FALL 2022 | VOLUME 19, ISSUE 4

FAIL is not an SONAR TITAN TROPICAL/JUNGLE CLEAR TIP “The Scientific Anglers Sonar Titan Jungle Clear Tip is my choice for fishing Amazonian Dorado in the Bolivian mountains. Its unique taper turns over big streamers in a single cast – crucial when you face a feeding frenzy or a dorado crossing right in front you and only have seconds to make the shot.”

- Marcelo Perez, SA Advisor

scientificanglers.com

LURE n option Harder coating and stiffer core to maintain

SLICKNESS AND ABRASION RESISTANCE

IN DEMANDING JUNGLE CONDITIONS

Excellent turnover due to short, powerful head Overweighted by two line sizes for quick loading and delivery of big flies to distant targets • 15’ clear intermediate tip for stealthy presentations • Slow sink rate gets flies just below the surface • Tropi-Core technology • •

Publishing Team Chris Bird Jennifer Bird Managing Editor Bob Covey Editorial Team Derek Bird Gary Bird Group Art Direction Terry Paulhus Circulation Consultant Scott Bullock Office Administrators Kim Carruthers Kaylee Davis

Websites Breeze Web Department Editors Derek Bird Brian Chan Dana Harrison Jim McLennan Derek Olthuis Jeff Wagner Contributors Chase Bohning Kastine Coleman Bob Covey Allen Crater Jeremy Davies Walter Foster Pavel Francev Jake Hale Dana Harrison Matt Kryger Geoff Shirley Nathaniel Wilder

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© Photo Derek Olthuis

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6

The Soul of Fly Fishing

CONTENTS 14

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FIVE LOAVES AND TWO FISH Allen Crater I didn’t have an inkling about pursuing fish with fur and feature until my older son decided he wanted to learn. The moment I landed my first fish—an eightinch planter that today remains my greatest trophy—I unwittingly moved into Stage One of the five stages of fly fishing.

RED SURGE Jake Hale Arriving at shore, we laughed incredulously as we tried to study the lazy roll of fish while assembling our rods. Then, we saw something unexpected. Why were bull trout sharing the same pool with the fat cutt-bows? Could they be spawning?

Then my eyes adjusted and I saw it…

LAST ANGLER ON KATHERINE LAKE Bob Covey Fish stocking programs in our national parks have become passé, but Yellowstone cutthroat in the Canadian Rockies’ high alpine apparently didn’t get the memo. To restore native fish populations, the planted species had to go, but not before one angler got on the lake for a few last casts.

HOOK-BENDING, MIND-BLENDING Chase Bohning In western waters, non-native eastern brook are often decried as invasive; a hybridizer and an occupier, stunted and dull. But my family puts them on a pedestal. When I think of brookies, I feel an ember glowing brighter somewhere inside my heart.

FIFTY FLIES TO TRY BEFORE YOU DIE Jeremy Davies Fill your fly boxes on the vise then fill your boots on the water with these searching nymphs, stealthy dries and seductive streamers. These patterns are tried, tested and trouty; from innovative fly tyer Jeremy Davies’ tying bench to your tippet, these are 50 flies to try before you expire.

8 10 46 52

Stream Lines Profiles On the Vise Long Lines

56 60 64 66

Wandering Currents Stillwater Secrets Water Marks End of the Line

© Photo Geoff Shirley | © On the cover: Aaron Smith @mrwerbs flyfusionmag.com

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STREAM LINES

Derek Bird I’m always willing to share a few fly-fishing secrets. My favorite fly, for example, is the one the trout are taking. My favorite season is the one when trout are biting.

My favorite stream is the one where the trout are plentiful and the anglers are few.

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

All Anglers are Liars—False

H

umans are strange creatures. With over a million words in the English language, we often reuse the same combinations tirelessly and without thought. Obviously not just in angling culture, but that’s what I’m here to talk about. In an effort to be more original in the language I use, I’d like to perform a ceremonial exercise in tearing apart the most common sayings in angling. Maybe then we can throw certain sayings in the trash heap and embark down more innovative roads. Who knows what new waters we might discover?

All fishermen are liars. The four problems with this false axiom can be identified in the words ‘all’ ‘fishermen’ ‘are’ ‘liars’. The word ‘all’ makes it an improvable statement (and most likely an untrue one). The word ‘fishermen’ is outdated because it’s sexist. ‘Are’ is classified as a state of being word which implies that anglers are intrinsically untruthful.

And ‘liars’ is horribly presumptuous for anyone (angler or otherwise) who’s grown up saturated in postmodern Western thought. What is a liar? Are there situations where lying is actually the right thing to do? Are all people who lie bad? Is the liar the result of nature or nurture? Were there socioeconomic and cultural factors creating the liar? It’s a dizzyingly fallacious statement as you can see.

So what’s an accurate replacement? It’s more cumbersome but more truthful to say ‘some anglers divert the attention of others from certain perceptions of reality for reasons they see fit in the moment they’re responding’.

Hmmm. That is a mouthful. But at least it’s accurate and original. I’m sure the first person who showed up to the first fly-fishing trip with a fiberglass rod when everyone

else brought bamboo was laughed at too. To be a trend setter you have to be willing to head out in directions others are afraid to trek.

In practical terms acceptable deception might look like this. Think of the time where a fellow fly angler walks past you on the river after it took countless hours of figuring out what the trout are taking and he asks what’s working. You don’t what to steal from him the gratification that comes from working through an obstacle, so you slide your hand up your fly rod handle to cover your fly. Then you instinctually offer a verbal diversion. If you know another language, you could respond with that. A simple Ich bin auslander und spreche nicht gut Deutsch and they’ll be on their way. Is that a lie from the mouth of a liar? Again, that’s so unfairly presumptuous for anyone to try to define you or categorize you as such.

I had to call in sick. My arm is in a cast. Ok, this is completely counterproductive to everything I just wrote about anglers not being liars. Not only is this a lie (sorry a diversion), it is the lowest form in that it’s a pun. If you’re lying takes on pun status, you are likely beyond help and deserve all the wrath your boss bestows upon you when you show up to the office the next day without a cast on your arm. No one appreciates being the butt end of a deception, so if it was up to me, I say they should fire your as…butt not because you lied but because you used a pun.

If you’re looking for a day off work, the last thing you want to do is fake a broken bone unless you’re willing to go all the way and show up for work in a cast (and don’t bring your fly rod to work to try and explain your joke and how you thought it was funny. It’s not.).

Every fly angler knows you take the mental health route

agree with the essence of it. The problem for me is the food group used to relate the message of providing someone with a skill so they can work in order to survive and possibly thrive so they can go out and spend a thousand dollars on a fly rod so they can go out and fish. Such a downward spiral. I wish the person who created the phrase, would have used something like ‘potato’ instead. It still has a pretty good ring to it: Give a person a potato and feed them for a day. Teach a person to farm potatoes and they’ll have vodka for a lifetime. Ok, maybe potato doesn’t work quite as well, but the truth is still in there. It’s just a little more foggy.

I have a problem with the food (not potatoes but fish) because there’s a lot of people who fish in the region I live, so there can be some pretty busy days on the water.

Also, in my region, there’s a worker shortage, so maybe too many people have been taught to fish and not enough of them have been taught to work.

This is so confusing. My brain is starting to hurt.

It makes me wish, in the mountains of useless words the English language offers, that there were just a few combinations that would make sense of all this nonsense.

Well, until I’ve found the lid for this can of words, the best way to carpe diem is to find a stream and listen to your reel scream. And if it doesn’t happen, you could just lie about it because all anglers are liars.

© Illustration Pavel Francev @pavelfrancev

if you’re looking for a much needed day off. The accurate and updated saying is going to have to be something along the lines of ‘I had to call in sick; my doctor says I’ve got fluid on the brain.’ Ok, maybe there’s no way around a pun for this one.

A bad day’s fishing is better than a good day at work. Now that we’re on the topic of skipping work to go fly fishing, this is one I hear quite often. I’m not sure who came up with this phrase, so I’m not sure who I’m going to offend. Though I can guarantee it will be less than the number of people I will offend by saying we need to come up with a better phrase than this.

For those of you who have a bumper sticker slapped on the back of your Tacoma or you have five T-shirts in different colours all with this phrase on it, please don’t bother writing me to tell me “how dare you” or “how sacrilegious of you” for even questioning this phrase. All I’m saying is I appreciate my job and I also enjoy fly fishing.

I have some amazing days fly fishing and I have some amazing days at work. I have some crappy days at work and I have some crappy days fly fishing. Ok, maybe we can compromise and just get a shirt that says No Crappie Days with a picture of a fish on it. Now I’m the idiot pun master.

So as not to leave the discussion of this phrase with a pun, let me say the connection between work and play is a complex dynamic; far too intertwined to fit into a phrase that demonizes one and elevates the other.

I work so I can buy new fly-fishing gear. I work so I don’t have to eat fish all the time.

Give a person a fish and feed them for a day. Teach a person to fish and you feed them for a lifetime. This phrase of unknown origin is credited as a Chinese proverb and an Italian proverb. It’s also said the phrase is the brainchild of a thirteenth century Egyptian philosopher and a British writer. But we all know the phrase really originated from the fingers of a philosophically overzealous Millennial Twitter warrior sitting by a river in his renovated 90s vintage Chevrolet Astro van. Sorry, I digress.

I understand the aphorism and fully

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PROFILES

Kastine Coleman Kastine Coleman Kastine Coleman is a conservation-minded angler and teacher, a FFI casting instructor, two-time IGFA world record holder for Atlantic Salmon, fishing guide, owner of Tight Loops Tight Lines, and host of a fly fishing television show of the same name, currently airing on Sportsman Canada and the World fishing Network. Kastine is the Canadian Ambassador for Fly Fishers International (FFI), a director with both FFI and the Atlantic Salmon Conservation Foundation, a SPAWN board member and a freelance writer. Kastine resides in Corner Brook, Newfoundland, with her three children.

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

Bob Covey: Who introduced you to fishing?

Kastine Coleman: My dad. We’d always do spin casting at lake for trout for fun but my dad is a salmon fisherman. He was a very busy father. He worked a lot, but if he ever got time away to go salmon fishing he would always invite us, and even if we said no, he would invite us the next time.

I worked with dad in the furniture business, but fishing was a time to connect with him. The fishing conversation always different than work conversation and even now he’ll say ‘I’m going fishing tonight after work, want to come?’

We’ll do that ’til the end of time. The beauty of fly fishing is there’s ways to participate at all ages. The river doesn’t know how old you are.

BC: What’s your earliest memory of making that connection with him on a salmon river?

KC: The first time I remember going salmon fishing, I remember it was the longest drive. It seemed like it took us forever to walk there. It seemed like hours. Then we got to this section on the river and he said ‘this is it, we’re here.’ I looked around and you know it was just a section of water.

So we worked our way through and he caught a few fish and he let them go! I said ‘We’ve just spent hours trying to get that fish and you just let him go?’ (laughs) And he said ‘Yes that’s what we do,’ so that was the first eyeopening little memory from way back when I was probably 10 years old.

BC: Did he explain the Why behind the catch and release?

KC: Yes he did, and catch and release wasn’t really even talked about back then but he just said ‘I want you to be able to do this when you grow up and I want you to take your own kids. If I keep the fish then you know, you won’t be able to. If I put it back maybe someone else can catch it too.’

BC: You’re a yoga instructor, along with your mom and sister, and you all fly fish together too; you must talk with your family about how the two practices or passions have common elements?

KC: Yes, my mom has been a yoga teacher since I even knew what yoga was. And yeah we do talk about how the benefits of fly fishing are akin to yoga. When you’re fly fishing, immersed in nature, you become very focused on that one thought or the one task. You’re unshackled by your devices, you don’t think about yesterday, you don’t think about tomorrow. There’s nothing. Just you, in the moment.

You feel the hug of the water, you feel your rhythmic movement and your breath. And you have the chance to just allow yourself to simply be. So you’re present. You can be yourself. You can be relaxed. Your cortisol level drops, your breathing flows, your heart rate drops. So it is just like yoga. Until you catch a fish! (laughs) BC: Then it’s like hot yoga!

KC: That’s right! (laughs) And at the end of the day or the class or at the end of a fishing session,‘it’s like a reward really, because you’ve given time to yourself, which you don’t often do during the hustle and the bustle of the day.

BC: Now I’m assuming that reward can be found regardless of if you catch a fish or not?

KC: Yup. It doesn’t matter. When I started fishing there were years when I never caught a fish. And I never cared.

I would leave and it would be the same feeling. Still today, I can leave the water and sometimes I don’t remember if I caught fish!

BC: You’re a certified casting instructor, you said you love the art of the cast. But why did you certify in the first place?

KC: I didn’t know there was such a thing as a casting instructor. The reason I wanted to cast further and better was because when I went fishing by myself, which was often, I’d be standing up on the river, with no one else out there, in the middle of the woods with no cell service. I’m not afraid of the water. I can swim. I have no fear, basically (laughs). But I thought one of these days I’m going to be wading out there and go over my waders and I’m going to be all by myself. And I’ve got three kids waiting for a ride

home from school. So I knew that I had to be a little bit smart in the situation and so I said if I could cast further, I could stand a little bit closer to shore and not wade out to that potentially dangerous level. So I worked on increasing the distance, but then I was talking to my brother who said ‘there’s people who actually teach this stuff and I think you’d be really good at doing it.’ And I looked it up and I said yeah I would love to do that.

BC: Regarding salmon conservation, I know out on the west coast it’s very complex with commercial fisheries, First Nations fisheries, recreational fisheries…it can get pretty murky for those of us who aren’t there and understanding all the nuances.

Is it similar in your part of the country? How would you sum up the Atlantic salmon issues for those of us on the outside?

KC: I would say right now the biggest issue is open pen salmon farms and that regulations are not where they should be. They’re going to take a toll on the rivers unless we can put some of those regulations in place. But when you’re dealing with small communities and the prospects of jobs, it’s a hard sell.

BC: Thanks to anglers such as yourself, women are being featured more prominently in the fly fishing industry. When you do introduce women to fly fishing, what do you hear from them in terms of common barriers and what do you do to help break those barriers down?

KC: If a person is walking down a trail to a river for the first time, without knowing what to expect on the other side, it can be intimidating. That’s where I get a lot of feedback on why people want to take a lesson or learn to fish. So when I introduce someone to fly fishing my goal is to make them an independent angler. I want to show them all the details so they can feel confident to come again on their own: what to wear to be safe and dry, how to set up the rod, how to tie the fly, what fly to pick and how to fish it. All those things are simple to people that have been doing it forever but to a new angler, those are the things that will make or break a day on the water. And I always interrupt

fishing to stop and have a cup of coffee or tea and a snack.

Because especially for a new angler it’s so intense with all these little details. You’re nervous, you’re excited, so I find it’s just helpful to take a step back and appreciate your surroundings. Usually when you sit down on the rocks it’s like the first time you realize where you are. You can smell the forest and hear the water and get all that other side of

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it that really makes it a whole event. And it really makes you appreciate your surroundings and starts to foster that love of helping the river system, not just the fishing. So when you start fishing after that it’s always a little more special, more heartfelt and more connected. That’s the key, you want people to develop a connection not with just the act of fishing but with the river and everything that fishing encompasses. My goal, always, is to get them so that they can soak it all in and be confident and comfortable enough to come back to the river on their own, or invite someone else to the river with them to pass along that same experience.

BC: Do you have a “bucket list?” Are there certain angling opportunities you have yet to experience or is there a fishery out there that you really want to see?

KC: I love Atlantic salmon, especially dry fly fishing for them. It’s as good as it gets, really. So I would say that in terms of bucket list destinations, Newfoundland and Labrador is probably still my bucket list destination, even though I live here. There’s so many rivers here that I still haven’t fished. Just last week I went to a brand new river, and even after I got to that river, I only fished one pool.

So there’s kilometres of river that I have yet to even set foot on, and then hundreds of other rivers that I’ve never

12

The Soul of Fly Fishing

even gone to. So I don’t think I’ll get through them in my lifetime but I’m certainly going to try.

BC: What have you learned about yourself as an angler from spending time with your kids on the water?

KC: So much, actually. They really teach me to keep the fun in the sport. And that fuels up my passion to take them back out. Fishing is such a solitary sport, but they really bring that social aspect to it and they bring joy and laughter and just so much fun. Like they laugh at me when I lose a fish, all you can hear is just the big hee-haws back on shore. And they call me out on stuff! They grew up with the whole fish-handing thing and how to do proper catch and release. So if I slip up on something they are the first ones to say ‘mom, you’re not pointing the fish up-river fast enough.’ They’re always keeping me on their toes, and they’re always eager to learn. Every year they seem to like the sport a little bit more and they just kind of remind me to keep it light and stress-free. Spending time on the water with them wants me to preserve everything that we have here, the beauty of the rivers, the health of the rivers, the strength of the stock. You can’t force the passion on them but you can share it. And I want them to have the option to share the sport with their own children just as my dad did with me 30-plus years ago.

®

FLYFILMFEST.COM

Five Loaves and Two Fish The miracle of fly fishing Allen Crater

© Photo Geoff Shirley

I Allen Crater

© Photo Scientific Anglers

Allen Crater is a husband and father of two adult sons that frequently out fish him.

His work has appeared in several publications including Solace, Backcountry Journal, and Strung. He is the host of allenoutside.com, and is finishing his first book, Outside in Shorts, due out this fall.

waded into the murky waters of fly fishing later in life. Sure, I grew up chasing panfish and pike with my dad and grandpa, and my wife, boys and I would throw rubber crawlers for bass at the cottage, but I never had an inkling about pursuing fish with fur and feather. Until, that is, my older son, Kyle, decided he wanted to learn, and asked for a rod for his 12th birthday.

We set off to test the Pere Marquette River, not far from our summer place in Michigan; so green we didn’t even realize how iconic this tributary, that we’d traveled over so many weekends, actually was. He didn’t catch anything during those first few outings, and I was relegated to observing from the bank, shrugging my shoulders – no fatherly wisdom to impart.

And then, by complete happenstance, I met a friend of a friend at a trade show in Chicago. We got talking about kids and hobbies and one thing led to the next. It turned out that her boyfriend was a high-school football coach and an avid angler – calling the Pere Marquette his home water.

One of his life passions was teaching kids how to fly fish

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

and, she said, he would be glad to meet up with us and show Kyle a thing or two.

Meeting Matt quite literally changed the trajectory of our fishing lives. Guiding us to one of his go-to holes on the PM, he instructed Kyle on the basics: finding the risers, determining the proper flies, tying knots, casting, and presentation. Still unsure, I watched from afar – intrigued but not yet infected. As Matt patiently coached, Kyle worked the water and, by the end of the night, managed to trick a few small brown trout. The kid was over the moon, and I will have to admit that even I felt a little shaky from the adrenaline of the moment. It became evident that he was a natural, depositing fish in his net on almost every outing thereafter.

The following spring I was no longer content to be a mere observer – the off-duty lifeguard. This all looked too damn fun, and the competitive side of me was starting to kick in. Like any parent, I enjoyed watching my son’s success, but it troubled my male ego to be outdone by the boy. So, I pulled a few bucks together and bought my first fly-rod combo from Baldwin Bait and Tackle and ordered a pair of hundred-dollar waders online.

At that point I didn’t know my ass from my elbow when it came to fly fishing (many of my friends would argue, with some validity, that I still don’t), but Matt invited me to join him and a few buddies on their annual spring trip to the Holy Waters of the Au Sable River. I rolled in with my combo set and waders still in the box. No leader. No tippet. No flies.

No goop. No knowledge. No shame. And while the other guys made their way upstream to throw something called streamers, Matt helped me rig up and we headed down to attempt what he called swinging nymphs. Sure, I thought, nymphs sound exactly right in this situation, Matt.

And then, after what must have been a lot of embarrassing flailing (or what, for me, passed as casting), I actually landed a fish. Holy hell, I couldn’t believe it!

An eight-inch planter that to this day remains my greatest trophy. At that moment, I unwittingly moved into “Stage One” of what, in angling circles, is known as the “five stages of fly fishing” – the pernicious path of an angler through the sport from the beginning, where the goal is simply to catch a fish, any fish, of any size, to the end, where you are just damn glad to be fishing, period. Zen-like in its simplicity.

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© Photo Scientific Anglers

But, like anyone who experiences a taste of success, I wanted more, and didn’t tarry long in this early stage.

The situation spiralled downhill rapidly, and “Stage Two” developed into a full-blown infection before I could even get a proper diagnosis. I exhibited all the classic symptoms of the “numbers stage,” wanting to catch all the fish all the time, and Matt was more than happy to nurse me through it.

I hit the local rivers with a fervour that would make a televangelist blush. Fishing whenever I could, with anyone who was willing, for anything that was biting. From blazing hot summer nights chasing smallies to sub-zero winter mornings searching for chrome. As many hours and fish as possible. And you’re damn right I was counting; I could tell you precisely how many fish I had for the evening, for the week, and for the year. My God, I mused, I am a tremendous fisherman. Can you believe these numbers? I must be some sort of piscatorial prodigy. Dozens, no, hundreds. Hundreds and hundreds of fish.

Stage Two was spellbinding. But, as man is wont to do, rather than be delighted with some success, I craved more, and, almost imperceptibly, slid headlong into “Stage Three” of the journey.

Stage Three is what I think of as the “Freudian stage,” and I suddenly became aware of angler envy. Sure, I was catching a lot of fish, but my friends were catching bigger fish, and I couldn’t help but notice I wasn’t measuring up.

Regardless of what consoling ex-girlfriends insist, size does matter. To believe otherwise would almost be un-American.

Super-size it. Hell, colossal size it! Bigger everything. You call that a fish? That, my friend, is bait. All I could contemplate was catching the biggest fish. I’ll even admit to becoming annoyed when hooking smaller ones; sometimes secretly resorting to shaking a few off, especially if landing them would mean relinquishing my prized spot in the front of the boat. Awe shoot, I lost him. Dang.

Numbers no longer satiated my ravenous appetite. I wanted monsters. Trophies worthy of a magazine cover.

Trout that broke the 20-inch mark. Soon two feet became the goal, and 30 inches was just around the next bend. And this led to an obsession with streamer fishing which, to my addled mind, was the only proper way to hook the big boys.

I quickly outgrew the five weight, and the six, and, by God, even the seven. I can’t huck meat for big fish on anything less

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

than an eight, are you crazy? I started employing flies whose very names should have been a red flag: Sex Dungeons, Butt Monkeys, and Barely Legals, and never gave it a second thought in the sultry heat of the Freudian stage.

Now, it wasn’t only about size at this point. For example, plucking a giant out of a stocked pond wouldn’t entirely cure what ailed me, but it sure helped stem the bleeding.

And catching native fish became more important, not that I could ever get past my obsession with brown trout. And I began to recognize some small satisfaction in pulling off a particularly difficult cast or tricking a more wary fish. I was moving towards “Stage Four,” but, candidly, it was a case of window shopping more so than full commitment.

Stage Four is best summed up as the “harder is better stage.” This sadistic stage forgoes quantity and even size and simply esteems the greatest challenge. Dueling genius-level fish, in the least ideal conditions. Fun, right?

No. Well, not for me anyway.

I have yet to fully embrace this stage, and I’m quite certain my skill level is a ways off from it even being a consideration. To be honest, I still think of any success in the fly-fishing department as pure dumb luck on my part.

Or dumb luck combined with a stubbornness that gets and keeps me on the water as often and as long as possible. Kind of the blind-squirrel-and-the-nut theory. Throw enough bad casts and you’re bound to hook into something... eventually.

There are always a few gullible fish in most any water.

But I have acquaintances that reside in Stage Four.

Like my buddy Geoff Shirley, who is a dry-fly purist and delights in taking me to some of the most nerve-racking locations possible. Places like Silver Creek, where the fish are so damn smart, the drifts so damn slow, and the microcurrents so damn impossible to read that I didn’t dare blink for fear that my presentation would offend these most snooty of trout. He loved it. But it sent me cascading back down the stages like a clown on a unicycle. Big fish? Ha, I could forget about that. Fine, how about lots of fish of any size? Oh, you silly, silly man. Okay, okay, just one fish? Any fish. Please, for the love of God, something! No sir. None for you, you transcendently-terrible angler. In fact, it’s probably best if you sell all of your gear, torch the waders, and remove any incriminating stickers from your vehicle post-haste; you are an embarrassment to the sport.

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Or my friend, Brad Befus, who recently told me, and I quote, that carp are “the best gamefish ever for the long rod.” Bold words, Brad. Not muskie or steelhead or tarpon?

Do tell. He went on to explain that they are “technical, unforgiving of poor presentation, and just simply hard to pattern.” I still didn’t see the draw; ugly fish that are really hard to catch...it just didn’t have that ring to it. Though I will admit to a passing pang of desire to chase them after this conversation.

Or Landon Mayer. I had the opportunity to spend some time on the water with Landon this past year in Colorado and, let me tell you, this guy lives in Stage Four. It was spring and still frosty, with few bugs hatching. The insects that were out were tiny – as in size 24-to-28 tiny. Dust-particle tiny.

And the water was low and clear, holding fish sporting IQ’s in the upper 170s. You could see them, sure, but casting without putting them down was another matter entirely.

And this is what he lives for. Tying on microscopic flies with 7x and making perfect drifts to fool spooky fish. I could barely find the fly when I was holding it in my hand, let alone on the water. And tying on 7x? Forget it. I managed it once, made a few drifts with my Baetis-shaped dust particle, and gave up. Then proceeded to secure a streamer and flog the water with righteous indignation. But watching Landon do his thing was a work of pure Stage-Four art. I appreciated it, but would need many more years before considering taking up residence.

I also had the chance to fish with Jeff Currier last summer. Yeah, the Jeff Currier. The one in books and on TV and lecturing around the world. The Catch and Release IGFA World Record holder. The National Fresh Water Fishing Hall of Fame record holder. The one who has well over 400 species of fish on the fly to his name, from parts of the world I can’t even pronounce. Exotic fish. Terrifying fish. Gigantic fish. Magazine-cover fish.

But, on a drive out to the Henry’s Fork, he shared with me that his greatest catch of all time was an unassuming trout he managed to stalk, pattern, hook, and land while representing the U.S. Fly Fishing Team, leading them to their first ever top-ten finish in the World Fly Fishing Championships in Spain. During the competition Jeff managed to fool fish on every venue and placed third in the individual standings, becoming the first American

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

ever to take home a medal in the 30-year history of the Championships. Legitimate Stage-Four stuff.

But in Jeff I could also glimpse “Stage Five”, the stage in which you just want to go fishing. For all that it is. The place. The beauty. The quiet. The reflection. Where catching becomes secondary to simply “being.”

Now, don’t get me wrong, Jeff loves, and I mean loves, to land fish. It’s heartening to see a guy who has fished for so many years in so many places with so much success still get excited about netting a relatively average cutthroat on his home water. But for Jeff, the joy is in the total experience; Stage Five. And I find myself here more often lately. I haven’t

© Photo Scientific Anglers earned it the way Geoff or Brad or Landon or Currier have, and I’ll admit to a slight detour around Stage Four, but Stage Five is a fabulous place to spend some time.

There are two key elements to Stage Five – not really their own stages, but additives that make it even better.

The first is setting.

I still love chasing big trout and will always prefer lobbing streamers to most any other type of fishing, with terrestrials placing a close second (I’m still not comfortable with subtle presentations and tiny flies – preferring instead something that “plops” when it hits the water). But more and more I’d

take a quiet beautiful place with few other anglers and a couple small fish over a less alluring, and perhaps busier, location that holds bigger ones.

Fishermen are fond of saying that trout reside in beautiful places, and that is certainly true, though I’ve pulled some giants out of some downright ugly ones as well. But give me the bucolic beauty of a less popular river in Northern Michigan, or an alpine lake tucked well into the Idaho or Wyoming backcountry, or the small stream in Montana that doesn’t get a lot of press, but offers stunning vistas, quiet solitude, and every now and then gives up a respectable resident.

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© Photo Scientific Anglers Fishing, after all, is a form of escape and, if that is true, one must rightfully ask, from what am I escaping? Noise?

Busyness? The modern world? The fast-paced competitive grind of my daily job?

Yes, place absolutely matters.

On the opposite side of solitude is the final, and perhaps most important, ingredient, and that is with whom I fish. It’s like the smoked paprika in a perfect chili. Good without it, but so much better with it.

Like ugly places, I’m just too old to endure ugly personalities, and these days prefer the company of those I truly enjoy. Unlike in my younger years, the hours and minutes no longer seem limitless. So, the recognition that each one matters – that each grain of sand in the hourglass is precious – makes me carefully consider who I fish with.

I still enjoy chasing blue lines in solitude on occasion, but, more often than not, I savour spending these moments in these beautiful places, fish or no fish, with a small circle of close friends and family. Folks who see it the same - maybe not the world, but at least fishing’s place in it. And who also understand the delicate balance of solitude and camaraderie. Who no longer feel the need to fill the quiet with empty chatter. Who may, in fact, speak very few words at all. But when we do talk, the conversations are often deep and meaningful

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

or, conversely, light and hilarious – somehow these curated companions intuitively understand what is needed at the moment.

I recently read a Gierach quote that said this: “I never looked for perfect people to be my friends for fear of going through life friendless. It’s just that we get along, see most things the same way, and can disagree peacefully. Some of us can talk politics for hours and get mad as hell, though not at each other, but with others it’s a lot easier to travel and fish together if we don’t talk politics, except maybe in the most general terms. I mean the fate of democracy is one thing, but someone you can fish with is another.”

And this describes my circle. Not perfect people, real people, willing to give some of the sand in their hourglass to another, imperfect person. These friends and family members are multipliers. They capture all that is right about fishing, about being outdoors, and about being alive and then increase it exponentially. Almost Biblical in their ability to take my five meagre loaves and two small fish and miraculously materialize a feast fit for 5,000. Or a simple day on the water, compounded into something even greater than a first fish, a mess of fish, or even a giant.

To slow, for a brief time, the sand in the hourglass, and help me see, with a clarity only found on a river together, what really matters.

Red Surge Reaping the rewards of saying Yes All photos Dana Harrison Jake Hale Jake knows how lucky he is to have found fly fishing. Although thoughts of buoyant indicators occasionally haunt his dreams, he still intends to plan his weekends and vacations with trout in mind. “I’m nothing but grateful for what this sport has given me,” he says.

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

W

hen my good friend Dana and I last said our goodbyes, we, along with everyone else, had no idea how dramatically the world was about to be altered. But had the fish changed? Had the rivers stayed the same? We wanted to find out. From Dana’s lips escaped the name of a river from our shared past. My heart ached for time on the water.

With the leaves falling around me, I packed light. No tent, no extra gear, no man’s best friend, just me in a truck tucked into a sleeping bag.

Only the essentials for this trip: food, water, gear and, to prevent catastrophe, two rods. I felt like my internal engine had clogged; my soul’s fire needed to be re-lit.

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

It was. Bull trout. Unexpected at this time of year. Why were they sharing the pool with the fat cutt-bows? Could they be spawning? Surely not here—that would take place later, and higher up—so what was it? Then my eyes adjusted and I saw it…crimson. Like a maple leaf. Like The Red Serge of the RCMP. Like the lifeblood of the river.

It was the kokanee. Their presence was surely an anomaly, I thought, but the river didn’t care what I thought; here they were. And here were the bulls. And here were Dana and I. It took one pass with the fly before the line tightened. The pool erupted with fish. My reel screamed. It showed yellow, green, then orange backing. The violent head shakes and erratic pulls eventually gave way; a scoop of the net and the battle was over. Soon the tired warrior was released back into the dark blue.

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When the action died down, we walked through the red and orange-hued woods, the recent experience at the kokanee pool helping give the forest a surreal tinge. It was more than that, though. Each corner, though familiar, was completely different than what my memory held.

I passed across a braid that I didn’t remember, but when I approached a scree slope with a sharp drop and a deep pool in front, I knew I must have tossed a dry upon the surface in the past. When that didn’t work this time, a subsurface presentation did. The line went tight. Our luck hadn’t run out yet.

The cutbows were willing to take a nymph, but to my delight, on the first drift of the last corner of the river, as a nose nudged my orange indicator, they let us know that they’d be fine with feasting on top, too. Off came the bead heads, on came the brown and yellow fat Alberts. We only needed to ski the fly along the surface momentarily before an explosion of water and colour would occur. I moved down to the next pool, thirsty for another rise.

It wasn’t to be. After no sniffs on more than a few perfect drifts of the dry, I reached for the nymph box once more. Soon I was reaching for the net as I watched the indicator dive below the surface. But this fight felt different. This was no cutbow. It was heavy. It was dogged. It was another bull trout, but more stubborn. It felt like it had jammed itself into the mud. Then it ran, upstream first, then down, using the current to switch gears faster than I could chase her. Then I ran! I flailed over the ankle-rollers for more than 100 meters.

Finally, the fish began to tire.

As she slid into the net, Dana and I again shared a knowing glance. This was the culmination of our journey. We were connected again. The engine was purring. The fire had been relit. All it took was to say yes. ’

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

Salty. And Sweet.

What perfect saltwater fly rod dreams are made of.

Scott Fly Rod Company | Handcrafted at 2355 Air Park Way, Montrose, Colorado 81401 | 970.249.3180 | www.scottflyrod.com

Last Angler on Katherine Lake Stocked fish poisoned to protect native trout in Banff’s high alpine Bob Covey

O

n August 8, 2021, I was hunkered down on a flat rock high above Dolomite Pass in Banff National Park, digging through my pack to locate my cheap pair of Bushnells.

Chomping a sandwich and glassing the surrounding mountains, I watched as scramblers made their way up nearby Cirque Peak and a group of backpackers tramped through the meadows below, their hiking poles clicking on the trail. Somewhere in the surrounding rubble, picas sounded their urgent alarms while overhead, clouds were piling up. Just when the cumuli threatened to darken, however, the would-be storm moved on, allowing scattershot beams of sunlight to burn through and highlight my destination, 500 metres or so down a glacier-scraped slope.

Long and narrow, nestled beneath the rugged crags of Dolomite Peak, I had been dreaming about Katherine Lake since the week before my visit, when I hastily cobbled together plans to hike into the area with a group of people I’d never met before. The internet’s fickleness didn’t disappoint, for despite the grand ambitions of those showing interest in coming along, I was by myself. That was ok by me. As I scanned the shoreline intently, I soon found what I was after. Few things are more promising to a person alone in the backcountry with a fishing rod than the tell-tale rings of fish rising. The sun glinted off the expanding ripples and I winked back. Shouldering my pack, I practically sprinted to the lake.

The summer before, I could have gone through a similar routine while peering down at this popular trail’s namesake. If there were insects hatching or being blown onto the surface of Helen Lake, surely I could have spotted the odd rise of an Eastern Brook Trout, a red and green-speckled non-native beloved by anglers over for its beauty, fighting strength and willingness to take a lure or fly.

On the day of my visit, however, Helen Lake was devoid of rise ripples. In August of 2020, Parks Canada biologists used a fish-specific toxicant called rotenone to rid Helen Lake of brook trout, an effort to reverse the now-out-of-vogue fish stocking programs of decades past and subsequently reintroduce genetically-pure, native

species to connecting streams. Some anglers called the fish kill blasphemy, a righteous and exorbitant initiative that deprives anglers of an experience that helps foster national park stewardship. BNP aquatics specialist Shelley Humphries, on the other hand, called it restoration.

“Westslope cutthroat are probably occupying less than 10 per cent of their historic distribution,” Humphries said in a 2020 interview.

Along with being outcompeted, hybridization with introduced fish has depleted the westslope gene pool.

In the Bow River drainage, for the most part, stocked rainbow trout are doing the hybridizing, however, there’s another culprit that, after seven decades of spawning in Canada’s mountain parks, has mixed with the natives: the Yellowstone cutthroat. Yellowstone cutthroat are prized as gamefish. Because they feed primarily on insects as adults (unlike brown trout, for example, which are more piscivorous), they are particularly sporting for fly anglers.

And as I had just witnessed through my binoculars, Katherine Lake was full of them.

As I stared intently at my casted-out fly, its yellow fibres barely discernible in the glare of the midday sun, I raised more than a few eyebrows among the Gortexclad family members hiking out of the Dolomite Valley.

Soon enough, however, the presentation was raising the interest of an even more colourful character; the dark snout of a cutthroat pierced the surface of the water. In my excitement I struck too early and missed the take. A curse word echoed around the natural amphitheatre and I saw the pre-teen hiker heading up the boot-beaten path crane his neck in wonder. Had he stuck around, he might have seen the next fish stick to my tiny hook. No matter, it was to be just myself and the cutties. Normally if I have the honour of landing such a gorgeous fish in such a special place I’d go through a ritual of thanks before releasing it back to its aqueous home. Since Parks Canada staff were going to be there in less than 24 hours with their rotenone, however, I used my hiking pole to bonk the 16-inch trout between the eyes.

“It’s either today or tomorrow, fella,” I mumbled before wrapping it in wet grass.

It wasn’t until the 1970s that Parks Canada began to look at trout habitat through a naturalist’s lens and

Bob Covey Journalist, editor and photographer Bob Covey grew up near the tannic tributaries of the Red Deer River, but it wasn’t until he moved to the Rockies that he picked up a fly rod. Of course he was never the same. When he’s not stepping on lego or whiteknuckling deadlines for the independent newspaper he founded in 2013, he’s dowsing for trout and dreaming of powder days in Jasper National Park.

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© Photo Kodiak Morasky

the fulsome stocking programs of the past became passé. Fish hatcheries in Banff, Jasper and Waterton were decommissioned as the agency wanted to leave waterbodies in their natural state. The problem, of course, was that the damage had been done. Brook trout in particular didn’t get the memo that policy change was afoot. “[Park managers] were definitely trying to leave space for native fish but by the time they made that decision it was kind of too late for some of them,” Humphries said.

Fifty years or so later, depending on your point of view, those wrongs are being righted. On August 9, 2021, the day after I landed seven magnificent Yellowstone cutthroat and lost a half dozen more in one of the most

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

spectacular valleys I’ve ever had the pleasure of casting a fly, aquatics specialists were dripping rotenone into Katherine Lake. This past spring they gave the same treatment to Hidden Lake, also in Banff National Park.

Rotenone, a toxicant that originates from a tropical bean plant and which Indigenous people from French Guiana have traditionally used to harvest fish, doesn’t affect mammals or birds and because its active compound is broken down by sunlight, water and turbulence, it does not remain in the water. Still, to facilitate the restoration operation, Parks Canada closed the Helen Lake/Dolomite Pass area to the public for nearly three weeks, enforcing a no-stopping zone at the trailhead and warning that anyone contravening these measures could be hit with a $25,000 fine.

If that seems severe, Parks Canada has said it takes its mandate to protect and restore ecological integrity very seriously. The no-stopping zone was in place to ensure road safety around waters that are being neutralized, the agency said in a press release. Park users familiar with the rotenone process will know that as a result of the neutralizing agent, the affected waters temporarily turn pink—a tourist traffic jam waiting to happen if there ever was one.

As an angler, knowing that Katherine Lake’s Yellowstone cutts are a thing of the past is disheartening, to be sure. I can think of few better ways to introduce my young kids to the richness of the outdoors than by casting to willing fish surrounded by protected wilderness.

But then I think of the issues faced by the westslope cutthroat, a species that survived over millennia only to be persecuted to near-extinction in the last 100 years (their current status in Alberta is threatened) by habitat destruction, over-harvesting and mishandling, and I know there’s…(ahem) bigger fish to fry.

Alberta is home to some of the most abundant trout angling opportunities in the world. We can spend a lifetime lamenting the loss of stocked waters in our national parks, but unless we start paying attention to big picture threats such as coal mining, clearcutting and road building for the fossil fuel industry, there will come a day when, no matter how intently we scan the shoreline, no rises will appear.

Go where the fish are.

That moment when the planning and hard work pays off because you just landed the fish that no one else could reach.

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Hook-Bending, Mind-Blending Chase Bohning Chase Bohning grew up in the Rockies, but it wasn’t until after high school that he cut his fly fishing teeth on the small streams and rivers he found there. Unlocking the mysteries of new or forgotten places containing mythic trout is his M.O. In pursuit of those enigmas, he enjoys the never-ending lessons afforded by fly fishing and photography.

Wild brook trout on a forgotten realm Chase Bohning

M

y grandfather spoke of big, wild brook trout. Living near the Rockies, he wasn’t talking about the famous fish from Labrador, but the originally-stocked, wild-producing bruisers in area lakes.

He spoke of waters that held seven pounders. These stories, and these fish, lingered in my thoughts. When my brother and I were old enough, we searched for them.

Seeds sown We knew the places—and the fish—had very likely changed in two generations; we might find nothing. Waters with zero reproduction. But we also knew there was a chance … a chance they were there. We put in our miles because of what might be. A forgotten realm.

A dream.

Space invader Non-native eastern brook trout are often decried as invasive: a hybridizer and an occupier, stunted and dull. But my family puts them on a pedestal. Rather than derivative, we think of them as divine. It may be the infinite spectrum of hues which glisten on their flanks, it may be their predatory predilection, but whatever it is, when I think of brookies, I feel an ember glowing brighter somewhere inside my heart.

Minute and mind-bending The charcoal-black tuxedo sharp against the white-cuff

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of their belly gives way to a silhouetted sunset of red, orange and yellow. A cosmos of stars is revealed in the spots: a galactic cluster of blue-haloed planetary nebulas.

Between the heavenly bodies, a stern camouflage—like grub trails through a spruce tree—is painted to an exacting level of deception. A seemingly paradoxical combination: bold and yet subtle; bright and yet concealed. In tannic habitat they sport the dark green and bronze helmet of a jungle sniper. From clear waters, their silver-blue is more like a valiant knight. From their sooty mouth, white teeth protrude like needle-tipped grains of rice.

Eastern promises Pursuit of trout in their native waters is a pure and noble ambition, but as an angler in the west, I treat my occasions of chasing brook trout as an adventure, a chance to observe another environmentally-unique fish and an opportunity to connect with my favourite char on a level that I wasn’t sure existed when my grandfather spoke of his former haunts.

Imagination Sometimes, when conditions line up, I can make that connection. Even less commonly, I can capture the photographic evidence. And rarely, a photo can begin to do their kaleidoscopic grace some justice.

More often, however, the fleeting glance will have to suffice.

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THE MOUNTAINS ARE CALLING

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

Fifty Flies to Try Before You Die

Innovative yet simple nymphs, dries and streamers to help you hook up

E

very year I create five or ten new fly patterns that I test on several of my favourite waters throughout the year. Some yield amazing success, enticing me to immediately tie several dozen to load my fly boxes. Others patterns do not perform as well and as a result I either stop tying them or I make improvements to the prototype.

Currently I have in the neighbourhood of 100 different patterns which I am either fishing or experimenting with. For part one of this top 50 flies feature, I will focusing on 25 flies for late summer and fall fishing. In the future, I’ll highlight another 25 flies that can be fished with a particular focus on late winter to late summer.

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© Photo Nathaniel Wilder

Jeremy Davies

Nymphs All of the nymphs below have been thoroughly tested by myself and/or colleagues or friends with great success. During late summer or fall I tend to fish nymph patterns in smaller sizes that have less flash. Nymphing is often a game of stealth as the water is low and super clear. It’s my belief that flies should reflect that reality.

Psycho Prince Black/Orange

A brand-new Psycho Prince that trout haven’t seen before. Great stripped in!

Thread: 8/0 Uni-Thread Black Hook: 1X long nymph hook sz 10-18 Body/thorax: Black ice dubbing or Hares Ear dubbing Rib: Orange wire Shellback: Black Schlappen Tail: Black goose biots Legs: White goose biots

Hollywood Hare’s Ear Fusion Weevil

My custom nymph for Fly Fusion subscribers, also a very effective late season nymph.

Hook: Scud Hook sz 10-18 Thread: 8/0 Uni-Thread Black Head: Black bead Body: Ice Dub Fl Yellow Thorax: Arizona Dubbing black Shellback: Uni-Mylar Pearl Legs: Black goose biots Tail: Black schlappen fibres Rib: Black wire

A much flashier version of the standard goldribbed Hare’s Ear that is most effective when the rivers are off colour due to rain.

Hook: 1x long Nymph hook sz 8-12 Thread: Tan Uni-thread 8/0 Bead: Gold Weight: Lead wire (optional) Body : Hareline Hares Dubbing Thorax: Hareline Hares Ear Dubbing Wingcase/Shellback: Uni-Mylar Pearl Tail: Pheasant Fibres mixed with krystal flash Rib: Gold wire Legs: Krystal Flash

Jeremy’s Hare’s Ear

An excellent searching nymph that can be used most of the year. The two-tone colour is an improvement from the standard Hare’s Ear. Hook: Nymph hook 1x long sz 12-18 Thread: 8/0 Uni-Thread Olive Head: Gold bead Body: Hareline brown dubbing Thorax: Arizona Dubbing Natural Peacock Shellback: Uni-Mylar Pearl Tail: Female ringneck pheasant fibres Rib: gold wire

Plain Jane Weevil

The Plain Jane is designed to be more subtle in low and clear water conditions.

Hook: Scud Hook sz 14-20 Thread: 8/0 Uni-Thread Black Head: Black bead Body: Arizona Dub pheasant Thorax: Arizona Dubbing Natural Peacock Shellback: Thin Skin Mottled Oak Legs: Brown goose biots Tail: Female ringneck pheasant fibres Rib: gold wire

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BWO Killer

A great pattern for mimicking blue winged olive nymphs or midge larvae. Simple to tie and very effective.

Evil Weevil

This is my signature fly pattern. It’s simply one of the greatest searching patterns I have ever fished.

Purple Tungstud

A heavy, low-flash nymph that is best fished in low, clear conditions, especially in the fall.

Thread: 8/0 Uni-Thread purple or black Hook: Scud sz 10-18 Head: Tung black or nickel black bead Body: Purple Thread Thorax: Grey dubbing Rib: Gold or copper wire Wingcase: Thinskin Tail: black schlappen Legs: Black Schappen

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Hook: Scud Hook sz 10-18 Thread: 8/0 Uni-Thread Olive or black Head: Gold bead Body: Arizona Dubbing Light Peacock Thorax: Arizona Dubbing Natural Peacock Shellback: Uni-Mylar Pearl Legs: Brown goose biots Tail: Female pheasant fibres Rib: Gold wire

Hook: Scud hook sz 14-20 Thread: 8/0 Uni-Thread Olive Head: Gold bead Body: Olive thread Thorax: Ice Dub Olive Tail: Brown Floss Rib: gold wire

Acetone Anchor Worm (Improved)

Psycho Prince Olive

Hook: Diiachi sz 2-12 Bead: Red Glass Body: Lead and Acetate Floss- dipped in acetone Rib: Red wire

Thread: 8/0 Uni-Thread olive Hook: 1X long nymph hook sz 10-18 Body/thorax: Olive ice dubbing Rib: Gold or copper wire Shellback: pheasant Tail Tail: Brown goose biots Legs: Black Schappen

Extremely heavy worm with a new, more realistic shape.

A very effective alternative to the popular standard Psycho Prince, tied in purple.

Dry Flies

Thorax Grey Drake

A great imitation of a mayfly that comes out in late summer or early fall. I caught many nice cutthroats in late August and early September with this dry on several streams in western Canada.

Hook: Standard dry fly hook sz 10-12 Thread: Uni-thread Black 8/0 Body: Grey or Adams Grey fine antron dubbing Wing: Black antron or Widows Web Hackle: Dun Dark or medium Rib: Black thread Tail: dark grey or black antron

Fat Albert

An extremely buoyant and versatile attractor that mimics a wide variety of terrestrial insects. Great for using above a tungsten dropper.

Green Splash Beetle

The metallic sheen of the foam and the bright indicator make this a very easy fly to see.

BWO Antron Emerger

A low-riding BWO dry that has great hooking power with a scud hook.

Hook: Light wire scud hook sz 14-20 Thread: 8/0 Uni-Thread olive Body: fine Antron dubbing BWO olive Wing: Dun antron Hackle: light or medium dun Rib: Black thread Tail: Olive antron yarn

Hook: 2x long dry fly hook sz 4-12 Thread: Uni-Thread 6/0 or 8/0-color of your choice Body: Foam color of your choicetwo layers Wing: Antron yarn Legs: Rubber legs Indicator: Bright colored foam

Dry fly fishing in late summer into fall can be a very challenging but rewarding experience. The water is typically low and clear; trout are often spooky or cautious. At this time of year, trout have been pursued by anglers through the spring and summer, which also adds to their wariness. Insects also tend to be smaller at this time of year, which only adds to the difficulty. The notable exceptions are terrestrials such as grasshoppers and ants which are still finding their way onto our streams on hot or windy days. Dries designed for fishing at this time must consider all of these factors.

om Visit flyfusionmag.c tterns! for 3 more dry fly pa

Hook: Standard dry fly hook sz 12-16 Thread: Uni-thread Black 8/0 Body: Ice Dub Olive Hump: Green Metallic Loco Foam Legs: micro rubber black Strike Indicator: Orange or Yellow Foam Tail: Krystal Flash (optional)

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A

few years ago, we ran into Drew Allman in Colorado, where we were introduced to his work. To the benefit of tiers around North America, he is a master craftsman and fly tier who combined is passions to produce some of the most stunning tying benches.

He is a fly-tying desk maker who understands that the fly-tying experience begins with a functional work space.

There are, of course, those moments in the back country when a tree branch and an old-school c-clamp vise are what’s required, but that’s not what we’re talking about here. These desks are for that unique space in the lodge, home or cabin dedicated to your tying craft.

They are what rooms are designed around.

Whether your desk is fly-tying messy, as ours often is, or pristinely neat, with each tool and piece of material in its place, Drew’s designs accommodate.

He believes a desk must be truly functional, beautiful and designed around how you tie. Each desk is hand-crafted based on years of feedback from professional and

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

amateur fly tiers across North America, with a focus on tying needs, habits, and preferences.

The form and function of a tying desk creates the cornerstone of an enhanced tying experience.

Each of Drew’s desks are made from kiln-dried, grade-A wood that undergoes rigorous inspection prior to being selected for use. His specialty is custom fly-tying desks made with reclaimed wood, steel and live edge slabs. He crafts every drawer from hardwoods using dovetail joinery that results in strong furniture created to last generations.

What caught our attention in Denver so many years ago is that Drew is not chasing money, but instead crafting an experience through the desks and benches he creates. He is on a genuine mission to provide tiers with a one-of-akind environment that will allow them to become lost in their tying experience. Ultimately, he is using his talents to provide the option of a stress-free sanctuary for those of us who tie. For that we tip our worn-out fly-fishing hats to Drew: www.tie-craft.com

Thorax Weevil

Black Gnat Antron Emerger

Hook: Standard dryfly hook sz 10-20 Thread: 8/0 Uni-Thread Black Body: Olive antron dubbing Thorax: Arizona Dubbing Natural Peacock Wing: White antron Hackle: Grizzly Tail: Black antron Rib: Black thread

Hook: Light wire scud hook sz 14-20 Thread: Uni-Thread 8/0 black Body: Antron dubbing black Hackle: black Wing: Florescent orange or pink antron yarn Tail: Black antron fibers

A very subtle general dun pattern that is great for fishing in tail outs of most streams.

Arizona Dot

An extremely simple and effective midge imitation.

A great dry for arctic grayling, the Black Gnat Antron Emerger can be used to imitate both Midges and Trico’s, when necessary.

Hook: Scud hook sz 12-18 Thread: Uni-Thread 8/0 Olive or black Body: Arizona Dubbing Natural Peacock Wing/indicator: orange antron yarn Hackle: Grizzly

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Streamers I do not fish much with streamers in the fall as most of my focus is fishing with smaller nymphs or stalking spooky fish in clear water with tiny dries. However, if I do get the chance to target big bulls and the occasional larger, aggressive brown, I want to have a box of streamers that I feel confident with. In these incidences my patterns have primarily centred around minnow imitations. The patterns below are all proven trout producers which deserve a try in your favourite waters.

Brook Trout Wart

A tiny streamer pattern that is great for small brookies. I did very well with this fly in September 2016, fishing a high mountain lake for brookies and cutthroats.

Hook: 2 X long Nymph or scud Hook sz 10 to 12 Thread: Black or Olive Uni-Thread 8/0 Head: micro eyes brass or lead Body: Light Peacock Arizona Dubbing Hackle: grizzly or black Rib: Fine gold wire Legs: Uni-Flexx Dark brown or black Tail: Olive Marabou, krystal Flash (optional)

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Big Head Bugger

The ultimate streamer for targeting big bulls in late summer and early fall. This streamer will catch this large char even in the deepest pools.

Hook: 3X long Streamer hook sz 2 Head: large silver or black nickel cone Thread: Unithread 8/0 red Weight: Lead wrapped over hook shank Body: White chenille Collar: White antron hackle Hackle: Grizzly or black Tails: White Marabou with krystal flash Rib: gold wire

Still Setting the Standards Great Fishing Outstanding Guides Excellent Food & Service Conservation Leadership Scuba Diving & Eco Tour Packages Available

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Marabou Mickey

Bugger Worm

A much more lifelike version of the standard Mickey Finn. A fabulous brown trout streamer.

An awesome streamer for fishing under an indicator the entire season.

Hook: 3x long streamer hook sz 8-12 Thread: 8/0 Uni-Thread black or tan Head: Gold or Silver bead Weight: lead (optional) Head: Bead in gold, red or black Body: Ice Dub Minnow Belly Wings: yellow and Red Marabou Tail: Yellow Marabou with Krystal Flash

Hook: 3X long Streamer hook sz 8 to 12 Thread: Unithread 8/0 Red or black Head: Bead colour of your choice Weight: Lead wrapped over hook shank Body: Micro red chenille Hackle: Grizzly or black Tails: Red Marabou Legs: Red UniFlexx Rib: fine gold wire

Simi Minnow

A simple, lifelike and very effective minnow imitation.

Hook: 3x long streamer hook sz 4-12 Thread: 8/0 Uni-Thread red Weight: lead (optional) Head: black or black nickel bead Body: Silver holographic tinsel Thorax: Simi Seal Minnow Tail: Yellow Marabou with Krystal Flash

Other than hanging out with my eight-year-old son Will, there is little I enjoy more than spending hours at the vise, creating new and exciting fly patterns. I am always trying to improve my patterns so I can have the most productive trip possible on all the streams I fish. This is especially true during low, clear water in late fall/early spring. A nymph that is big and flashy might attract fish during high murky water in early summer but will likely scare or spook them in early fall.

When creating any pattern, you always have to anticipate the conditions as well as the bugs on the water. I have supplied you with 25 tried and tested flies. Try them and test them for yourself and if you feel you can improve them, go for it!

ON THE VISE

Dana Harrison Dana feels that he is not just a fly fisher and tyer, 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.

Confessions from a Wing Nut

W

hen I first started tying dry flies, I stuck to two styles of wings: deer hair and parachute.

This wasn’t because the deer hair (or elk hair) wing and the parachute wing caught all the fish, rather, I tied them

Elk Hair Caddis Hook: Tiemco TMC103BL #17 Thread: UTC 70D - Brown Wing: Nature’s Spirit - Elk Hair Body: Ice Dub - Pheasant Hackle: Metz Saddle Hackle - Badger

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

exclusively because I found them the easiest to tie. Wings can be a challenge for any tyer, novice or advanced, whether it’s the wing placement, proportions, thread control, material-handling…or all of the above. That old adage that when you find something you are comfortable with, you stick with it, was as true for me

as for anyone else.

But I did like tying parachutes. While parachutes have a bit of a reputation for being tough to tie—getting the posts to stand straight tends to frustrate some—for whatever reason, they just made sense to me. And as far as the elk hair, it’s simply a dry fly staple I forced myself to learn.

Caddis shack Where I grew up—and where I still call home today— is only minutes from the mighty Columbia River in southern B.C. Here the caddis hatches are prolific and (particularly if you’re a fly tyer) profound. During a hatch event, when the river boils and bubbles with hundreds of fish taking innumerable caddis, your imitation has to be spot on. The deer hair/elk hair wing style can be used on a variety of flies, but the most well-known is the elk hair caddis. It’s an uber-classic; a simple pattern with few materials, but getting them all to come together does require a bit of patience.

Once you have the style dialled, however, whipping up a dozen elk hair caddis a great way to quickly fill a fly box with a tried-and-true standard. But don’t limit yourself to caddis, the deer or elk hair wing can be applied to all sorts of patterns. Two of my favourite flies that utilize this style of wing are Amy’s Ant and the Hippie Stomper.

In Todd we trust The elk hair wing is a classic, but I was also drawn to the parachute style of dry flies, perhaps because they looked a bit more modern than some of the traditional patterns—in other words, because I thought they looked cool. Regardless, I figured out how to quickly tie one up. As an admittedly lazy fly tyer, the faster I can produce a pattern, the better. Because I had an early preference for parachutes, I can now tie a Parachute Adam’s faster than the traditional Adam’s with the split wings.

As far as I could discern, the origins of the parachute style go back to a female Scottish tyer named Helen Todd. The evolution of tying-in a post and the surrounding hackle was thanks to Ms. Todd’s interest

and research regarding the American idea that hackle which was tied in as “spent” would yield more fish.

Anglers will have to decide for themselves whether or not this is true, but personally, I favour the parachute over any other wing style. My go-to dry flies, the ones that I can always fish confidently, are the Purple Haze and Parachute Adams. Many other patterns, such as the March Brown, can also be tied as a parachute.

Wally’s world Whether they know its name or not, most fly anglers love a good Wally Wing mayfly. Simple, artistic and super fishy, the Wally Wing has a special place in my heart, but when I first encountered a fly with a Wally Wing, I figured the pattern was way above my skill set. I didn’t think I would ever be able to tie one.

Turns out that it wasn’t nearly as hard as I imagined; moreover, after playing around with Wally Wings for a while, I discovered the Wonder Wing technique. What differentiates the two methods (which both culminate in a similar-looking finished product) is the number of feathers used. The wonder wing uses two feathers, while the Wally Wing uses only one, separated into two wings. Each style has its place in fly tying and when employed properly, brings the level of realism up a notch.

The Wally Wing was invented by Canadian Wally Lutz sometime in the 1970s, but to be honest, I have a hard time believing that the technique wasn’t utilized until then. To me the style absolutely screams traditional fly tying.

The other part of the Wally Wing’s origin story that was a bit nebulous was any information on Mr. Lutz himself.

For a guy that (supposedly) invented Parachute March Brown one the greatest wing techniques in the Hook: Tiemco TMC103BL #13 history of tying, there is very little in the Thread: Semperfli NanoSilk 18/0 - Brown history books that I could find about Post: Calf Hair - Orange him. What I could uncover was that he Tail: Moose Mane Body: Semperfli Kapok Dubbing was a railroader: a locomotive engineer - March Brown who also dabbled in photography and Hackle: Metz Saddle Hackle - Brown who still gets out fishing from time to

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Wally Wings Adams FEATURED RECIPE Recipe Hook: Umpqua XT050 BN5X STUBBY T #14 Thread: Semperfli NanoSilk 18/0 - Black Wing: Mallard Flank

Tail: CDL Body: Semperfli Kapok Dubbing - Adams Hackle: Metz Saddle Hackle Grizzly

Step 1: Secure your hook in the vise and create thread based from one eye length behind the eye to about the halfway point. End a little behind the eye.

Step 2: To prep the mallard flank, strip off all the fluff from the bottom end. Then preen back the fibres, while stroking them upward slightly. Tie in the mallard an eye length behind the eye leaving a shank length of mallard hanging out the front.

Step 3: Wrap back towards the bend a few millimetres

then trim the mallard off at an angle. Continue to wrap back, covering the mallard and making a slight ramp.

Step 4: Select your tailing fibres of choice, these being CDL. Tie them in over the bend of the hook and wrap forward to lock them in, keeping the slight ramp.

Step 5: Trim off the excess tail fibres and return the thread to the back of the hook. Now create a dubbing noodle of Adams’ coloured dubbing and wrap forward to just before the mallard. Again, try to keep the ramp in place.

Step 6: Select a grizzly hackle of suitable size for your fly. Strip off some of the fibres and tie it in right behind the mallard.

Step 7: Create a thread dam in front of the mallard to stand the wing upright.

Step 8: Create a small dubbing noodle of Adams’ coloured dubbing and dub in front of the mallard wing ending near the eye.

Step 9: Wrap the grizzly hackle several times behind the mallard then once or twice in front. Capture the hackle with your thread before the eye and secure it in place.

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Royal Wulff Hook: Tiemco TMC103BL #13 Thread: Semperfli NanoSilk 18/0 - Black Wing: Calf Body Hair Tail: Golden Pheasant Tippet Body: Peacock Herl Body Accent: Red Floss Hackle: Metz Saddle Hackle - Brown

Origami Wing Caddis Hook: Umpqua XT050 BN5X STUBBY T #14 Thread: Semperfli NanoSilk 18/0 - Brown Butt: Semperfli Kapok Dubbing - Caddis Green Underwing: CDC Feathers - Dark Olive Wing: Rooster Hackle - Origami Style Body: SLF Squirrel Dubbing - Brown Thorax: SLF Squirrel Dubbing (in a dubbing loop) - Brown

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

time.(If anyone reading this knows Mr. Lutz, it would be great to confirm this information). As Lutz was also a commercial tyer at one point, it’s plausible that many of us throwing dries in the 1980s—certainly those of us north of the border—have been fortunate enough to have fished Wally Wing-style fly tied by the man himself.

I would have been too young to have counted myself in that group, but I am honoured to carry on the Wally Wing tradition and the technique today.

Battle Royal The Royal Wulff is a fly that has always piqued my attention, for a number of reasons. For one, I recall numerous variations of royal-style flies in my dad’s fly box. These were probably Royal Coachmens and Royal Wulffs, but knowing my old man’s style, they were as likely to be a mash up of just about anything. Regardless, as a child, it was hard not to be fascinated with the fluffy hair wings of a Wulff fly.

The second reason I find this fly interesting is the history behind it, including the fuzzy details surrounding its (most likely) original creator, Lee Wulff. Wulff, of course, is synonymous with hair wing flies and for that that reason it’s understandable that his name ended up in the history books as the creator of the Royal Wulff. But there is another branch of the story worth knowing: back in the late 1920s, both Lee Wulff and L.Q. Quackenbush were working on hair wing substitutions for dry files. While Lee Wulff dreamed up a handful of hair-wing patterns which all spawned the name Wulffs, Sir Quackenbush was doing his best to turn

the Royal Coachman into a dry fly. The best part of this narrative, to me anyway, is that the Royal Wulff could have easily been called (and according to some in fact was once called) the Quack Royal. That’s too perfect, and ever since I discovered this historical anecdote, the Quack Royal is how my inner circle of weirdo fly fishers and I refer to the Royal Wulff.

Origami Wings: the rooster booster How I refer to the next style of wing is with respect.

Although I’m inclined to believe the effort involved will rack up more likes on social media than looks by actual fish, I have to admit the origami wing looks fantastic and it’s easy to see why this style has exploded into the tying world over the last several years. The distinguishing feature of this style is that the feathers are bent, crimped and otherwise manipulated into untold shapes and sizes to replicate insect wings. Origami indeed. There is no doubt that when tying these wings I was a little bit over my head, but I figured it would be a disservice to the talented tyers who produce these works of art to not include this method in our wing style round-up.

The origami wing process begins with a rooster feather with all of its fibres stripped from one side.

Next, some strategic bends and crimps are made to help form the shape. Finally, a tiny funnel is employed to line everything up and out pops an incredibly realistic-looking wing.

Just wing it Since exclusively tying deer/elk hair wings and parachutes early in my fly fishing life, I’ve managed to branch out and learn a bevy of different wing styles.

Although wings can be challenging, the routines we fall into, wherein we stick to what we know, are worth breaking out of. Parachute dries and elk hair caddis certainly account for many of the fish that I put in my net, but learning new techniques enables us to not only be more versatile in the field, but we get a deeper connection to our sport’s rich history—as the Todds, Lutzs, Wulffs and Quackenbushes before us would hopefully appreciate.

LONG LINES

Rocking a Roll Cast Simple, stealthy and versatile 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 roll cast is easy enough to learn and works in a variety of situations. But it’s not that easy. It’s certainly not easy to master.

When most anglers start out, the roll cast is pitched as a good way to get an introductory feel for the fly rod and fly casting in general. While that is true to some extent—for example in situations where the roll cast may be the only cast available to you—on the whole, building your basic overhead fly cast around the principles of what gets a roll cast out to where the fish are feeding can in fact be counterproductive. Let’s unpack this idea and learn how to execute the roll cast so that it informs, rather than takes away from, our basic overhead cast fundamentals.

Anchor’s the way By its nature, the roll cast has no energy in the backcast.

The line just hangs there, dead as a spent mayfly. This is what makes the roll cast the roll cast, of course. Your line isn’t airborne in the backcast; instead of an aerial loop, the loop forms a D, or a V, on the water and contains an anchor point. The anchor is critical. The anchor is required to help input energy into the delivery of the line. Without the anchor creating tension and putting an energetic bend in the rod, the line will pull out from its position and instead of being propelled forward, fail in a limp mess.

Slow and steady The basics of the roll cast are fairly simple. Begin with line in front of you. A little slack in the line isn’t going to matter. What does matter is your next move. You want

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

to bring your rod back slowly. I can’t emphasize enough that the pace of this move be turtle-like. Students are always surprised by just how slow this action is when I demonstrate it. It’s hard to fight your instinct to want to whip the rod back, but it’s critical you take it slow.

Degrees of accuracy One of things that makes this cast so functional is the fact that you don’t need to create a perfect loop. I prefer to draw the rod back and off to my side at a less-than 45 degree angle. This keeps the active line on the water, even in windy conditions. From this position, the rod is drawn up to 5 o’clock on the horizontal plane (12 being directly in front of you, 3 o’clock being to the rod side).

You are beginning to load the rod and should feel the water tension building on the line.

Dees Loops With the rod at 5 o’clock on the horizontal plane and 45 degrees on the vertical, the next action is to lift the rod to vertical. But don’t lift it quite to vertical. Keeping it 10 degrees from straight up will ensure the loop, when it unrolls, doesn’t collide with the rod tip. Plus this action gives you a little extra slack for the all-important D-Loop. Do you see the D? The rod is the straight edge and the line is the curve. Once you are in this position you can hold fast—almost indefinitely, in fact, unless the line gets pulled out of its anchor position. Set up properly, the D-Loop does all the work of the roll cast.

Shoulder check With the D-Loop formed, now you can turn your attention to your intended target. It is important to

remember that, like the overhead cast, the direction of the forward motion needs to be toward the target.

Turn your shoulders to face the target and align your arm and rod based off that position. Now comes the smooth acceleration and a hard stop. The acceleration and stop is similar to an overhead cast, however, the power needs to be have even more wattage. Likewise, the stop needs to be even more pronounced. Without the benefit of line already moving in the direction of the target, the stop needs to finish fast. The position of the stop will direct the line. A high stop will cause the loop to travel up and out; a low stop will keep the loop closer to the water.

But be wary: too-high and the anchor will slip— stop too low and the loop will crash into the water before unrolling.

Gear heads The right equipment, as usual, will make your fishing life easier and there are most certainly fly fishing products out there which will help your roll cast shoot faster and further. In this case, the line you use can make a big difference—specifically, your line’s taper and head length can affect how the rod loads and how the line transfers energy. In general, mass is your friend when conducting roll casts; a line that

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

distributes more mass to the front of the line, quickly, will assist you in turning it over. But beware: a shorter head length can cause you issues if you’re trying to make longer (i.e. more than 30 feet) roll casts. This is because the running line (as opposed to the head of the line) comes into play and the energy can’t get transferred effectively. While a shorter head is often perfect for short roll casts in tight spaces, a longer head will be a bit more general-purpose and allow you to put the roll cast’s versatility on full display.

Similar strokes A well-executed roll cast will look very much like a good overhead cast. Similarly, some of the issues that can confound a standard overhead cast can also wreak havoc with your roll cast. Tailing loops can show up with a lack of power and using too much wrist will mess with your accuracy. These are unavoidable truths. Get that good bend in the rod by slowly setting up your D-Loop and keep that wrist firm (but not stiff).

Dead reckoning Speaking of stiff, to instructors, the roll cast is known as a “dead line” cast and because of that characteristic— meaning it has no energy in the backcast—if the wind is up, the roll cast can fall down. If the wind is blowing into your rod hand, experiment with going cross-body; i.e. form your D-Loop on the opposite side of your torso. If the wind is coming from behind, enjoy the added lift by making a slightly larger loop. And if the wind is honking straight at you, your unenviable task is to keep that anchor line from slipping out by keeping your tip lower and your loop tighter.

Although it’s pitched as an introductory cast, the roll cast is not completely intuitive. Once learned, however, it can get you out of (or into) tight spots and come in handy for situations where there is little to no room to make a backcast. Draw it back slowly, set up that D-Loop, feel the rod load and practice a smooth acceleration to fast stop. The roll cast is the foundation of all spey casts and while it might not be ideal to build your overhead cast around it, there’s no denying its versatility, efficiency, simplicity and stealth.

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WANDERING CURRENTS

The Octagon of the Flats Picking a fight with a giant trevally 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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f fly fishing for picky trout in a clear mountain stream is akin to a chess match, sight casting to giant trevally in waist-deep water might be like getting into the octagon, where a superman punch or vicious take down can surprise you at any moment.

Contact sport I’ll never forget my first time getting into the ring, so to speak. I was backdropped by the sparkling Seychelles—a country made up of 90 or so islands northeast of Madagascar in the Indian Ocean—and constantly kept on my toes: figuratively, I had to be on my toes as I searched for the ill-tempered GTs, but I was also literally on my toes.

I was being half-knocked off my feet every few steps as rogue waves smacked into my torso. It was full contact and I hadn’t even connected yet.

Gangsters of the flats When fishing in this environment—sometimes in the wild surf but often on the white sand and turtlegrass flats— looking for anything fishy in a vast, seemingly-barren oceanscape, often it can seem like nothing is happening.

Then, suddenly, a fight erupts. Chaos ensues. Smaller fish are darting everywhere, your guide is indicating where to cast, you’re scrambling, up is down, down is up and then… nothing. It’s over. The place is a mess but the gangsters have bolted.

Fast and furious If you’re caught off guard, precious seconds can go wasted.

The bullies of the flats are looking to pick on the smaller fish in the playground, but you typically don’t get much

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

warning that the bout is about to begin. Next thing you know, the 40-pound fish that was wildly slashing through two feet of water, trying to eat anything it could fit in its mouth, is long gone—or at least safely out of casting distance, as it disappears towards the depths. Things happen fast on the flats and keeping a hyper-alert watch is necessary if you want to make the most of your day.

Spirit animals Your standard at-the-ready position is wading with about 50 feet of line stripped off the reel, fly in hand and ready to cast as soon as you see a dark shape slice by.

Fish spotted, it’s a mad dash to get the fly in the water and in front of it. If you are successful, the stripping starts fast and furious, and if you’re lucky enough to get a pursuit and a GT locks on, be prepared for the fury.

Explosive eats might come a few feet into your retrieve, or they might not come until your fly is at the rod tip, with you having to shuffle backward in an attempt to keep your pattern in play. Upon connecting, I remember understanding immediately why my guide laughed at my 80-pound leader, instead insisting on 130-test.

The GT absolutely pulverized my fly, spraying me with a rooster-tail of water as it did. Luckily, I was fishing with a 12-wt rod, a 6/0 hook and that rope of mono knotted to the fly so I could lean back and strip set with everything I had. If there’s one thing you don’t want in that moment of the clash, it’s feeling less than 100-per cent confident there are no chinks in the armour. The goal, I found out, would be to break the fish’s spirit before it could break mine—namely, by cutting me off in the nearby coral. Achieving that goal, as I found out many times, was no guarantee.

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A blessing and a curse The first goal, of course, is getting to the Indian Ocean.

And believe me, I’m sympathetic to anglers who consider getting creative to fund this type of adventure. I say do what you have to do; sell a car, cash in that RRSP, win a bet… saltwater fly fishing has increased its footprint in our industry, but in my opinion there are far too few anglers who have given it a go. While many of us associate the winter with restocking fly boxes and slowing things down, I’ve been blessed (and admittedly, also cursed) so that now, come ice-up, I look forward to the possibilities of flats fishing. I no longer dread the winter shut down, and I know my salt addiction is rising to the surface when I start busting out the 6/0 hooks and tying eight-inch long flies mid-summer.

As a trout angler at heart, for me, it’s hard to beat the mountains, but when the chance to chase GTs came up, I figured it was a once-in-a-lifetime trip. Silly me. After experiencing the thrill of the hunt against the backdrop of one of the most incredible destinations on earth, there was no way I was going to be able to stop dreaming about the next time I could get in the octagon.

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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.

Springing Ahead on Fall Fishing

C

all me eager, call me impatient, just don’t call me late for fall fishing. By mid summer, without fail, I am already thinking about how the fall fishing will be. As August slips into September, I am waiting and watching for water temperatures to slowly start dropping. After four decades of chasing stillwater trout I have found that the best fall fishing does not occur until surface temperatures dip below 50°F. Some years, the good fishing starts early, while in others years, it takes more time for the water to cool down. Dropping water temperatures re-establish the shoal or shallow water zones of the lake as the prime trout feeding areas.

Open window, cooling temps Oxygen levels are optimal and the fish will spend long periods of time foraging in very shallow water as they bulk up for the oncoming winter period and as water temperatures drop down to the low 40s, the fall fishing only gets better. On average, this wonderful window lasts about a month and a half but if arctic air masses start moving in, the fantastic fall fishing might only last a couple of weeks.

Regardless of how big or small that window is, fly anglers will do well to hone in on the small menu items that fish are selecting at this special time of the season.

Appetizers versus entrées As insect hatches are, by and large, over for the season,

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the fall trout menu is a smorgasbord of sustenance that will be overwintering in the lake. Water boatman and backswimmers that engage in mating and egg-laying flights are a special feature item, available for only a short time during the early days of fall. This menu item won’t last long! More typical late season delights are staples such as zooplankton, scuds, leeches and, if present, forage fish.

One would think the trout would chase down the biggest and most-accessible foods while on this late season open water feeding spree, however, small food items make up a surprisingly large percentage of the trout diet. Juvenile or immature damselfly nymphs and mayfly nymphs show up regularly in late fall throat samples—so much so, that their imitations have become very important patterns in my late season fly boxes.

Hit the salad bar Immature damselfly and mayfly nymphs live their lives hiding amongst the foliage of the submerged plant life found in the littoral or shallow water zone of the lake. Lush stands of Ceratophyllum (coontail), Potomageton (pondweed), Myriophyllum (milfoil) and Chara (stonewort) all provide excellent habitat for these nymphs. It is pretty safe to say that lakes with abundant submergent and emergent vegetation will have the best damsel and mayfly populations. Trout and other fish search out these nymphs as they hide amongst the branches and leaves of these underwater gardens.

Common camouflage For some reason, trout can become quite focussed on these very small nymphs—as evidenced by throat pump samples teeming with still-wiggling nymphs of both insect orders.

Fall damsel nymphs are typically less than one inch in length, while fall mayfly nymphs are generally less than half an inch long. The colours of both these developing nymphs is influenced by the predominant colour of their respective habitat. Commonly-seen damsel nymph colours include shades of very light olive to dark olive, whereas mayflies are seen in this same colour range as well as light to dark brown.

Weed whacking Fishing these nymphs requires the fly to be presented in and amongst the vegetation. That might mean isolated stands of plants, or continuous, hedgerow-like growth that are firmly anchored in water from five to 20 feet in depth.

Often, the most effective presentation method is with a floating line and a nymphing (sinking) leader, or a floating line and a traditional leader with a strike indicator. Keep in

mind that as water temperatures continue to drop, the fish will feed in graduallyshallower water. Some of my favourite lakes have extensive long stem bullrush patches scattered throughout the shoal zones.

An extremely effective fishing tactic is to suspend a very small balanced damselfly or bead-headed mayfly nymph under an indicator. I target the open pockets of water between stands of the bullrush. A light breeze will allow the nymphs to drift naturally through that open water area. In calm conditions, imparting the occasional short strip or two can help catch the attention of a trout that is cruising through the stands of vegetation.

Plant-based

Balanced Baby Damsel Nymph Hook: #14 Hanak H 400 BL Jig Classic (60°) Thread: 8/0 olive green Bead: 7/64th Slotted Gold Tungsten Undertail: 2 strands olive green Crystal Flash Tail: MFC Buggerbou Mini Barred Olive/ Brown Marabou Rib: Small gold wire Body: MFC Buggerbou Mini Barred Olive/ Brown Marabou

In many lakes there are long lines of coontail or pondweed which line the edges of the drop-offs. This is an excellent

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Matt King Flashback Hot Spot Pheasant Tail Nymph Hook: #16 Hanak H 400 BL Jig Classic (60°) Thread: 8/0 Flourescent Orange Bead: 3/32nd Copper Slotted Tungsten Hot Spot Collar: 8/0 Flourescent Orange thread Tail: Ringneck Pheasant tail fibers Rib: XS copper wire Body: Ringneck Pheasant tail fibers Thorax: peacock herl Shellback: medium Mirage Opal tinsel over pheasant tail fibers Legs: Pheasant tail fibers

situation to fish a floating line and sinking leader setup (aka naked nymphing). A slight onshore breeze that allows the nymph to drift perpendicular to the leading edge of the weed beds will help present the fly to feeding fish. This same wind-drifting tactic can also be very effective using a strike indicator. In calm conditions, or when the wind is blowing parallel to the edges of a weed line, try anchoring just off the edge so that casts can be made along the leading edge of the visible plant life. Casts can then be made straight downwind or upwind, using both floating line techniques or intermediate (Type 3) to full sinking (Type 7) lines.

Regardless of your line choice, try to present your damsel or mayfly nymph within a foot or so of the depth zone being fished. When fishing the floating line and sinking leader setup, make sure your leader is at least 25

per cent longer than the depth you want your fly at. The extra leader length ensures your fly will stay in the zone as it is slowly retrieved back to the boat.

Falling for autumn In the fall, it’s been my experience that aggressively-feeding trout don’t often pass up an immature damsel or mayfly nymph drifting by, or suspended in, the water column. It’s also been my experience that the size and shape of a pattern is much more important than colour when it comes to the fall fishing period. More critical still, is making sure you can be there to experience this special season. If I seem anxious for the summer heat to curtail, it’s only because I know the fall fishing can be extremely hot.

Fall Damselfly and Mayfly Patterns Two of my favourite fall patterns include a balanced baby damsel nymph and Matt King’s Flashback Hot Spot Pheasant Tail Nymph. Both are tied small and are great representations of juvenile or immature life stages of these insects.

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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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The Soul of Fly Fishing

More Than Just a Pretty Face

F

ly fishers, including this one, love to gush about the beautiful places they fish. These decrees are surely genuine, but some of these lakes and streams, though alluring, are somewhat less than user-friendly.

There’s a river in British Columbia that’s a stunner.

Looking down on it from a remote logging road, I’m struck by air-clear water dancing over a riverbed of sparkly brown, yellow, and gold rocks. The stream flows through a dense evergreen forest with a floor covered in deadfall. It’s in a confined valley—at some points a canyon—and that keeps the water a couple of feet deep right at the bank. The thick bush means you have to move up or downstream in the water rather than on the bank, but the swift current and big rocks make wading difficult, even treacherous. You wish you could walk a nice path, but there isn’t one. I’ve fished this water and loved it, but probably won’t again.

It is understandably favoured mainly by anglers who are young, athletic or both.

There’s a small, dainty spring creek in west-central Alberta that purrs gently through a wide valley. When you see this one for the first time you think “What a gorgeous piece of water!” And it is exactly that, but experience has taught me that if you plan to enter a relationship with it you’d better be, to borrow the words of Joni Mitchell, “prepared to bleed.”

I took Lynda to this creek at the start of her fly-fishing life but as I learned that day, and since, it’s a mistake to take any beginner there. Let me explain. The stream is clear and only about 15 or 20 feet wide as it serpentines through marshy farm country. Because it’s in the bottom of a wide, shallow valley, it moves slowly and gently, as most spring

creeks do. While some famous spring creeks flow through open meadows, this one flows through brushy bottom land.

Its banks are lined with tall grass and willows, right to the water’s edge. It’s waist-deep most of the places I like to fish it, and while the strength of the current isn’t a problem, the composition of the bottom is. It’s mostly soft and mucky, with only a few areas of clean gravel. Occasionally you get your feet stuck in the mud, which is what happened to Lynda early the first day she fished there.

She called and I went over to help extract her, saying something encouraging like, “Don’t worry dear, that happens a lot on this little creek.” I took her to a nicer spot where she could cast straight upstream to a juicy, undercut bank. However, straight downstream was a sharp bend and on her first cast she hung her fly in a willow. After I retrieved it from the bush, then repeated the drill a couple more times, she looked at me with a smile that seemed to say “When do we get to the fun part?” I think this is when and where I learned that you shouldn’t take beginner anglers to a place you like if it’s not also suitable for them. Lynda stayed with it, of course, but quite likely in spite of, not because of my efforts that day.

On this stream you must nearly always stand in the water well downstream of your target and cast nearly straight upstream.

Because the creek is so narrow and there’s so much tall vegetation on the banks,

spotted green drakes sailing by. My smugness was palpable, even to myself, and I congratulated myself on being so clever. I waded slowly up the stream watching for rises.

There were none, though the hatch continued nicely. After a half hour or so I thought, “The fish must be full, I’ll just cast to the good spots without seeing rises.” It didn’t work.

I carried on, fishless, for a couple more hours and then heard them: voices of anglers, a few pools ahead, brought closer to me by one of the tight bends in the stream. Apparently they had started early and fished all the way up from the access point back at the road. I walked up to them and asked how their day had been. “Fantastic!” one of them said. “These green drakes have really got ‘em going. How’ve you been doing?”

“Great!” I lied, hoping they wouldn’t notice the blood.

© Photo Walter Foster @finefinart

backcasts are impossible otherwise. And forget about casting downstream; you’d be standing in the fish’s view and putting your fly into water muddied by your wading.

The fish in this stream are brown trout that see fly fishers regularly. There aren’t many dummies among them. The slow current, clear water, bush and willows, mosquitos, and the brown trout themselves—especially on bright, cloudless days— add up to Advantage Fish.

One day when I was searching for green drake mayflies, which are a good hatch on this stream, I pulled in at a popular access point and, as expected, saw a couple of vehicles already parked. No point in fishing behind those guys, I thought, so I drove to another spot upstream a mile or so, taking a rough, two-track trail through the bush that few people knew about. I slogged to the creek through the willows, swamp and mosquitos. Almost immediately I

END OF THE LINE

Naked Lunch Matt Kryger Matt Kryger After being “forced” into fly fishing one hot evening in July, Matt Kryger soon discovered a passion for the sport’s entomology. He loved to fish, but as a former tradesman, he was drawn to the tying bench; he spent countless hours spinning thread at candle light in an effort to perfect the craft. The hard work must have paid off: it landed him a commercially tying job and repping product for Casting Loops Fly & Tackle, which led to more opportunities with Ahrex Hooks and RaidZap. “I feel like I won the lottery being a trout bum,” he says. To Matt, summer means spending more time with his wife Taya and their growing children.

The Naked Line’s J.LO Chironomid Hook: Size 12 Ahrex FW530 Bead: 7/64 Brown Magic tungsten Thread:8/0 Rusty brown Textreme standard Body: 1.0mm Anti-static Bag (ASB) Ribbing : Togens bronze chirony skin Ribbing: UTC SM black wire Gills: White Uni-stretch UV Resin: Raidzap Superthin

Hook: Size 12 Ahrex PR374 90 degree Jig Hook Bead: 1/8 purple tungsten Thread: 8/0 Chartreuse Textreme standard Dubbing: Canadian brown simi seal Tail: Select Black Maribou

Naked Line’s B.B.W Bloodworm Hook: Size 10 Ahrex FW524 Thread: 8/0 White Textreme Standard Body: UTC Lazer silver holo tinsel Body: Flybox Red buzzer Wrap Ribbing: UTC X-sm red wire Head: apply black marker to thread UV Resin: Raidzap superthin

Hook: Size 8 Ahrex FW524 Thread: 8/0 Lemon Textreme Standard Foam Eyes: Semperfli 5mm yellow Jelly Fritz: FNF shocking pink Jelly Fritz: FNF Atomic yellow Tail: Supreme string Cat whisker

The Soul of Fly Fishing

Hook: Size 10 Ahrex FW524 Thread: 8/0 White Textreme standard Body: Stretch Magic stretch tubing Tail/Antenna: Natural barred Mallard flank Body: Green marker, orange marker, brown marker Legs: Silver Holo Simi Seal dubbing UV Resin: Raidzap Thick

Balanced Canadian Brown Leech

The Naked line’s Jolly Rancher Booby

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Pregnant Crystal Scud

Wes Penny’s Resin Boatman Hook: Size 10 Ahrex FW524 Bead: 7/64 Canadian Llama Metallic red brass Thread: 8/0 Textreme Standard Body: White Uni-Stretch Body: UTC Mirage Opal tinsel Body: Yellow marker applied to Uni-Stretch, green marker dabbed sparingly down body, brown marker mixed with raidzap thin Legs: Orange Silicone Legs UV Resin: Raidzap Thick, Raidzap FL. Orange

Naked Line’s Goldeneye Chironomid Hook: Size 14 Ahrex FW530 Bead: 3/32 Brown magic tungsten Thread: Rust Textreme Midge thread Thread: 8/0 06brown Textreme standard Thread: 8/0 05DK brown Textreme standard Ribbing: Sybai ultrafine flat wire Anthracit Ribbing: UTC SM silver wire UV Resin: Raidzap Superthin

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