled back my curtains to be greeted by the snow-capped mountains of the Alaskan Panhandle, separated by a sheltered channel known as the Dickson Entrance.

Salmon fishing felt different.

Much like hunting to fill my freezer, there was purpose behind fishing the ocean. Understanding the migratory path of the salmon is something that comes with experience. I was grateful to have guides who have spent more time on the water than they have on land. If there was a salmon language, the guides at Haa Nee Naa spoke it.

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After an eventful few hours of mooching, we decided to switch to the fly and take advantage of the top water fishing that the area is notorious for.

I used my eight weight to cast a chunky, subtlyflashy Clouser, patiently letting it sink and then eagerly stripping in, hoping for a strike. I watched as the Coho chased after my fly like a pack of wild dogs, not always eating it but teasing me just enough so that I kept casting. It didn’t take long before I was hooked up and playing a beautiful Coho as it jumped and dove with ferocity on the end of my fly line.

The abundance of life in these coastal waters was apparent. In between catching Coho and Chinook, we cast over kelp beds full of rockfish and lingcod, floating over urchins, sea cucumbers and Dungeness crab that littered the ocean floor. In the evening, we anchored off a beautiful white sand beach, rolled up our pant legs and waded to the shore. A curious iridescent sheen reflected off the beach and as I walked closer I discover a blanket of hundreds of gleaming abalone shells. I walked the shoreline as the sun set not following human footsteps but rather paw prints of the wild and elusive wolf pack that calls Dundas Island home.

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

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If you are what you eat then I must be incredibly resilient, hard-working and intelligent; all characteristics I would use to describe a wild salmon.

There is no question that a wild fish caught by your own hands is far superior. This experience connected me with nature in a deeper way than I ever knew possible. I gained a whole new respect for one of the oceans most intuitive and intelligent species, the wild salmon.

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

Photo: Todd Field

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A Tactical Approach to Carp

Jeff Wagner

W

hat if I could talk you into sight casting to big fish in warm water?

Especially when those fish are found during high water when your favorite trout stream is blown out. Imagine standing on a shoreline as 10-pound fish feed at sunrise. You cast a small streamer to a pod of moving fish. A few strips, a pause, and set! You’re hooked up on a specimen pulling you into your backing.

Common carp (Cyprinus carpio) are those fish. Carp are giant, non-native minnows that now inhabit most of the waters of North America after a government fisheries program gone wrong in the US in the late 1800s. In waters where they exist, they often overpopulate and push out native fish and reset the eutrophication timeline, hastening an increase in turbidity and warming of the waters, further pushing the fishery toward warm water.

Fisheries managers have been fighting the good fight for years. Fortunately, in many areas where they exist their range is not growing and they have stabilized. We are now accustomed to having them in our waters like so many other non-native species.

It is interesting how some non-native species, such as brown trout, we fawn over and take countless photos of and others, such as carp, we marginalize and hate.

While I am not a huge fan of carp being in our waters and wish we had more cutthroat trout in their native range, carp are not going anywhere. As a matter of fun blended with conservation, pursuing carp can do both. Why not put pressure on a population that could use some reduction while also not putting pressure on a coldwater resource? Not to mention, carp are big, hard fighting, found in shallow water, and actively eat flies presented effectively—which is not always easy.

To catch these fish is to know your prey. The more you know about the fish the more you can target the areas where they live.

Biology Carp are part of of the Cyprinidae genus, a classification of minnow. Many are small and diminutive, but others grow quite large. This classification includes species across the Americas, Europe, Asia, India, and Africa. They range in

size from fish barely reaching 1-inch to the mahseer of the Yangtze that can reach hundreds of pounds.

Their senses are refined. In most waters where you will be sight casting, they use a combination of sight, smell, and vibration to detect their prey. Visually, they have large eyes and can detect movement easily. For hearing or more specifically sensing vibration, carp have a series of bones that connect their swim bladder to their inner ear called the weberian ossicles. If carp had a super power, this would be it. Whether it is a wounded minnow, the shell-like clicking of a crayfish, or an angler ambling in the rocks, they can sense it and become wary and skittish.

Carp become most active in waters from 55 to 75 degrees. Below this, they become lethargic. In fact, below 42 degrees and during the middle of winter they rarely feed and move to deeper water. As water temperatures rise to over 50, they begin moving to shallower water and looking for food. At above 60 degrees they become most active, aggressively eating and moving into a long prespawn period. My ideal temperatures for carp range from 60-75 degrees. I find the fish in this range most likely to eat a fly and often easiest to catch. As water temperatures rise above 80 degrees, the fish become less active again, often resting in shallow water.

Jeff Wagner When he’s not fishing or casting you’ll find Jeff hiking or biking the back country with his family.

They also volunteer their time to conservation efforts with groups such as Fly Fishers International. Oh, and during business hours Jeff does business stuff. © Photo, Odom Wu @odomonthefly

Habitat Within our lakes and reservoirs, carp tend to aggregate in specific areas where they would be easiest to pursue with a fly. These areas are often accessible by boat, pontoon boat, kayak, or even on foot.

Dams: With the almost constant crashing of the waves and the generally rock-covered habitat, there is a constant source of food near dams. Crayfish will hide in the rocks and, as debris builds up on the dam, insects and vegetation the carp will gladly consume start accumulating. It also represents the best place to move to a high place and look for moving fish, as well as cast from. Any angular advantage through elevation allows you to cut the glare across the surface of the water and see more fish. While you look out, don’t be afraid to also look down. Carp can often be found on rocky dams, nose up into the rocks in less than a foot water. The challenge can be more about

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getting a cast in so close among the rocks rather than at distance.

Flooded vegetation/trees/backwaters: During the high water of spring, lakes and reservoirs usually see an influx of water and a lake elevation rise. With this, you will usually find summer and fall vegetation from the prior year now under water. And with this, you will find terrestrial insects and vegetation underwater, becoming a smorgasbord for our barbel-clad friends. These areas are usually at the opposite end of the dam where there are fingers to the reservoir or an inlet. Flooded areas can be easiest to fish from a boat or a kayak, especially a kayak that allows the angler to stand. They also can produce many fish but can be difficult to fish based on the amount of vegetation that at times can be very thick—so thick, in fact, that just getting your fly to hit the water through the vegetation can be tough. Fish the edges of the vegetation or the pockets and be prepared to use heavy hooks that can be pulled through the vegetation to break it loose.

Mud flats and edges: Another favorite place for carp to feed is in soft mud where they can exhibit that classic tailing behavior. I look for shallow mud flats and mud edges near deeper water. In these areas, carp root in the mud looking for crayfish and insects, often in groups.

Even with a slight breeze you will see the “mud” form and the edges of darker water where carp are digging up the bottom. The leading edge of the “mud” will often point into the wind where you will find the head of the fish.

The best way to target these fish is to find the tail and the orientation of the fish where you can then locate the head. The objective in this case is to drop the fly very near the head of the carp, as close as possible, and keep a tight line so you can feel the gentle take.

Open water and foam lines: At times, carp will feed in open water. They often feed on algae blooms or possibly plankton or open-water midges. At times, it can be hard to tell. In these situations you will need a boat, kayak, or pontoon to fish from a point near deep water. In any case, you will find fish oriented along a wave line often where a foam line forms. On very windy days these foam lines will form across the lake like feeding lanes. Just as they say in streams, foam is home, and the same can be true in lakes.

Some of the most aggressive, eager-to-eat, and energetic

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

fish I have caught are often feeding in open water. While it can be rare, it can also be fast and furious. Fishing a small streamer very near the fish and leading slightly is key. With the waves and wind that are usually present, the fish are often not shy.

Behaviors There are a few tell-tale behaviors that carp exhibit if they are feeding that let you know how to fish for them, or to simply ignore them.

Cloopers: This is what I look for most. These are fish actively feeding. In fact, in calm back waters, you can hear the gentle slurp of gluttonous, aqueous pigs rooting among vegetation, logs, or trees. You will often see just the mouth and two small barbels at the surface. With their eyes so near the surface, they have a reduced viewing window but are extremely sensitive to vibrations since they are so exposed at the surface. They will be feeding in this manner, individually or in groups, and the groups can be as small as three, or as large as hundreds. At times, I have been witness to what appear to be giant flotillas of actively clooping carp along a dam face. This is carp nirvana. But, even when you spot singles, rarely are others far away. If moving in large groups, I generally target fish on the edges so as not to spook the larger group and these fish are often very receptive to flies. When you see singles feeding, they will generally be focused on some structure or vegetation and will require a very accurately placed fly.

Cruisers: These are fish on the move. Usually identified by mostly clamped fins and swimming behavior that has speed, not at a feeding speed. Generally these fish have either been spooked or are cruising from one place to another during a daily movement from one habitat type to another, or from one food source to another. I don’t spend any time fishing for these fish. While you might get a fish to eat on occasion, it is generally not worth the time. Find other fish.

Mudders: The classic feeding behavior so many people seek. This does mimic other species that are obviously different and from a completely different saltwater habitat, such as redfish or bonefish, that also root to eat. In clearer water or very shallow water, this can be exceedingly fun and productive. In deeper water or more turbid water, it

can be exceedingly frustrating. The greatest challenge with this feeding type is getting a fly to present to the head of the fish; you often cannot see the head and have no idea how deep it is. And, if you can get the fly within the range of the head and you can’t see the take, detecting the take can be a huge challenge. With all of that, the key is knowing where the head is located and having a fly that can get down to the fish. A weighted crayfish pattern with a small rattle can be just the ticket. Even a black Woolly Bugger can be the ticket, but it does require some movement. Keep a tight line on the strip and set at the smallest tension.

Bathers: These are fish often found in warmer water that are mostly sedentary. When spooked, they often appear to just sink out of sight. They may take a well-presented fly and are worth a few casts. Place a small fly inches from the mouth and wait for them to inhale.

Presentation One of the main reasons I fish for carp is the visual aspect of it. I love seeing everything. Not only is it pure fun to have fish after fish eat your fly and you see every second of it, it also hugely increases your catch rate. There are times I will blind cast to fish, especially when big fish are lingering deep. But, there are almost always carp feeding on the same lake on the same day in shallow enough water to catch visually and if you can, why not?!

Of everyone I have taken carp fishing, often the toughest aspect is getting down the visual take. Here are a few easy steps.

1. Approach as close as possible and as high as you can without spooking the fish. You really need to be able to see the head of the fish and, if at all possible, the fins and/or mouth. I find this is usually less than

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30-feet, sometimes less than 20-feet. We, of course, catch fish beyond 60-feet as well, but the hook up rate is lower with every 10-feet further you try to fish. Coming at the fish from a high position on a boat or from the bank, like a dam, cuts the glare and gives you the best optical advantage. Of course, this also gives the fish a view of you as well, and requires finding a balance based on how active

2.

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and aggressive they are, the amount of light, time of day, and other factors.

See the fish. You need to pick a fish. This is a huge mistake so many anglers make by casting to a group of fish. It can work, but is generally more effective to pick a specific fish that you can see the head, mouth, and the direction.

Direction of the fish is critical. You need to be able to see what direction they are traveling and their general depth.

Lead the fish. Cast in front of and longer than the fish. This gives you plenty of time to intersect the fish as it swims and reduces you spooking the fish.

I often will cast 10-feet beyond and 3- to 5-feet in front of the fish.

Strip quickly until the fly is within a few feet of the carp’s head and slow down. The last foot or so should be stripped to look natural. This means moving perpendicular to the head of the fish to moving away from the fish. Prey generally do not swim to the fish.

Stop in the suck zone! Strip slowly until the fly is as close to the mouth of the fish as possible given the trajectory and stop! Wait for the fish to suck the fly in. You will see the fish’s gills flare, the mouth open, or the fins flash forward or back as it moves to the fly or pauses to take it in. The suck zone is an area generally about 1-foot by 1-foot or smaller, though the shape can change. In very slow-moving fish, it can be a rounded area that extends out in front of the fish and from eye to eye. In faster moving fish, where turning can take more energy, it will be cone shaped with a small area in front of the mouth to out in front of the fish, maybe a foot or a little more. Critical to this area is that it is typically on a plane that extends out in front of the fish but does not extend more than a few inches above or below the fish. It takes far more energy for them to move up and down than to just move forward.

Set! When you see the fly get sucked in, set!

Following these steps should get you on some carp, and maybe even a few other species that lurk in the warmwater depths.

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In Search of Labrador’s Trophy Brook Trout Rasmus Ovesen

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ery few places on this planet are home to brook trout big enough to lure fly anglers into traveling great distances in pursuit of them. Rasmus Ovesen traversed the Atlantic Ocean to fly fish for brook trout in the Canadian province, Newfoundland and Labrador, and the fish that awaited him weren’t exactly small…

Shivering cold northern winds have been licking greedily across the lake’s nutrient-rich water masses ever since we arrived here at Igloo Lake Lodge. Steep waves underneath frothing foam tops have rolled across the shallow lake and stirred up the water to the point where it has taken on a grainy, peat-colored shade.

I have travelled all the way from my home country, Norway, in order to reach this mythical brook trout fishery in Newfoundland and Labrador’s outback. For years, my dreams have circled around the lake’s massive and wellnourished brook trout. I have envisioned schools of rising fish in shallow bays hectically feeding on mayflies. I have tied dry flies, nymphs, and streamers and have spent numerous hours putting the right equipment together. I have hand-tied leaders and packed everything from small necessities to heavy camera equipment. I have invested considerable amounts of time, energy, and money into the dream of catching a wild, trophy brook trout over the magical 8-pound mark, and while the dream might have been inadvertently naïve in character, it has definitely been within the realm of realization—up until now, it seems. If this weather continues, we won’t be able to venture out on Igloo Lake and fish its many bays and islets.

For the past few days we’ve sought refuge from the weather and fished the local area near the lodge, where a short river stretch drains out of the lake before plummeting blindly into the first of a series of smaller lakes on its route to the Eagle River—the mightiest of all the rivers in Newfoundland and Labrador’s trickling and lush green glacial realm.

The river isn’t unlike other rivers that I’ve fished in, for instance, Swedish Lappland. It meanders through dense forests with anorectically thin pine and birch trees that tower above an uneven and nutrient-rich forest floor where partially exposed roots are superseded by almost fluorescent green moss fringes, blueberry thickets, and

mushrooms in myriad shapes and colors.

Except from the marshy path that leads to all the individual pools in the river, we’re talking about an area practically untouched by man, a wilderness that has been shaped by the seasonal forces of Nature throughout millennia and the interplay with the local wildlife, which—apart from moose, caribou, otters, beavers, and other rodents—include bears, wolves, lynx, wolverines, and a vast number of bird species, including ospreys, bald eagles, and loons.

It’s early september. The river’s steep banks sporadically light up in narcis-yellow and fiery red colors.

A heavy and quivering morning mist hoovers above its fleeting and slightly peat-colored water masses. Here and there, a small brook trout rises and vehemently tears an unsuspecting insect off the surface film.

The biggest brook trout lurk along the bottom; they live in the deepest channels, behind big boulders, and below smaller cascades and waterfalls. They’re clad in golden and violet colors, well-fed and broad-shouldered; the males especially are aggressive and territorial. They are here because they’ve experienced a sudden and, at the same time, incomprehensible and irresistible gravitation towards the river and its riveting, oxygen-rich water and many pools and gravel bars.

The spawning is, if not imminent, then at least underway. And it won’t take many weeks before the river floor is alive with brightly colored fish, all of them

Rasmus Ovesen A freelance fly-fishing journalist and photographer for the past 15 years, Rasmus Ovesen has traveled the world extensively in search of trout, char, and salmon. He is the marketing director for Flyfish Europe and lives in Oslo, Norway, with his wife and two kids.. © Photo, Rasmus Ovesen and Martin Ejler Olsen

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tending to the same agenda: To pass along their genes and ensure the survival of their species. At that point in time, Igloo Lake Lodge will be closed down for the season, and the surrounding landscape will seem crouched under a heavy blanket of snow, both out of sight and remarkably eye-catching. The river, too, will slowly succumb to the relentless weight and harshness of winter—exposed only by waterfalls, cascades, and whirling seams—but, by and large, covered in ice and snow and under a veil of darkness that won’t lift for months. When the darkness finally dissipates, new life will emanate from underneath the gravel bars, and small brook trout alevin will find their niche inside the river, in life, and in the greater context that comprises the complex life world of the Labrador wilderness. The miracle of life seems that much greater here where such a harsh and inhospitable climate has to be continually overcome.

We’re at archie’s pool, a place where the river dumps headlong into a bigger pond or, perhaps more correctly, a small lake. Here, a long lie extends into a quiet bay where fish have recently started to pile up. On the first cast, I feel the tug from a fish that aggressively collides with the big, black Zonker at the end of my leader. A series of heavy pulls propagate through the fly rod, and after a few ensuing minutes of relentless pressure, I see the first orange-red flashes below the surface where the fish is thrashing around.

Travis Pinsent, our young and charismatic guide,

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materializes by my side, and it isn’t long until he nets the fish and tows it towards shore. Inside the knotless mesh netting lies a male, about 56 centimeters in length, and with a body that conjures up mental images of a luchador in a tight-fitting and flamboyantly decorated tricot. With its pronounced kyped jaw and a sinister look in its eyes, this fish surely appears as a primitive brawler, but there is also a subtle elegance to it—something stylish and iconic about the blushing strokes of fiery red in its flanks and the many saturated indigo and bright olive spots that have been strewn so generously along them.

The fish is a little bit shy of 7-pounds and, after a few quick pictures, it cuts through the surface film and glides gracefully back into the fleeting water masses and settles somewhere along the bottom. We land an additional four fish within a relatively short timeframe. After that, the activity decreases. Dramatically. We experience the same thing at most of the river’s pools, and the tendency only seems to be getting more and more pronounced as the week progresses: A clear symptom that we’re a total of eight fly anglers at the lodge taking turns and working our way through a limited number of pools with limited numbers of fish.

The river is both technically challenging and exciting to fish; it’s a real pocket-water fishery where presentation is of the utmost importance, where you need to read the water thoroughly, and where your approach should be both careful and stealthy—a fishery where every single landed fish feels both deserved and meriting.

We land several incredibly beautiful brook trout in the vicinity of 7-pounds in the river, but we can’t help but feel like we’re missing out on something. It’s as if the whole trip is somewhat unredeemed, as if our gravitation towards the lake’s wide blue expanse—and all the secrets that lie beneath—only continue to grow stronger as the week progresses. Even though, compared to other brook trout destinations across the planet, we’ve had spectacularly good fishing again today, it’s with a burning sensation of heartbreak that we wrap things up and head back to the lodge.

Fluorescent green northern lights dance enticingly across the pitch-black night sky. Incalculable amounts of stars stand out, with quivering clarity, against the depthless

dark of the celestial concave while the Milky Way oozes ghostly across the night sky above the lodge, like some thick fog out there in the abysmal nothingness.

My trusty fishing buddy, Martin, sits silently by my side. His gaze, too, wanders between the starlit ceiling above us and the lake’s lightly-twinkling and drowsily resting oil-like surface below. The winds have died down during the evening. We’ve both noticed that. And even though none of us dare say it out loud, there is now hope that tomorrow the conditions will be favorable. Perhaps we’ll finally be able to head out in one of the 24-foot Gander River fiberglass canoes moored at the lodge and explore the many bays, drop-offs and islets on Igloo Lake?

The next morning all of our hopes are finally honored; the winds have lost their breath, Igloo Lake is more or less a mirror, and the following two days we experience some of the fishing that we dreamed about before arriving. It’s still cold, crisp to the point that the mayfly hatches on the lake are minimal and we only a few fish sporadically rise in the turbid water. It doesn’t matter, though. We have

absolutely no scruples casting big streamers. Now is the time to hunt for that fabled 8-pound fish.

Two days after the dramatic weather change, we’re fishing Burton’s Pond, an atmospheric lake northwest of Igloo Lake’s northern shoreline. Here, we hook up with several fish in sublime condition and, by the end of the day, we’ve boated and released an awe-inspiring 20 brook trout with an average weight of 5-pounds, with several hard-fighting individuals measuring 7-pounds. Best of all, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the day, immensely relieved in knowing that my objective of catching a fish over 8-pounds is already under the belt.

The day before, it finally happened! We’d driven the canoe to Beaver Pond, a small bay in the western corner of Igloo Lake where a little feeder stream comes in. We saw the fish rolling immediately after we’d arrived. It porpoised at the very back of the lie, and the wakes left very little to the imagination regarding its size.

I slowly worked my way down the lie. Once I was in the right spot and the big, pulsating streamer swung cross-current in front of the fish, it burst onto the fly and inhaled it without any reflection or hesitation. The fight was intense and hectic, a battle of life and death—

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and it wasn’t until our guide shot the net under the fish that I realized, with great relief, how much tension and nervousness had built up in my body during the whole ordeal. This catch was cathartic and, at the same time, a huge privilege to bear witness to such a magnificent and pristine old warrior.

The measuring tape had to be stretched out to a little more than 60 centimeters to fathom the full length of the fish. With its broad back, distended belly, and robust frame, neither the guide nor I had any doubts that it was comfortably breaking the 8-pound mark. This fish had the most beautiful white fin strokes, refined marbled patterns along the back and dorsal fin, and a color gradient along the flanks that spanned olives, purples, and violets; these nuanced colors only made the fish more memorable.

There wasn’t a single scar or misplaced scale on the fish. It was well worth the arduous trip across the Atlantic, a stark and poignant reminder what certain bodies of water are capable of producing when they’re set in places and surroundings that are essentially devoid of human activity and influence—divinely beautiful fish in sizes that, otherwise, belong to a distant, but hopefully not completely lost, past.

BEAUTY ISN’T ONLY SKIN DEEP

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Todd Moen Todd Moen Todd Moen is the producer and owner of Catch Magazine, “the online journal illustrating the world’s best fly fishing photography and film.” Moen is a worldwide leader in fly fishing cinematography, and since 2007 he has consistently created content for 70 issues of Catch.

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John Van Vleet: Starting with some of your background, can you tell us a little about how you got into filmmaking?

Todd Moen: I was born in Montana. I didn’t grow up in Montana, but I lived there for a handful of years when I was younger. My folks, they met at MSU back in the ‘70s, so we have this really tight connection to Montana. My dad’s best buddies are from Bozeman, so every year we’d be back in Montana.

I got to an age where I started dabbling with my parents’ old crummy analog video cameras—wanting to use those when I was out. I grew up kind of just playing with cameras.

Then, when I got my driver’s license, I found myself wanting to take the camera out to capture my friends fly fishing. I was really interested in that as much as I was in actually fishing.

I went to MSU myself, kind of following my parents’ footsteps. then I was a fishing guide in Bozeman. I’d actually take the camera on some of my trips on the Madison or Yellowstone and capture the experiences.

I ended up meeting my wife in Bozeman and we moved to Missoula. She got her master’s in journalism, and I was hired to do ESPN’s Fly Fishing The World with some really popular musicians, actors and actresses. I ended up flying around the world for around three years, doing heavy production, fly-fishing films.

JVV: That’s super cool.

TM: Yeah, it was a good point in my life where I had the

time to be gone a lot because Kelly, my wife, was studying really hard to get her masters. Then, I was in a crazy plane crash on the Acklins Island of the Bahamas. I was burnt out and then that happened, and I was like, “Okay, I’m done with this.” The burnout factor happens fast because you’re literally living in airports and dealing with tons and tons of camera gear. That was kind of the final straw. From there, I ended up working at the local newspaper in Oregon with a good buddy of mine, Brian O’Keefe. Brian and I got together one day and said, “Let’s do something.” So, Catch Magazine came about!

We just came up with the idea at a local bar in Bend and it kind of just took off. We’ve been doing it for 12 years now. It’s a really cool family-run operation where my wife is the writer, and my kids are getting into it. It’s a labor of love for sure –I put everything I’ve got into it and it’s just us.

JVV: Speaking of family involvement, let’s transition to Travels With Charlie [Winning Film, 2020 IF4]; was it always one of your plans to do a feature film with your son or did it pop up organically?

TM: Well, I think when your kids are really young, you think, “This is never going to happen. How would I ever get my kid out?” I mean just getting a kid out and watching him fling a fly line around is like, “Wow, this is going to take a while.”

But I had an idea, as he grew older, that we would go back to Montana and he could totally get it done on his own.

I think it was around fifth grade and we decided he could pull it off. The crazy part is that he had never picked up a twohanded rod. He’d seen plenty of the films that I’d done with some great casters; steelhead and salmon or whatever, but he had never held or tried to cast a two-handed rod.

I brought along my camera gear in case something crazy cool happened. I mean, we were definitely planning on shooting a video; but with a kid, you can’t go in thinking that you’re going to get something done. In my work, there’s always a good chance that I’ll come home with nothing to use—a lot of casting and a lot of rigging. But sometimes the fish just aren’t happy during the time I’m with them, so you just never know.

We were really taking it to the next level with someone who’s young, especially to a place like this, where salmon aside, you never know what’s going to happen—Travels with Charlie was a project with a lot of unknowns but stars aligned during that shoot, it was fantastic.

JVV: That’s awesome. What were your first thoughts when you heard the film had won the 2020 IF4?

TM: [Laughter] Well, it was funny; I was in Bend and we had terrible weather this winter. I got a call from Chris [Bird] and he told me. I was like, “No way. That is just awesome, it’s fantastic; it totally deserves to win.” If there was a film to win, this was definitely the one. I’m biased because Charlie was in it, but really everything that happened on it was fantastic! I mean, the way he learned so quickly to throw a Spey line, the wildlife, the shots that I was able to capture just at the moment that kid was learning something for the first time; being in those situations, getting those facial expressions—it all just came together. I was just thrilled that it won an award; it was perfect.

JVV: Charlie, we wanted to get your thoughts on a few things.

What went through your head when your dad asked you to go on this trip?

Charlie Moen: I knew that when I turned eleven I’d be able to go with my dad, so I was extra excited for this because I’d been waiting for it. My dad promised me this when I was probably five years old, so I knew it was coming. I remember him leaving for his trips when I was really little, all the big bags and gear piled by the door, and I wanted to climb inside the camera bag and go with him. So this chance to go with him—especially to British Columbia—was super exciting. I was ready for it!

JVV: How was it being the star of the show, so to speak?

CM: Being the angler on film was super exciting, but I was a little nervous about being able to catch and land a fish for the camera. I mean, I’m used to being filmed just for fun because my dad has always videoed and photographed us growing up, so I didn’t mind the camera so much, but it was the pressure to catch and land a fish (and not mess up) that was a little nerve-wracking. I got to learn how to Spey cast on site from Jeff Hickman—a master Spey fisherman—so that was lucky and really fun. I loved being able to help my dad and be part of his work; I think there will be more “Travels with Charlie”!

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Fishing in Solitude Steve Rennalls

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walk out the door shaking my head because I know I should have been making my first cast two hours ago. While slightly disappointed in myself, I know there are still fish to be had so by the time I pull out of the coffee shop with a fresh mocha in hand, my focus has shifted from the late rise behind me to the anticipation of the river ahead.

An hour later, my waders are on and my rod is strung, then unstrung because I missed a guide in my haste to start the walk to the river, then strung—fully—once more. I have not surveyed the conditions, but after talking yesterday with the owner of the local fly shop, I have a plan. There are 11 freshly tied size 14 Frenchies with oversized beads in my box and one on the end of my line as I set out from the truck.

After the 20-minute walk, I take my first step into the river and feel the weight of the current on my ankle for the first time. A flick of the wrist, the plop of the fly, and suddenly nothing else matters. One hundred percent of my attention is focused on the 30-inch section of pink and yellow indicator leader trailing taut behind the tip of my euro-nymphing rig.

Midway through the first riffle run, time starts doing funny things. A fraction of a second stretches to what feels

like a minute. In that moment, I think I see what I am looking for as my line darts a few inches to the left. “Was that a fish?” I ask and set the hook sharply in response. I hook up—to the overhanging cedar—and now there are 10 Frenchies in my box.

Several more phantom—or missed—strikes later, I set the hook and feel the kick of a startled rainbow through the 24 feet of line, leader, and tippet that have unraveled from my reel. Again, time stretches as a four-second fight followed by a three-foot jump and a spit hook leave me with a rush of adrenaline that reminds me why I should have fought harder against the Sandman and been here hours earlier.

I am satisfied though, because the tweak to the triedand-true pattern offered by the fly-shop owner appears to be working as evidenced by the half-dozen fish that come to hand over the next…two hours?! That cannot be right…

It only feels like a quarter of that time has passed since that first successful hook set and yet now there are only eight Frenchies in my box and I realize that I am quite hungry.

High noon has recently passed, my pack is one beer, one sandwich, one apple, and two of my wife’s cookies lighter, and I am two miles downstream from where I first stepped in the river. Several more rainbows and browns

Steve Rennalls Steve Rennalls is an average angler, a marketing consultant for outdoor brands, a freestyle wrestling coach, and an author of authentic outdoor stories.

It’s a complicated mix of passions that he’s been spending his entire life trying to balance from various home bases in Ontario, Quebec, Yukon, and— currently—Victoria, BC. © All Photos, Jesse Bone

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have come to hand when the sun breaks through the clouds and I feel the warmth of its rays on my skin.

The bugs must feel it too because, within what feels like an instant, those same rays are interrupted by a new cloud of March Browns taking off. The hatch is prolific, but either my patterns or their presentation must be off because it takes me five fly changes over three pools before the refusals give way to a raring rainbow.

Time accelerates once more and it is mid-afternoon; the clouds of mayflies have given way to the clouds in the sky and I am sipping from the only other beer I brought, ruminating on the hatch gone wrong. What would Tom Rosenbauer have done in that situation? How could a hatch that prolific and that long have only resulted in one fish?

I guess that’s a question for the pros to answer, I tell myself as I tie on one of the seven Frenchies from my box because I cannot figure out where I put the one I took off.

Once more, I set the hook but this time it’s different.

The line starts peeling off my reel at an alarming rate as the fish rips into the strong, deep current just downstream.

I am left with no choice but to chase after a missile. I stumble out of the shin-deep riffles into the waist-deep current where the fatigue of eight hours of wading is barely overcome by the adrenaline of a hot fish to keep me upright in the heavy flow. Over 15 minutes and 200 yards, I catch my first and last glimpse of the fish. To my surprise, it is not one of the resident rainbows or browns I have been targeting, but the silvery rose sides of a late winter-run steelhead.

I can hardly believe he is still hooked up considering my light gear and the sprint we have just run, but this 30-inch tank is right there before my eyes! The current is not as strong as it was upstream and there is an eddy just 10 feet away. If I can just turn his hea…pop. He is gone.

I black out.

As I regain consciousness, I find myself on the bank thinking, Where am I? Did that just happen? Why didn’t I pack one more beer?! Of the three questions, the answer to the first is most relevant because I am now nearly five miles downstream from my truck and it is the middle of the evening. I collect my thoughts and my gear and begin the long hike back.

Only 45 minutes of walking have passed but somehow

I have replayed every moment of the 20-minute fight a total of 14 times when I crest a high bank overlooking a perfect pool. Despite the sun nearly dipping below the horizon, below me I see one thing—a shot at redemption. It is not a steelhead but that 20-inch brown would be enough to turn my day around. The Frenchie has been kind, so on goes the seventh of the day.

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I try to balance the need for stealth and careful presentation against the urgency caused by the setting sun to make a plan: circle downstream, cross the river, approach low, and cast to the seam. Even though I can barely see my tippet in the dying light, there is no mistaking the sudden stop in its movement. Instantly I feel the weight of the fish and the fight is on. My skills have been sharpened over the course of the day, and I am ready for every jump, head shake, and turn. My right arm is extended straight back, rod in hand, and my left holds an outstretched net, the lip of which is sliding just under the balance point of the fish’s belly. It sinks into the mesh.

I relax—too much—and feel myself sliding into the water. It’s not pretty, but somehow I keep the net high despite the significant volume of water that has passed under my right shoulder, over the top of my waders, and down to my right foot. I do not care. I caught the fish.

After admiring the trout in the net, I cannot help but want to capture this moment with a picture, but how? I am alone, the light is nearly gone, and a selfie would not

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

do the moment justice. Instead, I walk to the shallows, lift him to the top of the net, and just take him in. Every inch.

I pull the net away and feel him slide from my fingers.

After crossing the river under the last light of the day, I put on my headlamp and start walking once more, only this time my mind is at peace. Left, slosh, left, slosh. On the one hand, the walk seems to take forever, but on the other my mind is so full reliving the highs and lows of the day that it seems to pass in an instant.

By the time I reach my truck, the waning crescent moon gives off barely any light and the darkness reminds me that my wife is probably wondering where I am after the day’s silence. A quick text reassures her that I am okay and I begin the drive home tired, but satisfied.

I climb the stairs to our condo and enter to a warm embrace from my wife and the cold leftovers of my missed dinner. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that my vise is still out from the night before. I am tempted, but no.

Time will not stretch any more for those six replacement Frenchies today.

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Jeff Wagner When he’s not fishing or casting you’ll find Jeff hiking or biking the back country with his family.

They also volunteer their time to conservation efforts with groups such as Fly Fishers International.

Oh, and during business hours Jeff does business stuff.

T

he ability to present a fly to a fish accurately and quickly in any circumstance and on any water is key to fishing success— especially when that is a warmwater or saltwater application, fishing from a boat or kayak, or sight fishing. The critical feature here is getting a visual on the fish and then quickly casting to extend the line to deliver the fly to the fish before the fish moves out of range or gets spooked. The classic application is on a flats boat fishing for bonefish, permit, or tarpon. The saltwater quick cast, as it is often called, is the best cast for this situation.

Quick Cast © Photos: The Bug Parade

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

1. Strip 50-60 feet of line off the reel and clear the line with a cast into open water when no fish are around. This will

give a quick stretch to the line and allow you to strip it in from near to far to lay the line down appropriately.

2. Strip in to about 20 feet of line left out of the tip.

As you strip in, be aware of the placement of the line to clear from any snags, and be sure that as a fish takes the line up and runs quickly it wont “jump” around any obstructions. Be sure to clear the area or cover obstructions as much as possible.

3. Bring the fly to hand by swinging the fly line in. It is easiest to pinch the line against the rod with the rod hand while grabbing the fly line coming out of the tip with the line hand. You can then slip the line out of the rod tip through the fingers of the line hand with a small casting motion of the rod hand to create some line movement.

Careful! Your goal is to create just enough movement to get the fly line moving and to bring the fly to your hand.

4. Grab the fly by the bend with the point facing away from the hand and between the thumb and forefinger.

5. Setup complete! With the fly in hand, the loop of line from fly to rod tip, and line off of the reel at your feet, you can now begin scanning for fish.

6. When you see a fish, take two seconds to think about the backcast, quickly judge the distance and take note of the fish’s swimming direction.

7. Begin normal backcast movement and release the fly after the fly line has begun moving. Releasing the fly too early can result in the fly falling to the deck and catching either the rest of the fly line, the boat, or you.

8. Shoot into each subsequent cast to lengthen line, and keep the line in control with your thumb and forefinger

while looking at your target. It should take no more than one-to-three false casts to get all the line out.

You should be able to easily control the line in the air.

If you need to, take your time at this point. You can make a couple of extra false casts if the fish changes direction or you need another cast or two to present the fly accurately based on the wind or a moving boat.

One of the major mistakes I see that throws off accuracy here is when an angler is looking at the line in the air or even the fish instead of where they want the fly to go!

9. Shoot to the final target. This will allow you to carry less line in the air and to carry some momentum to the target to make you more accurate.

10. Keep line taught, no slack, all the way through the process including to the final delivery.

11. Grip the line immediately as line hits the water, ready for a strip or strike!

With a few minor variations, this cast be applied in almost any condition, especially in windy conditions or when you might be tight in trees or mangroves Sidearm At a low wind speed, or when avoiding someone on the poling platform, it can be important to cast sidearm. This generally means lowering the rod plane and tip of the rod below 15 degrees from vertical on the dominant side of the caster. There are a few ways that this can be done. Most common for me is bending at the elbow combined with bending slightly at the waist. I usually open up the stance and turn my hips away from the target and toward the cast.

Key here can be changing the grip also from a traditional thumb on top grip to a key grip where you lead with the palm forward.

Cross-Body As the wind grows, casting sidearm can be dangerous and more aggressive maneuvers might be necessary. In this case, I will cast cross-body. Here we want to use the wind to our advantage. To be considered a cross-body cast, the tip of the rod only needs to cross the centerline of the body and move from the dominant side to non-dominant side. Even a 10 degree adjustment when aided by the wind will keep the fly line and fly away from you. Like sidearm casting, there are a few ways to do this. To keep the most range of motion I

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

prefer a similar method as with sidearm casting by lifting and rotating out at the elbow. This small movement will change the angle of the forearm and rod and point the tip over the center line. I also tend to bend at the waist, pushing my hips toward my dominant side and rotating the hips again toward the cast and away from the target.

Backcast as the Delivery When the wind is highest, or when you need to see the position of the person on the poling platform, or to see the position of the back cast, you can turn your body 180 degrees so that you are facing away from the target.

You literally turn your back to the target. This allows you maximum advantage and use of the wind to blow the cast away from your body and allows you to now watch your forward cast (backcast). The biggest challenge in this situation is accuracy as you are likely less practiced at delivering a fly on your backcast. A critical point here is to turn your head before you start your delivery cast.

This will allow you to have a visual on your target and will prevent you from turning your body during the acceleration phase which would change the path of the rod tip to a dome or arc and open up your loops and reduce your accuracy.

12. You’re ready to hit the water, but before you do, hit the park and practice these casts with your fishing setup.

WANDERING CURRENTS

Midge Mecca

Derek Olthuis Derek loves researching and exploring new places to fish–the more remote the better. He is obsessed with sight fishing; to him there is nothing more enjoyable than stalking a fish and watching it eat a fly.

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

I

t’s been a place that I have wanted to fish for years.

The chance of catching that once-in-a-lifetime cutthroat trout has never ceased to beckon. It has become a place of legend, a mecca for those intrigued with stillwater fishing, in particular the chironomid cult. Where else in the world can you reasonably have a shot at catching a trout over 20 pounds on a public watershed? There is no doubt Pyramid Lake is special and somewhere that any fly angler should consider.

Fishing here is different. For most anglers, a large part of fly fishing is and always has been seeking solitude.

Pyramid Lake is more like the spring break approach to fly fishing; certainly there is solitude to be found on the lake, but most of the time you can expect company. In part, what makes the experience so unique is the social aspect of the fishery. Unlike other areas, fishing 50 feet away from another angler is normal and fun. This is a perfect place to camp out with friends and family, sit around at meal times, fish close by, chat all day long all within a stone’s throw of the lake.

It was something I had never experienced before, as much social gathering as fishing, yet always with the chance of landing the largest trout of your life.

Fishing can be as relaxed or “hard core” as you make it. Early morning starts are common and a lake-side nap is completely normal, although some anglers never seemed to leave their perch atop their ladder, morning or night.

Fishing legally starts around first light and continues until just after sunset. Certain people seemed to be constant in their post, always on high alert waiting for a giant. Lightning can strike at any moment. At times there appeared to be no action anywhere and without warning the lake would flip a switch and anglers up and down the shore would begin to hoot and holler as they came tight on a fish. The first few seconds of every fight almost without fail produced the question: is it big?

Everyone was there for the same reason, hoping to

feel massive head shakes as their rod tip bounced up and down as a cutty the size of their leg fought to break free.

It is difficult to describe watching a handful of people everyday within a few hundred yards of you catch the fish of a lifetime. It almost doesn’t seem possible, but it was. All of this is not to say fishing is easy; putting in your time is required if you want to reasonably hope to have a meet-andgreet with an oversized trout. Pyramid Lake is like buying a lotto ticket where skill is taken into account but, instead of the odds being 1-in-10,000,000, they are closer to 1-in-100.

Each hour spent on the lake is another ticket. Each piece of knowledge, another ticket. Those putting in long days and with lots of experience certainly tip the odds in their favor; however, anyone along the shore has a chance of a huge payout. Winning the cutthroat Powerball doesn’t mean your buddy can’t win his own Powerball; there are more than enough large trout to reward any dedicated angler.

Often when we fish together it means little more than riding in the car together and splitting up for the day only to meet back up for the ride home. This is especially true when you have several people fishing the same water. Pyramid Lake is perhaps the most communal fishery in the world.

Many would see it as combat fishing, although there is no sense of battling one another here from what I have seen.

Anglers seem to recognize that they are part of the group

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and all looking for the same thing. I have fished in crowds before and, almost without fail, tempers flare and words are exchanged. I am not really sure why but this didn’t seem to be an issue, even as different groups took up residence on a particular section of shoreline. Certainly, at some point, disagreements happen, but if they happened while I was there, nothing much came of it—or I remained in a state of bliss, standing on my ladder chatting with friends. The magic of this fishery comes from several things. One of which is seeing your buddies catch their personal best and being a part of it. Most fish stories happen with one or two fishing buddies on the water; here it is easy to have half a dozen to a dozen anglers all in the same group, all cheering each other on.

Mecca, a place regarded as a center for a specified group, activity, or interest. To say that Pyramid Lake is a mecca of sorts certainly fits the bill. It is maybe the most well-known mecca for midge anglers and stillwater fanatics; however, it should be the mecca for anyone interested in fishing with friends. It is far more than just fishing—it is food, camping, friendship, big fish, a unique fishery, and incredible trout that have been given a second chance because anglers cared. This is definitely one of those places that has been on the bucket list for many, many years. Having been there however, does not mean it is crossed off the list. If anything, it was just to scratch the surface of a fishery that will remain on the list and be visited over and over again with good friends. In the end, the trout were the reason for the trip, but really ended up being a cherry on top of something that turned out to be far better and different than I expected.

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

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STILLWATER SECRETS

Brian Chan Often referred to as “Dr. Chironomid,” Brian has always viewed stillwater fly fishing through the lens of a biologist. Lakes and their inhabitants are always changing–no two days are ever the same–and that’s what Brian finds so fascinating about fly fishing in still water.

© Photo Brent Gill

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In Praise of Strike Indicators

T

he topic of strike indicators always creates an interesting conversation within the stillwater fly-fishing community. To some, they are the best thing since sliced bread, while others consider them crutches or training wheels that hinder one’s development as a complete angler. I’m sure similar views are expressed by longtime river anglers who have seen the increasing use of these floating devices. It’s safe to say that strike indicators have their place in our freshwater fisheries and how and when we use them has become very technical as we learn more and more about fish diet preferences and feeding behavior at various times of the season.

Through time on the water and the use of depth/ fish finders, we know that trout and char in productive stillwaters will feed at very precise depths and often will not feed outside that narrow horizontal feeding lane. This foraging tactic is in part a response to the behavior of important food items such as chironomid pupae, zooplankton, and free-swimming midge larvae.

Other staple foods such as scuds, leeches, and damselfly nymphs are commonly found hiding amongst the benthic vegetation or bottom substrate. As well, trout and char often prefer to forage on these particular organisms deeper in the water column where water temperature and oxygen levels are more optimal. This deeper feeding strategy also keeps the fish safe from avian predators, including loons and ospreys.

In its simplest terms, indicator fishing allows the angler to suspend a fly or team of flies at a precise depth zone which makes them an almost perfect delivery system for presenting numerous food sources. Fishing with floating lines and long-sinking leaders or with a variety of different sinking-line densities can allow flies to pass through the often narrow feeding zone, and this tactic can be quite productive.

However, it’s times when the fish become very selective

feeders that the suspended or drifted pattern under an indicator can really shine.

Chironomids complete the transformation from the larval to pupal stage while embedded in the benthic substrate. These pupae routinely stage or suspend just off the lake bottom—often for days—in a pre-emergence phase before ascending to the surface. This makes them the perfect food source to fish under an indicator and it doesn’t hurt that trout and char gorge on these suspended pupae throughout the spring and early summer months.

It is an extremely effective technique and the perfect way to introduce beginner fly fishers to lake fishing. The action can be steady, and the biggest fish in the lake will be partaking in the pupal feast.

However, there are several other situations where using indicators can be an extremely effective way to fish. Wind drifting leeches, scuds, and damselfly nymphs under an indicator offers the ability to cover the entire water column and allows you to present the fly to many potential feeding fish. Wind drifting in this situation

means casting into or perpendicular to the wind while at anchor. It can be done on the shoal or along the edge of the drop-off, all prime habitat for these preferred foods.

The key to being successful with wind drifting is to allow the fly to drift as drag-free as possible. The ideal situation is a gentle breeze or riffle on the water where a direct upwind cast can be made and then allowed to slowly drift back while you keep a tight line as excess fly line slack is stripped in. The indicator allows the fly to undulate in a natural up-and-down motion while covering water. This tactic is especially effective when using balanced leech and damselfly nymph patterns which will sit horizontally in the water. Leader length under the indicator is matched to the speed of the drift and the depth zone being targeted.

Fly patterns tied with tungsten bead heads are perfectly suited for this wind-drift technique.

Casting perpendicular or quartering to the slight breeze is also a great way to present flies to foraging fish. This situation calls for some upwind line mending to keep the indicator drift steady and as drag-free as

possible. As with the direct upwind technique, matching leader length and pattern weight will determine the depth zone being fished. Snagging bottom with your fly while on a drift just means reducing the leader length below the indicator. In the majority of fishing situations, it is often better to be drifting closer to the bottom than in the mid-water zone.

At some point during the open-water season, the trout and char will switch their diet to almost exclusively zooplankton. This very focused feeding regime usually occurs during the warm summer months. The majority of aquatic insect emergences have ended while, at the same time, fish are forced into the deeper areas of the lake as they search out cooler temperatures and more ideal oxygen levels. This situation creates the perfect opportunity to take advantage of a very abundant and easily captured food source. Daphnia, the most widely distributed zooplankton, are photo-sensitive and, as such, form large congregating masses in the deeper areas of the lake. Fish simply swim through the clouds of these tiny crustaceans and filter them through their gill filaments before passing

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them down into the stomach. Catching fish that are focused on Zooplankton has traditionally been very hitand-miss. Brightly colored leech patterns that are quickly stripped up through the water column will sometimes work, but not in a consistent manner. What has been much more effective is suspending various colored Blob patterns under an indicator. A typical scenario would see anchoring in 10 meters of water and suspending a Blob down 5-to-7 meters. One needs to watch closely as the takes are often very soft and sometimes barely move the indicator. Zooplankton vary in color from shades of red, orange, and green.

I was eight years old when I caught my first trout from a lake. It was a nice-sized rainbow that bit my dew worm dangling below a red-and-white plastic bobber.

I’ll never forget the thrill of seeing that big indicator go down. Now, some 60 years later, my techniques have been refined a bit but the excitement of watching an indicator is still strong. Strike indicators are not the magic bullet for fly fishing success, but they should have a permanent place in your stillwater tool kit.

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ON THE VISE

Dana Harrison Dana feels that he is not just a fly fisher and tier, but a steward for the streams and lakes we enjoy. He is passionate for positive change in our industry, with a focus on preserving our environment for future generations.

The Season We’re All Waiting For

F

ly fishing during the summer is what made me get into the sport. I was raised to be a fair-weather fisherman. We only went out in the summer, and never if it was raining. I can only remember one time fishing in the winter before the age of 30 with my dad and brother. If it wasn’t for the alcohol, I don’t think any of us would have lasted more than 10 minutes.

These days, I will hit the water any day where my line doesn’t freeze to the guides in the first 30 seconds,

but summer still holds a special place in my fishy heart.

Wet wading, sunscreen, and long days on the water is what I dream about in the heart of winter. The fish are plentiful and the rivers are many. The plans we made the previous six months are all about to come to fruition and the memories we are about to make will last forever.

As you know, you can’t catch a fish of a lifetime without a couple flies. Here are a couple that I am taking out this summer. Hopefully, they prove to be winners for all of us.

FEATURED RECIPE

CRIPPLED DRAKE Pretty sure I saw something similar to this on Instagram some time in the past year. For some reason, it popped back into my head this past month and I decided I had to tie some. This may or may not be close to what I remember seeing and, if not, I still think it is pretty cool. I don’t always think a fly needs to look exactly like the real thing and, oftentimes, a decent representation of the bug does the job if the presentation is on point. If we had to be exact all the time, we would all own a 3D

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

printer and be excellent figurine painters like the kid down the street with the 3,000 Warhammer toys.

Recipe Hook: Tiemco 200R 6-12 Thread: UTC 70D Antenna, Legs, Tail: Nature’s Spirits goose biots Rib: UTC wire, small Thorax: Ice Dub Wing Case: Thin Skin, UTC Holo Tinsel

1

2

5

6

8

3

4

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9

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Tying Instructions 1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

Place your hook securely into the vise, start your thread on the hook, and work backwards towards where the barb once was (you should pinch those).

Stack a small amount of elk hair in a hair stacker and tie in the tail of the fly. The length should be threefourths the length of the hook.

Bind down all the elk hair hair up to where you started the thread. Trim the hair off.

Secure the extra-fine wire to the fly. I like to tie it in the entire length of the elk hair on the hook shank.

Create a dubbing noodle on the thread and create a tapered body on the hook. End two hook-eye lengths behind the eye.

Wrap the extra-fine wire up the body of the fly to create segmentation, as well as durability to the

dubbing body.

Stack a small amount of elk hair in a hair stacker and tie it in facing forward. The length should be slightly shorter than the tail. Trim the elk hair so there is a small amount over the dubbing body.

8. Select a hackle feather where the fibers are roughly the length of the hook gap. Secure it place right after the dubbing body.

9. Wrap the hackle forward, making touching turns until you reach the front elk hair wing. Secure the hackle in place right behind the wing with three or four turns of thread.

10. Trim off the excess hackle feather and perform a fouror five-turn whip finish in front of the elk hair wing right behind the eye.

7.

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Wally Wing Adams I am a sucker for a Wally Wing anything, but when you put it on one of the most productive flies to ever have been tied, it doesn’t get any better. There is something about that style of wing that is part artistry and part super fishy. I know when I first saw a Wally Wing fly I thought there was no way I was ever going to be able to tie it. As it turns out, with a Wally WIng Adams Hook: Tiemco TMC100 little practice it wasn’t nearly as hard Thread: UTC 70, gray as I thought. It may add a little more Tail: Whiting Farms, furnace hackle fibers time to each fly and it’s hard to say if it Body: Hareline Dubbing, Adams gray catches any more fish, but what I can Hackle: Whiting Farms, grizzly and furnace tell you is that your fishing friends will Wing: Mallard flank think you know what you are doing.

The Wally Wing has a special place in my heart, as it was invented by a fellow Canadian named Wally Lutz, sometime in the ’70s. To be honest, I have a hard time believing that it wasn’t until the 1970s that this technique was discovered and, to me, it screams traditional fly tying. The second part I found hard to believe was how difficult it is to find any info on Wally Lutz. For a guy that invented one the best wing techniques in the history of fly tying, there is very little written about him in the history books at this point. From what I have uncovered, he is now a retired locomotive engineer, quite into photography these days, and still gets out there fishing. At some point in time, he also tied commercially so some of us North of the Border back in the early ’80s may have been lucky enough to actually fish a fly tied by the man himself. Of course, it was a little before my time, Wire Spider so I am not one of those people.

Hook: Tiemco TMC2499SP-BLB Thread: UTC 70, brown Tail: Pheasant Tail fibers, natural Wire Spider Body: UTC Brassie wire, rust The funny thing about spider patterns Thorax: Peacock herl is they pretty much have nothing to Hackle: Partridge feather, white

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do with a spider. I would not consider a spider to be normal trout food in the first place, though I have no doubt that a fish would eat a spider if given the chance; I mean, why not?

Spider patterns were originally designed for the fast-flowing rivers in northern England for trout. Their design was targeted towards a variety of aquatic insects and not one in particular. In their most basic form, a spider pattern is no more than thread and one or oneand-a-half turns of a soft hackle feather. This makes them one of the most basic, simple, and effective flies there is to tie. As in most cases, I tend to spice patterns up a little as I enjoy feeling really awful when I lose them in a tree.

Why is a spider called a spider? Well, the name is all about the appearance and what the sparse hackle fibers look like when tied on the hook. You will see this especially well when the hackle is sparsely tied with a partridge feather, long spidery legs.

Olive Nymph This is one of the patterns that I fish that isn’t exactly anything, but is pretty close to quite a few things at the same time.

I will be the first to admit that I am by no means a master at matching the hatch. Also, I can’t even begin to count the amount of times my brother and I have been driving out to go fishing, where we tell ourselves “let’s flip some rocks to see if we can find any bugs.”

I can assure you the amount of rocks we have flipped are zero. I tend to have a handful of patterns in my fly boxes that are what I could consider close enough to a few things. This fly just uses a handful of very common nymph materials that can be interchanged to vary the color as I see fit.

Another thing I really enjoy about this pattern is the size can be varied easily as well. I probably wouldn’t take it into the midge region of sizing, but anywhere from a 16 up to an 8 will cover just about any bug I care to think about.

Check out flyfusionmag.com for full material list for the Olive Nymph pattern from Dana.

WATER MARKS

Jim McLennan Jim McLennan has been fly fishing and writing about it since sometime in the last century. He continues to indulge his passions for fly fishing, bird hunting, writing, and music, but unfortunately this leaves very little time for the thankless task of keeping Derek under control during filming of Fly Fusion TV.

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How to Defile a Wilderness

O

urs is considered a gentle sport for the most part, and that trait is part of its attraction. Today, more people are finding solace and clarity—and much-needed gentleness—in the outdoors and the activities there, one of which is fly fishing.

And while it’s true that fishing, called the “contemplative man’s recreation” by Isaac Walton, can indeed be gentle and thought-provoking, sometimes our contemplation needs to be sharply focused.

An example is the recent controversy and struggle to prevent construction of a huge copper and gold mine in Alaska, called Pebble Mine. The effects of the mine on the environment and the Bristol Bay watershed would have been massive. For now the project has been canceled, thanks to participation in a long, arduous fight by a great number of people and groups who value the outdoors, including fly fishers.

A similar battle has been escalating in Alberta in recent months over the threat to the future health of land and water posed by proposed expansion of open-pit coal mining. The mountains and foothills are the headwaters and domain of Alberta’s best and best-known trout streams: The Oldman River, the Crowsnest River, the Livingstone River, the Highwood River, the Ram River, plus all their critical tributaries. These mountains and foothills are the Alberta wilderness.

Alberta’s government, for reasons that defy logic and understanding, appears determined and committed to allowing and even promoting expansion of open-pit coal mining in the headwaters of many of these streams.

It’s a complex story, too much so for this space, but the

Reader’s Digest version goes like this: Alberta had a good, forward-thinking Coal Policy in place since 1976, a policy that allowed mining in places where impact on the environment is minimal and restricted it in sensitive areas where it would cause severe irreparable damage.

But after quietly advising foreign mining companies (mostly Australian) in the fall of 2019 that restrictions on open pit mining would soon be lifted, the government equally quietly and with no consultation with any groups but coal groups, rescinded the 1976 policy on the Friday afternoon of 2020’s first summer long weekend.

This is where we come in. A hue and cry arose from municipalities (including major cities), First Nations, hunters, ranchers, farmers, hikers, photographers— and yes, fly fishers—demanding that the 1976 policy be reinstated. Government representatives appeared to be either surprised that people were smart enough to know what had happened, or surprised to find that people objected to what had happened. The 1976 policy was re-instated in February 2020, and the government vowed to invite public consultation to create a new policy, but exploratory work—test drilling, construction of roads and drilling pads—that began between May and February was allowed to continue and does continue.

As of this writing, the volume of exploration roads have already exceeded legal limits set by—you guessed it—the provincial government.

For a number of reasons—lack of transparency, the public’s lack of trust in this government, the question of why mining companies continue to accrue the costs of exploration without some assurance of a clear path to actual mining—skepticism remains high about the real

goals and intentions of the government regarding open-pit coal mining.

The damage caused to land, water, and wildlife by open-pit mining is diverse and severe. Perhaps most significant to trout is selenium, a by-product that is carried downhill by rain and snowmelt, reaching the tributaries and eventually mainstream rivers. Selenium causes deformities, reproductive failure, and death in trout.

Open-pit coal mines have caused significant problems next door to Alberta in British Columbia’s Elk Valley, where westslope cutthroat populations in a major tributary of the Elk River have been decimated by selenium concentrations 25-to-50 times the province’s water-quality guidelines for protecting aquatic life.

This issue goes beyond fly fishing and that’s one of the reasons there’s hope that such mining can be prevented.

The importance of water cannot be overstated now or in the approaching future. These mines would need a lot of water and that water that would have to come from river systems that are already over-allocated. To coin a phrase, “they’re not making any more water.” But they are making

plenty more demands on the water we have.

It’s accurately said that “everyone lives downstream” and downstream water issues in Alberta would affect farms, ranches, towns, and municipalities. Anyone who values these foothills and mountains for any reason—aesthetic or practical—is on the same team.

The lesson for fly fishers is that there’s always a fight to be fought, a letter to be written, an acquaintance to be engaged. Fly fishers are responding strongly to this issue, and must continue to do so, but one thing that concerns me is that we’re preaching mostly to the choir. There are many people either unaware or unconcerned with the issue who must be made aware and concerned. We need to keep talking about this, especially to those outside the fly-fishing community, and encourage them to take up the fight in concrete ways. And we must do more than simply talk.

There are a number of good sources of information on this issue. One is mountainsnotmines.ca, which has summaries of the situation, commentaries, and specific suggestions on ways to get involved. Please do so.

It’s time to focus our contemplation.

END OF THE LINE

Sipping on Lacroix Landon Lacroix I started tying for a few months in 2018, then picked it back up in the summer of 2020. I mainly enjoy the artistic aspect of fly tying; I love finding ways to innovate and I’m always working to improve my skillset. I’m extremely passionate about fly fishing/tying and dream of pursuing a career in the industry. @landin_fish

LL‘s Opal Stimulator

LL’s Perdigon Torch

Hook: Mustad C53S, size 10 Thread: Uni 6/0w, purple Tail: Coastal deer hair, dark Body: Hedron lateral scale, pearl Hackle: Whiting Farms saddle hackle, brown Wing: Coastal deer hair, dark Thorax: Midge diamond braid, pearl UV: Solarez Bone Dry (tiny amount on body to keep hackle in place)

Hook: Daiichi 4647, size 16 Bead: MFC slotted tungsten lucent bead, orange Thread: Uni 6/0w, doc blue Tail: Calftail, orange Body: Veniard stripped quill, orange UV: Solarez Bone Dry Wingcase: Solarez thick/hard and Solarez UV fly finish, black

LL’s Smokey Cripple (Last Chance) Hook: Daiichi 1167, size 14 Thread: Semperfli 12/0 Nano Silk, olive Tail: Mallard flank fibers Exuviae: STS Trilobal Dub, fl. orange and peacock herl Body: Goose biots, brown Collar: Peacock herl Wing: CDC, dark dun Hackle: Whiting Farms saddle hackle, brown

LL’s Mansray Bomb (Flashback Hare’s Ear) Hook: Mustad jig hook, size 10 Bead: Tungsten slotted bead, matte black, 3.8mm Thread: Uni 6/0w, wine Tail: Rabbit Zonker guard hair, black fuchsia frostip Body: Seal fur dubbing, claret Ribbing: Med wire, cerise Thorax: Rabbit Zonker guard hair, black fuchsia frostip and seal fur dubbing, claret Legs: Krystal Flash, pearl Wingcase: Hedron lateral scale, pearl UV: Solarez, thick/hard

LL’s CDL Parachute Hook: Wide-gap dry-fly hook, size 14 Thread: Semperfli 12/0 Nano Silk, olive Tail/Body/Post: Whiting Farms coq de leon tailing feathers Thorax: Senyo’s Lazer Dub, pale blue Hackle: Whiting Farms saddle hackle, medium ginger

66

The Soul of Fly Fishing

LL’s Royal Cork Hook: Mustad C53S, size 10 Thread: Semperfli 12/0 Nano Silk, orange Tail: Brown bucktail Body: Deer belly hair, dyed green and red stretch tube Hackle: Whiting Farms saddle hackle, brown Wing: Calf body hair, white

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