SUMMER 2022 | VOLUME 19, ISSUE 3

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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 Frank Brassard The Bug Parade Fred Campbell Kastine Coleman Garrison Doctor Ryan Ermet Faceless Fly Fishing Brent Gill Christian Graham Jessica Haydahl Richardson Tim Hepworth Brian Hester Hooké Dana Lattery Gilbert Rowley Glenn Ueda Mariusz Wroblewski

Fly Fusion is published quarterly by Fly Fusion Ltd, a division of Bird Marketing Group Inc. 111, 7 Avenue S, Suite A Cranbrook, BC V1C 2J3 1-888-435-9624 info@flyfusionmag.com flyfusionmag.com The current issue of Fly Fusion can be found across North America in specialty fly shops, sporting goods stores and retail outlets for $8.99. One-year subscription: $28.95 Two-year subscription: $49.95 Three-year subscription: $69.95 Add $12.00 shipping and handling per year for international subscriptions.

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© Photo Hooké

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

CONTENTS 14

22

34

40

46

OUT OF JOINT Frank Brassard Although many people will flow from one discipline to another without a second thought, some purists are quick to label anything other than their preferred method as mere variations of gear fishing (looking at you, dry fly snobs). I would put forward these anglers have yet to feel the surge of excitement that only watching a big fly being chased by an aggressive predator can produce.

FOLLOW THE BOUNCING BUG Gilbert Rowley Caddis are one of the most abundant food sources on trout rivers. For many caddis species, after mating, the females return to the water and “bounce” on top of the water’s surface. Imitating this delicate dance is a terrific tool to deploy when trout are tuned into the irresistible rhythm.

SILVER REFLECTIONS Kastine Coleman “Fly-fishing for Atlantic salmon is a way to pass on traditions to our family and a chance to spark discussions about conservation. No longer do the rivers teem with silver, as the elders remember. But the present is a gift and we spend four months every year seeking this beautiful, silver fish with lilac hues, just to look at them for a quick moment.”

MIDNIGHT MADNESS Glenn Ueda Calico bass are aggressive, ambush predators that make a living off the kelpcovered coast and rock islands that stretch 200 kilometres on either side of Los Angeles. To target these rod-buckling bruisers, while most of the city sleeps, fly anglers ply the inky waters just outside of America’s busiest harbour.

NO CONTEST Ryan Ermet “As a young guide, when our boats came in off the lake, we clipped our flies and secreted them back to their box. Contrast that with how I fish now, where I’m trading ideas and tips with a community of anglers. I’ve learned that sharing the resource, and the knowledge to connect to it, is much more satisfying than measuring one’s on-water success against other boats.”

Also in this issue 8 10 28 52

Stream Lines Profiles Photo Essay Long Lines

56 60 64 66

Wandering Currents Stillwater Secrets Water Marks End of the Line

© Photo The Bug Parade | © On the cover: Faceless Fly Fishing flyfusionmag.com

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STREAM LINES

Think Tips

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. © Illustrator Brian Hester @bhester. hookedflycompany hookedflyco.com

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

I

have a friend who just took up the pastime and he’s showing early signs of severe addiction. He texted me a photo of what looks like an urban commercial foundation hole that filled with rain water. Below the photo he wrote, “I found some unfishable stillwater in Vancouver.” That’s a sure sign he’s been bitten badly: all water, fishable or not, is evaluated as fishable or not. When all water triggers a thought about fly fishing, it’s a clear indicator of you’ve arrived at the initial stages of a fly-fishing thinking problem. The benefit of the thinking problem is that it’s not going to cause liver damage or an early onset dad bod, but it’s still most definitely a condition that needs to be managed.

From one addicted fly angler (who’s suffered with the affliction for the better part of 40 years) here are a few strategies to help. These tips are not intended to enable anyone to overcome the condition but to help an angler lead a somewhat normal life with their affliction.

If Michael Scott from the Office had not already created the title for his book, the following advice could be aptly titled Somehow I Manage.

Tip one—Learn the cognitive buzz words and apply them to your situation. This will throw your loved ones off the scent of your problem and allow you unadulterated meditative time. Remember…it’s only a problem if others think it’s a problem. And you’ll only ever need to change if someone close to you calls you out on the fact that you think too much about fly fishing.

Here’s an example of a mental buzz word you can use to your advantage: homeostasis. In short, this means that the brain is hardwired to maintain some sort of equilibrium.

The grey mattered engine naturally doesn’t allow for an individual to stay high all the time or low for too long.

It’s releasing chemicals to bring the individual back to a place of “normal”. For you though, normal involves thinking about fly fishing for extended periods of time

throughout the day.

This will greatly affect your brain’s homeostasis, since one of the reasons you like to think about fly fishing so much is the dopamine release when you reflect on the time you hooked a large rainbow on a streamer underneath a logjam. It’s easy to fantasize about moments like this. And when that happens, your significant other may ask you what you’re thinking about. You don’t want to lie, but you also want your spouse to understand who you truly are (without realizing you’ve got a thinking problem), so you simply discuss how you’ve been reading more about homeostasis and how essential that is to mental health and how essential mental health is to a flourishing relationship. Work has been especially stressful lately and the homeostatic antidote to stress at work is spending time relaxing in nature. It’s a thought that’s kept you grounded through all the work stress, and the added bonus is that a less stressed you will actually allow for you to work on your relational rhythms with your significant other. Wow. If on the off chance he/ she doesn’t call you out for your advanced degree in BS, you’ll likely convert your thoughts to reality and be fly fishing your favourite stream by the weekend.

Tip two—Know when to hold ‘em know when to fold ‘em know when to walk away know when to run.

Ah Kenny, the white-bearded giver of wisdom. Applied to your fly-fishing thinking problem, what this means is learn the importance of reading the room. Know when to speak about your hidden thoughts and when to keep them to yourself. You know how often you think about fly fishing. Not everyone else needs to know. If you’re at a fly shop, you’re likely in a safe place to “just be yourself.”

Gawk. Drool. Ogle. You’re amongst the chosen few who identify with your shared passion. Pick up a fly rod off the rack, that one you’ll never afford. Feel the cork in your hands. Test out the flex. Then put it back and embark on

the new thought journey. How are you going to buy that thousand-dollar rod? What sacrifices are you willing to make? Will you tell your significant other your plans or will you keep it hidden? Oh, the ethical dilemma. Feel free to discuss it with the fly shop owner. They know better than anyone what you’re thinking and how you’re feeling. That’s why they own the fly shop. For better or worse they gave into their thinking problem.

Conversely, when you’re at the grocery store, an opera, a play, an art gallery or any other place that’s adjacent to fly fishing, keep your thoughts to yourself. The general public does not understand your passion nor can they. Talking about it in these places is only because you’ve formed a bad habit that will undoubtedly lead to your demise. If you’re at a dinner party, don’t go around complaining about how you’re there out of obligation and you’d much rather be standing in a river somewhere casting dries.

That’s poor social etiquette. Here’s the solution. A little-known fact is that most people want to talk excessively about themselves for long periods of time. If you’re stuck at a dinner party and all you can think about is fly fishing, then find the most self-obsessed bloviator you can and park yourself beside him (sorry it’s usually a him), and let him do his thing. This allows you to do your thing. You get to nod in agreement every few minutes while you sit there and think about the stonefly patterns you’re going to tie when you arrive at home early because you’ve faked a LBI (lower bowel issue…not to be confused with the sporting world’s lower body injury).

Tip three—Figure out your sweet spot. That place where you can function somewhat normally while performing your required daily tasks. For me I thought that fishing more would help me think less about it. If I did it all the time, if I overindulged, then I’d be able to have greater control over my thoughts. But that simply led to other issues which led to overthinking those issues.

Conversely, even if you fish in moderation, it doesn’t help.

For example, if you go out once or twice a week through the summer…ok and the fall too (and spring and winter), the thinking still doesn’t subside. If you have a good day, you replay it for days after. If you have a “bad day” you wonder if you’d just done this or that differently, if you’d just tried one more fly, would that have been the one to trigger the trout. And don’t even get me started on the days where you do an eight-hour float. Those are the best (sorry I mean the worst if you need to play the helpless

victim). You close your eyes after a day of pounding the banks and you don’t even have to try or not try to think, your brain takes over and replays the day the minute you close your eyes when your head hits the pillow until the moment you fall asleep. And if you’re lucky you’ll dream about it that night. Trout after trout rising to your foam hopper. Mmmm. So what’s the sweet spot in all of that?

Simple. Go as often as work and family will allow.

Does it ever get better? Can you ever drive across a bridge and not comment on the river flow? Will you ever be able to go on a family holiday to Disneyland and not wish you’d taken them to a lodge in Alaska? I don’t think so. You just learn how to live with a thinking problem.

Somehow I manage. Somehow you can too.

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PROFILES

Mariusz Wroblewski

Mariusz Wroblewski Mariusz Wroblewski grew up in the forested countryside of northeastern Poland. A Slavic languages major in university, Wroblewski resisted Poland’s communist regime and found refuge in the United States. His conservation work eventually brought him to world-class watersheds in Russia and British Columbia, among others. A professional guide, instructor and former casting champion who speaks fluent Polish, Russian, and English, Wroblewski resides in Portland, Oregon, and has the Dechutes River and its tributaries as his homewaters.

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

I

n A Fly Fishing Refugee, an official selection in the 2022 International Fly Fishing Film Festival, filmmaker Brian Kelley trained his lens on Mariusz Wroblewski’s incredible life story. Wroblewski spoke to Fly Fusion Managing Editor Bob Covey from his home in Portland..

Bob Covey: You fled Poland and state-instituted Martial Law in 1989, eventually landing in San Francisco. In A Fly Fishing Refugee, we learn that you don’t feel affinity to a particular country, or a place as defined by its borders. In that context, what can we learn about connecting to nature?

Mariusz Wroblewski: It’s a question of freedom. Not only in the political or national sense—even though plenty of people are fighting for freedom as we speak—but freedom in the more universal sense: from being captured by either geographical or political situations. I think going out and being in the wilderness was always a remedy for all the possible forms of captivity. For me, fishing was the key to opening that world and being in it.

BC: After being introduced to a fly fishing fraternity by way of San Francisco’s Golden Gate Casting Club, you had the opportunity to go to the Kola Peninsula in northwestern Russia, home of the wildest, most remote and most prolific Atlantic salmon rivers in the world. Eventually you ran fly fishing operations on the Ponoi and Yokanga rivers, overseeing their conservation programs. In hindsight, what was the most special part of that experience?

MW: Nothing can compare to going through the seasons living on the Arctic Circle. Everything is changing very fast and dramatically. One day the river is locked in ice, the next day, everything opens up. Within a week you have flowers and leaves and beautiful full spring. After the summer, the first yellow leaves are telling you that the fall run is starting and soon you’re fishing for big, bright fish until the ice once again prevents you from spey casting.

BC: You were a member of the US tournament casting team and in 2006 won the World Spey Casting Championship.

How is spey casting for Atlantic salmon different than spey casing for steelhead and what advice would you offer

those thinking of getting into two-handed casting?

MW: For me, the transition from Atlantic salmon to steelhead was difficult. The two species have very different behaviours and responses to fly fishing. The rivers they occupy are different. These days, the tackle is a straightforward game; the tools have been established.

Your success depends a lot more on fish presence and if fish are willing to take than your effort. What’s necessary is experience. The more time you spend, the more encounters you’re going to have and the quicker you’re going to learn what fishing for steelhead is.

BC: As you’ve observed, in 2022, salmon returns are lower, threats to our rivers are more intense, commercial fisheries based on wild fish are proving unsustainable and water levels are often too low to allow recreational fishing.

Do we have more of a responsibility to our environment today than our parents and grandparents did?

MW: I think we’ve always had a responsibility, but we used to have more resources that were unspoiled and untouched. It’s become a lot more critical now because of expanded extractive activities. A river without support today is a river that is going to deteriorate tomorrow. We

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can see this marching deterioration from south to north— even the Skeena in British Columbia was closed last fall to steelheading. If you love fish, if you love these rivers and are concerned about their state and the dwindling returns of fish you love to fish for, get engaged. We’re going to have to fight for this.

BC: You’ve led conservation programs for some “I think going out and being of the most biologically significant watersheds in the world when it comes to salmon and in the wilderness was steelhead. What holds your interest in the always a remedy for all the conservation community these days? possible forms of captivity. MW: I’m fascinated by the prospect of dam For me, fishing was the key removal on the Klamath River in Northern California. I have seen rivers untouched, I have to opening that world and seen rivers destroyed. I would like to see a river which demonstrates that maybe we can bring being in it.” it back—maybe not to the pristine condition it once was but can we make it better? I think we

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

all need a proof of that concept.

BC: If you met him on his home waters in Poland today, what would you tell a young Mariusz Wroblewski about the rivers he’d fish and the experiences he’d accrue through fly fishing and conservation?

MW: I would tell him the river he’s fishing and walking and loving today is not going to be there tomorrow in the same state. There’s going to be more houses built along the river, more water withdrawals, more pollution in the form of insect repellent and fertilizer from the meadows around it and in 20 or 30 years there’s going to be nothing in that river that would make him return to it. Instead of inviting him on a trip around the world to see the best rivers in the world, I would tell him that he has to protect his river, and that if he really cares, he should start a club or an NGO that would help do that work. I know it would be hard, but I know how I would react if I had a chance to be there again.

®

FLYFILMFEST.COM

Out of Joint Streamer Fishing and the Evolution of Articulation Frank Brassard

© Photo Christian Graham

F Frank Brassard Frank Brassard is a fly tyer and fly fisher based in the Rocky Mountains of Alberta.

When he isn’t chasing trout in cold, glacier fed streams, he enjoys taking traditional nymph and dry patterns and giving them his own twist.

Frank’s flies can be seen on Instagram at @bully_flies

ly fishing is a niche activity. Although the pandemic has shown an uptake in interest, it is still estimated that only about two per cent of the North American population are considered fly anglers. Furthermore, our sport’s different methods—dry fly fishing, nymphing, stillwater fishing and streamer fishing—add further nuance to this already-specialized fishing style. Although many people will flow from one discipline to another without a second thought, some purists are quick to label anything other than their preferred method as mere variations of gear fishing (looking at you, dry fly snobs).

This philosophical stance is certainly a fun topic for discussion, but I’m more interested in how the crossovers of the various methods influence innovation.

The highest form of flattery One thing is clear to me: thanks to improvements in equipment and tying materials, modern fly fishing and fly patterns are borrowing more and more from the world of gear fishing. Over the past three decades, we’ve seen some important developments in the world of synthetics.

Walk into any well-stocked fly shop today and you’ll be delighted (or overwhelmed) by the plethora of light and hydrophobic materials available. Aisle after aisle display walls of craft fur, chenille, latex, wiggle tails and rubber legs. Hooks, too, are now designed for specific fly patterns. These advances have allowed for the creation of bigger and bigger flies—flies that have less to do with mimicking insects and more to do with mimicking baitfish. Put another way, modern fly tying is increasingly encroaching into the dubious territory of spoons, jerkbaits and swim-baits.

Magic, numbers and adrenaline We can all agree that there is something magical about a trout rising to a parachute Adams. And ask any tournament angler the best way to rack up numbers and they’ll point to dedicated nymphing. In that same vein, to get the adrenaline going, nothing in my mind compares to sight fishing with streamers. In my neck of the woods, the epitome of that exciting scenario is watching a large bull trout come out from the deep and

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

give chase to a large streamer. The sighting, the chase, the take, the fight and the large predator fish; it’s all there. Streamer fishing is an active fishing technique.

You’re hunting the hunter. You’re looking for the smartest, largest fish in the system.

Spacial profiling About 30 years ago, a size 6 wooly bugger was considered a large streamer. Today, some pike flies, such as the Mega Glider, are upwards of 18 inches long. We owe the development of modern streamer patterns to fly tyers such as Russ Maddin and Kelly Galloup, who pioneered the style in the 70s and 80s, and more recently to the work of Andreas Andersson, Blane Chocklett and Niklaus Bauer, who have added significant contributions of their own. There is a much lengthier list of innovative and creative tiers who have pushed this style forward, but suffice to say articulated streamers have become more popular over the past couple of decades. These prodigious patterns often have provocative names, flashy colours and large profiles.

The other common denominator is articulation—that is, their being connected by jointed segments.

Use your platform Some articulated flies are built by joining two hooks together with a wire, others are connected by a series of specialized shanks. No matter what the method for joining segments (known as platforms), they all aim to fill one specific function: enhancing fly movement. Let’s face it: streamers tied on a single hook are limited in the amount of movement they can produce. When it comes to presenting realistic, swimming baitfish imitations, traditionally, the gear angler has had the upper-hand.

This was in part because of the multiple articulations and the use of heavy construction materials such as plastic and silicone. Another advantage held by gear anglers was their lures weren’t constructed around a long, single shank. Because of the leverage it provides the fish, the longer the hook shank is, the greater chance a fish has to unbuttoning itself. Today we know that tying a fly over two or more platforms allows one to create large flies without increasing leverage.

Shanks a lot There are many ways of articulating a fly. The method you choose will be based on your local regulations, the size of the fly and the swimming pattern desired.

Some regions will not allow for two hooks to be used.

When this is the case, you must decide whether to place a larger hook at the front, followed by a few shorter shanks, or a larger shank at the front, followed by a smaller trailering hook. The decision should be based on the targeted species. Browns, rainbows, and pike for example, all use different hunting and striking strategies. The size of the fly will also help guide your choice of hook/ shank configuration. In my mind, any fly less than eight centimetres in length does not warrant two hooks.

However, the larger the fly, the more precautions should be taken to reduce undesired leverage.

Wired vs tired

either during casting or when the fly is swimming.

Keeping false casting to a minimum (or not at all) should resolve the first issue, while threading the articulation wire through one or two 6mm beads will take care of the second. Below are examples of a couple different commonly-used rigging techniques.

Articulation Rig 1 This is a standard rig set up. For this particular configuration, the two hooks are joined with Surflon and 6mm beads are used to stiffen and separate the hooks. The front hook should be bigger than the back to accommodate more material, promote movement and maintain alignment.

There are various ways of attaching platforms together. Braided line allows for an outstanding amount of movement thanks to its flexibility, however, it is vulnerable to fraying and is less-than foolproof when it comes to toothier fish. At the other end of the spectrum is titanium wire. Popular in pike flies, this material is amazingly strong for its size and even when chomped by the sharpest teeth, won’t fail on contact. However, wire is extremely stiff. For those reasons, I find myself coming down somewhere in the middle when it comes to finding a balance between durability and flex.

My articulated streamers are aimed at bull trout and rainbows. I use braided wire such as Senyo’s intruder wire, or more recently, I’ve favoured Surflon Micro Supreme. Both options are nylon-coated but Surflon is braided, stiffer and slightly thinner.

This second rig is commonly-used in Gamechangerstyle patterns and for flies designed for fish that strike from the back. Featuring a shorter-shanked hook, this style allows for more movement and reduces the chance of unhooking while fighting a fish. Where two hooks aren’t allowed, the front hook can be substituted for a Waddington-type shank. Alternatively, the rear hook can be switched for a smaller, regular shank for articulated flies. In this configuration, the two hooks are joined by a set of 15mm Fish Skull Fish spin shanks.

Foul play

Motion of the ocean

No matter what material you choose to join your platforms together, there will always be a risk of fouling them. Fouling, when platforms get tangled, happens

Now, let’s talk about the elephant in the room: the raison d’etre of articulated streamers is that these flies are tied to imitate bait. In other words, they’re flies that

Articulation Rig 2

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try to do the thing lures do so well. For some fly anglers, this is a non-starter. However, if you’re still reading, you may be interested to know that the articulation allows for movement but it’s not what makes the fly move like bait. If you were to simply cast out the bare, articulated hooks, they would remain straight. They’d also sink too fast. The coveted movement is provided by the materials—not only which material is used but also the order in which it is tied. Firstly, like a fish, the fly must be tapered, therefore the heavier, bulkier materials are tied on the front. The idea is to create turbulence, achieved in this case by the fly’s head and collar pushing through the water. That turbulence, in return, will activate the rest of the fly, moving each section of materials independently. Using long, wispy fibres such as marabou, craft fur, schlappen or chenille enhances the action of the shank. These fibres also create a bulkier profile without increasing overall weight.

Literally lateral A well-tied articulated streamer is an irresistible, instinctual visual trigger to most predatory fish. Apart from stimulating the fish’s visual cortex, the water being pushed by the streamer’s head and large profile creates a wake that can be felt by the fish’s lateral line. This lateral line is the most sensitive and important biological function that a fish uses to detect a potential food source’s location, movement and direction of travel. The following patterns are designed with that strategy in mind.

a specialized hook manufactured by Ahrex (TP650). The front third of this hook has a 26-degree downward bend.

The dive is immediately followed by a right (or left) turn depending on the strip angle and water current. Most people’s reaction to fishing this pattern for the first time is that of being underwhelmed. Many-a-times I’ve heard complaints that “this fly swims like crap!” However, I’ve learned that response indicates a well-tied Drunk and Disorderly pattern. Moreover, the response of the fish to the fly’s erratic tracking usually quells any further grumbling from the angler.

Drunk and Disorderly

Sex Dungeon (Kelly Galloup): The Sex Dungeon is counted as among the first generation of articulated streamer patterns and I still count it as one of the best. Tied on a two-hook rig, the SD uses very light materials on the rear and heavy, bulky materials at the front. This is a true water pusher; its main function is to maximize water disturbance and tail wiggle. It rarely goes unnoticed.

Drunk and Disorderly (Tommy Lynch): Hands down my favourite pattern for bull trout, this fly imitates an injured or disoriented baitfish. The flat head is angled down, acting like the lip on a Rapala lure. As you strip, water pushes down on the top of the head and the fly dives. This head angle is possible due to

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

Sex Dungeon

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Diving differences The next two patterns are by Andreas Andersson. Both serve similar functions but are tied using different materials. These two flies are a good example of how modern, synthetic materials have changed the world of streamer fishing. The Sid (named after the bedraggled sloth in the animated film Ice Age) and the Unholy Diver are meant to dive upon each strip. Their articulations create fantastic tail movement and cause the fly to sway from one side to the other with each strip. The difference between each fly starts at the base. The Unholy Diver is tied onto the multiple-shank configuration displayed earlier, while the Sid is on a double hook setup. More important is the difference of materials used. The Sid is tied using rabbit strips and arctic fox while the Unholy Diver is tied using waterproof craft fur. Both flies have a base of chenille, used to prop up the other materials and helping provide the illusion of bulk.

What they have in common is that both flies look amazing underwater. However, where the Sid’s natural materials soak and retain water, making the fly heavy

Sid

Unholy Diver

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

and tougher to cast, the Unholy Diver sheds moisture as soon as it gets into the back cast. Synthetic materials’ waterproof nature allows the tyer to create larger flies that are easier to cast. Of course, you can always get a heavier rod and purpose-built lines to chuck those super meaty flies, but if you’re anything like me, a lighter streamer means your shoulder will thank you at the end of the day. Additionally, since synthetic materials won’t rot (apart from the deer hair head), the fly can potentially last a lot longer.

Creativity > conventional Whether you associate with the “meat the hatch” or “junk stripping” community or not, it is undeniable that new methods of fly fishing are upon us and the sport is constantly evolving. The trend of articulated streamers imitating baitfish is possible in part due to the development of modern tying materials, but we owe a lot to the innovators in the tying community who weren’t worried what the purists would say about their unorthodox patterns. The North American market has seen an increase of more than 100,000 new fly anglers since the pandemic was declared and everyday new Instagram accounts are registered which showcase the work of new, creative fly tyers. I’m onboard, and so long as they’re legal, sporting and helping people connect to nature, traditionalists shouldn’t be worried that articulated streamers are blurring the lines between fly and gear fishing. If they are concerned, I would put forward these anglers have yet to feel the surge of excitement that only watching a big fly being chased by an aggressive predator can produce.

Follow the Bouncing Bug

Imitating the Cadence of Egg-Laying Caddis Gilbert Rowley

I

t was a hot, sweaty afternoon on a heavilypressured tailwater. Myself, Lance Egan and Devin Olsen had arrived at first light, hiking as far away from the crowds as possible, eventually getting to a place where we could wet-wade amid the singing birds and flying bugs. Earlier, we threw yellow Sallys to represent crawling stoneflies and PMDs to imitate hovering mayflies. Now, as the day grew longer, the caddis were coming out.

There was the occasional female adult returning to the water for a mid-day deposit of eggs, but the majority of the caddis were hanging in the willows, waiting for the air temperature to cool, getting ready for their evening dance above the water’s surface. Little did I know that Devin and Lance were preparing for the party, too.

Nymphing had produced a decent number of fish that morning, but when both Devin and Lance clipped their top flies from their Euro-nymphing setups and tied on their favourite caddis adult imitations, my interest was piqued—particularly because they left their weighted nymphs tied below. Instead of fishing their dry-dropper rigs in a dead drift, however, my friends began gently shaking their rod tips, an action which caused their top flies to bounce up and down, ever so slightly. They weren’t “skating the caddis,” as many anglers do at last light. They were purposefully dancing their dry flies on and above the water’s surface, imitating the motion of female, egg-laying caddis.

It didn’t take long before the fish took notice. Brown trout of all sizes began rising, some of them performing cartwheels and aerial acrobatics the likes of which I’d never seen. This was my introduction to “bouncing” a caddis dry fly. Since then, the bounce has been one of my goto techniques when fishing surface flies on hot, sweaty summer days.

© Photo Jessica Haydahl Richardson

Caddis characterization Worldwide, caddis (trichoptera) are one of the most abundant food sources on trout rivers and for the majority of their lives, these underwater architects live on the stream-bed as larva. Some build elaborate cases out of small sticks, rocks or other debris, while other species live a less-sheltered existence, going through their

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Gilbert Rowley Gilbert Rowley is a guide, former fisheries technician, and filmmaker who has traveled throughout the world making fly fishing films with Capture Adventure Media. The bouncing caddis technique described in this article can be seen in “Caddis Magic,” the short film entered in this year’s IF4 by he and filmmaker Phil Tuttle.

metamorphosis without building a protective case. Within the water column, trout feed on caddis larvae all year long, but for those who prefer to fish dry flies, the real fun begins after they pupate, when they complete their underwater existence and emerge into our terrestrial environment.

Pupation typically occurs from late spring to early fall, meaning trout see caddis adults all summer long. As adults whose primary purpose is to reproduce, caddis typically only live for a week or two. After mating, the females return to the water in order to deposit their eggs. For many species, this is accomplished by dancing and bouncing above, and on top of, the water’s surface for unlike mayflies, caddis are still exceptional flyers at this stage in their lives.

Irresistible action By performing this erratic dance ritual, caddis frequently elude hungry fish. Have you ever wondered why their rises are extra splashy when trout eat your elk hair caddis imitation? It’s because they’ve learned that if they don’t eat caddis quickly and aggressively, they’ll miss their opportunity. Trout have been conditioned to turn on during these hatch times and as a result, when trout are targeting caddis adults, there are no casual sippers.

limit you. A standard, nine-foot rod can get the job done as well, you’ll just need to position yourself closer to your target. This may slightly increase the odds of spooking fish, but with a thoughtful approach, the bounce can still be readily accomplished.

Forget drag, worry about sag While the bounce technique can be performed with any dry-dropper leader setup, a long leader with a thin diameter definitely gives you an advantage. The main obstacle to overcome here is “sag,” the phenomenon wherein the weight of your fly line pulls your rig back toward your rod tip, which then drags your flies out of the target seam. With this technique, we want to keep our dry flies in the drift; we are not looking to swing or skate them across differing currents. This is why a long leader, made of thin-diameter materials,

The lengths we go Bouncing a caddis dry fly can be accomplished with any fly rod and dry-dropper leader rig, but there are ways to increase your effectiveness. Because this technique is executed by having the entire leader off the water’s surface, the optimal fly rod for this technique is a long, Euro-style rod. A 10foot or 10-foot-6-inch fly rod will give you greater reach, but having said that, don’t let your lack of gear

© Illustration Garrison Doctor

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

is beneficial. Euro leaders are made to reduce sag and improve presentation when you need to be in contact with your flies. This holds true for both Euro-nymphing and bouncing a dry fly. An added benefit is that you can switch between the two methods simply by changing out your top nymph for a buoyant dry fly; no other adjustments are needed. During non-hatch times, Euro nymphing is my personal favourite method to fish, so a long, thin leader makes sense for my fishing style and preferences.

Keep it moving Here’s a fly fishing hack for you that will undoubtedly improve your dry-dropper success: the dropper tag.

Many anglers attach their dry flies directly to their leader, then attach their dropper tippet to the bend of their dry fly hook. This setup can certainly catch fish, but it also has limitations. By attaching your dry fly to a tag, instead of inline with the leader, your dry fly will drift and dance more freely. When movement is key, such as when you’re bouncing caddis, keep your dry fly nimble with a dropper tag.

Floatant is your friend Your dry fly imitation has two basic criteria: it needs to resemble a caddis adult, and it needs to be as buoyant as possible. Don’t be frugal with the floatant! Buoyancy will directly affect your success rate, so resist the temptation to cut corners. I prefer a desiccant floatant (powder), but unless you’re fishing CDC dries, a good gel can also get the job done. My favourite patterns include a basic Elk Hair Caddis, Olsen’s Front End Loader Caddis, and Egan’s Corn Fed Caddis. All of these float high and do a great job imitating egg-laying caddis adults.

Weighty decisions The most important thing to consider with your nymph is how heavy of a fly you should use. Since we are trying to avoid using fly line, the weight of your nymph will assist in casting a long, delicate leader. Much like a spin fisher casts, your weighted nymph will carry your line to the target, so the heavier the nymph, the easier it will be to lob. However, there is a balance to be struck. If the nymph is too heavy, your dry fly will end up waterlogged more

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frequently, making it harder to bounce effectively.

For me, a nymph with a 2.8mm to 3.3mm tungsten bead usually gets the job done. Or, to simplify, try a size 14 nymph with a tungsten bead. Just remember that if you’re having trouble casting your leader, or issues keeping your dry fly floating, you may need to adjust. With the bouncing caddis technique, the dry is your primary fly, therefore, choosing a nymph pattern that you think will catch fish is important, but secondary to the weight factor.

Pole position To successfully bounce a caddis over your target, you’ll need to be relatively close to it. Most of the time you’ll be targeting fish within 20 feet of you; 30 feet is probably the max. Carefully position yourself upstream of your target, moving slow to avoid spooking. If no fish are visibly active, fear not: this technique will motivate fish to rise.

Make your cast directly across from you, or perpendicular to the opposite bank. You’ll need to be in contact with your flies to bounce them as they drift. This is more-easily achieved when your flies are down and across from you, with the water tension helping to keep them tight.

Ups and downs When making your presentation, it is paramount that you keep your entire leader off the water’s surface, so

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

keep your rod tip high as you deliver your cast. As your flies hit their target, impart movement into the presentation by gently wiggling the rod tip. Ideally, your top fly will bounce three to four inches off the water’s surface. Our goal here is to resist the drift of the nymph ever so slightly, in an up and down motion. By repeatedly pulling back and forth on the nymph, the dry fly will achieve the desired bouncing effect. Take note: if the fly is bouncing too high, the fish will usually be less interested. Conversely, if your fly is floating low or sticking in the surface tension, it will be hard to make it elevate. Remember: keep your fly dressed and floating as high as possible. Neglecting this aspect is a leading reason why anglers struggle with this technique. It bears repeating: don’t be casual in your fishing—keep that floatant handy and apply it often.

Dinner and a show Any time we’re presenting a moving target, fish are going to miss. Fishing the bouncing caddis, they tend to whiff a lot. I’ve had the same trout hit my dry fly unsuccessfully three, four, even five drifts in a row before I finally made a connection. But though this technique has a lower hook-up rate than most other methods I use, the incredible visual eats are worth the trade off. Don’t get discouraged if fish are jumping all over your dry fly and when you go to set the hook you keep coming up empty. That’s normal, and although I’ve seen it drive some anglers crazy, if you’re up for the challenge and want to present your fly in a very natural fashion, the rewards can be stunning.

Caddis are among the most prolific food sources on a river. Most fly anglers have experience casting their dry fly imitations, whether dead-drifting through a run or skating one across a seam. For many, including, until recently, myself, the bounce is new territory. But take it from someone who’s seen the cartwheeling, acrobatic aerials of frenzied fish: the next time you’re out during summer and the heat of the day starts to wane, watch for egg-laying caddis to start their delicate dance. Match this unique hatch with the proper plan of attack and you’ll have fish following your bouncing bug…all the way to the net.

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Up a Creek High Stakes for Native Trout Streams Amber Toner Amber Toner is a fly angler and outdoor photographer from Calgary, Alberta - Soft foregrounds and natural light drive her creativity with photography while trout sipping dry flies fuel her passion for fly fishing. Amber is also a conservationist and passionate about saving Alberta’s native trout and their east slope rocky mountain watersheds.

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

M

y initial encounter with one of Alberta’s native trout species was at age seven.

My father had taken my brother and I down to the Sheep River to go fly fishing. The Sheep River valley carved its way through the land behind our acreage; we spent many days skipping rocks and fishing there. I had witnessed my dad catching lots of rainbow trout in this stretch of river but on this particular day, he happened to land a bull trout—one of Alberta’s native trout species, and, as of 1994, its provincial fish.

I remember its grey colouring and noticed it didn’t have black spots like all those rainbows I had seen before. It was a unique fish. My dad removed his fly and released the fish to swim another day.

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Universal indicators Twenty-seven years later I find myself wading through that same section of river I fished when I was a kid. Naturally, everything has changed: my life is vastly different; our acreage is a distant memory, and my father is no longer with us. Unnaturally, the river has changed too.

The same log jams and boulder runs my dad would focus his fishing attention on are long gone. Residential development is all around, impacts of floods are prevalent, habitat loss and bank erosion are noticeable, and the fish aren’t nearly as plentiful. The legendary annual bull trout run I have fished for more than a decade has endured an obvious population decline, certainly noticeable from an angling perspective. Deep pools where I used to identify dozens of bull trout as they made their way upstream to spawn are now left with two or three fish at best.

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

Compounding cuts So the story goes for many of our eastern slope streams. Alberta is home to three native trout species: the bull trout, westslope cutthroat trout, and Athabasca rainbow trout. All three species have been pushed far up into their headwaters, searching for cool, clean water, seeking healthy habitat that is essential to their existence, and looking for willow-covered banks with plenty of structure and opportunity for thriving bug life such as stoneflies and mayflies, the food of choice for most trout.

Every year on June 16th, anglers flock to the east slope streams in southwest Alberta as they open for fishing season, hoping to come across fish just like our native trout. I have been doing so myself for the last 15 years as fly fishing has resurfaced in my adult life. I have also watched firsthand the entire landscape change over those years from development, climate change, industry exploration, deforestation and extensive recreation. I have observed a change in the westslope cutthroat trout I target, too. No longer am I finding as many pure westslope cutthroat as their population has become mixed with rainbow trout and the hybrid species cutbow has taken over.

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Aligning efforts Thankfully, hope is not lost for Alberta’s native trout.

A new effort in the form of the Alberta Native Trout Collaborative (ABNT) is working to restore native trout habitats and populations across the eastern slopes. The collaborative is made up of the Canadian Parks and Wilderness Society Southern Alberta, Trout Unlimited Canada, The Alberta Riparian Habitat Management Society (Cows and Fish), Alberta Conservation Association, Foothills Research Institute and Alberta Environment and Parks. These organizations are working together not only with on-the-ground habitat restoration but also raising awareness and encouraging action to forge a path of positive change for Alberta’s native trout. As an avid fly fisher, I know I can do my part by altering how I recreate on these lands, sharing fish handling best practices and educating others on the importance of native trout and our eastern slopes. I can also volunteer my time to restore fish habitat through one of the ABNT Collaborative organizations. If every person who recreated on our eastern slopes did one of the above, there would be a chance we could bring back Alberta’s native trout. Our watersheds and their ecosystems can be connected once again, resulting in a thriving fishery and an even better Alberta for our future generations.

As I stand on a bank of the Sheep River with my son, reeling in a little bull trout, his excitement is contagious. It reminds me of that time as a little girl with my father. I let my son help me release the fish and I think to myself, ‘this can’t be the last bull trout here. I simply won’t let it be.’

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

Go where the fish are.

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Silver Reflections Ebbing and Flowing with the Atlantic Salmon Life Cycle Kastine Coleman

© Photo Hooké

L

ast summer, I sat by a fire on the river with some old friends, the familiar scent of spruce burning. I welcomed the smoke, letting it cling to my clothes, knowing the next day when I put on my jacket I would smell this scene again and relive the moment. I can still feel the warmth that came from watching these old timers’ eyes sparkle as they talked.

Kastine Coleman Kastine Coleman is a Fly Fishers International casting instructor, a twotime IGFA world record holder for Atlantic salmon, fishing guide and co-owner of Tight Loops Tight Lines with her partner Terry Byrne. She is a director with FFI and the Atlantic Salmon Conservation Foundation and a SPAWN board member. She resides in Corner Brook, Newfoundland.

You could walk down to the river, catch six Atlantic salmon, tie them on your belt and be back at the tent in time for breakfast.

I breathed in their passion and energy, not speaking much; when I did it was in a soft whisper. I didn’t want to bring these elders back to the present. Everyone wore a knowing smile and their words painted vivid pictures of their lifetime on the river.

You could keep the big fish, no matter what the size.

The spoke about when the man from Nova Scotia came to the river. That was the first time they had ever seen a dry fly being fished for Atlantic salmon.

It drifted down the water like a puffball dandelion.

Nobody spoke about conservation, per se, but the decrease in quotas became bookends for their stories. At one time, anglers could keep six salmon a day. Then it was four.

Today there’s a two fish limit—not per day, but for the whole season. All large salmon must be released. We’ve learned

that egg production is largely based on fish size. Females lay 1,500-1,800 eggs per kilogram of body weight.

The rivers were teeming with silver.

Those silver rivers are now mostly clear. The elders didn’t talk about the current state of salmon stocks, but earlier that day I watched every one of them release their catches back into the water.

The present is a gift There’s always a story to share—usually with a mug of coffee, over a fire, on the beach. When the company isn’t twice my age, the stories are different. Rather than being about how many fish we can or could catch, now the conversation is how we can or could see more salmon return. We share worries about the open pen salmon cages operating on our shores, we celebrate work that local groups are doing to enhance fishways and river systems. We discuss ways we can improve fish handling and release techniques, how hard or how soft the salmon are taking the fly, and why. We spend four months every year seeking these beautiful, silver fish with lilac hues, just to look at them for a quick moment before releasing them again.

That fly you tied last night might just work here today.

Today we’re heading to the northern peninsula, just on the outskirts of Gros Morne National Park. There’s a high tide at 10 a.m. and we’ll be able to get to a spot on the river with an hour to spare. Fishing by the ocean on the tide can be magnificent. If you time it right, you can see the salmon hit the fresh water and start leaping into the air.

© Photo Hooké

The great cycle of survival

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

A salmon will always return to the same river it was born in. Hatched from an egg in the river system, it grows from an alevin to a fry, a parr. When they are three to five years old, they leave the river as a smolt. These tiny silver fish, no bigger than the length of my hand, leave the freshwater, hit the ocean and migrate as far as Greenland. Some will return after a year as a grilse, others are on cycles of two to five years before they return—all spaced out to ensure the

best chance of survival for the species. Eventually, if they make it through the migration route, avoid predators and commercial fisheries, they will return to the exact river that they were born in to spawn.

The cycle begins again.

I love to cast. I love the way the rod loads on the backcast and the energy I feel in the line on the double-haul. When the timing is perfect, the whole line shoots out without any effort and the fly lands softly on the calm water. I could cast for days. Sometimes I don’t even remember that I’m fishing until I see or hear a fish nearby and it wakes me up.

fish jumping as they enter the mouth of the river it’s like a celebration of coming home. As they pass by, I can’t help but question my choice of fly. Human nature. I change to a Green Machine, a classic pattern with roots on New Brunswick’s Miramichi River. Soon a parr—a baby salmon—tugs at my line. I give it some slack to see if it will release itself and then, slightly annoyed, I pull my line back in. The parr’s face, with those big eyes, is about the same size as my fly.

With the pinched barb, the parr slips off the hook and I release it gently. As it darts off I am reminded how important these nuisances are.

A few years from now you might be lucky enough to cast your fly for that exact same fish.

Wake up!

Impulse shopping

Homecoming The large salmon are the repeat spawners. They push in on rising and falling tides. That’s why we’re here at this exact moment, on this exact river. When I see those silver

Terry, my partner, is good at offering such reminders. Terry grew up on the river. To him, helping people fish means having a salmon grab their fly. If there’s a fish around, he’ll find it. A guest might swing a fly over a piece of water 10

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times without a take, before a prompt from Terry ends up with a fish on the line.

Give the salmon enough time to notice the fly, but not enough time to figure out what it really is.

Impulse shopping.

Natural instincts Rarely do we use the traditional, 45-degrees downstream cast. Most of our casts will be at 90 degrees. You can mend the line to hasten, or hold back, the fly. Line speed is of utmost importance. The swing is based on the speed of the current and the position of the fish. It’s an art form. There’s no matching the hatch. When the salmon enter the river systems, they aren’t feeding. Once in the fresh water these fish have one thing on their minds: making it to the spawning grounds. Our fly choices aren’t so much as to entice an eat, but to elicit a strike. A natural reaction. Some sections of rivers with faster water are better for wet flies, such as a Blue Charm or an Undertaker, but when the water is flat and calm it’s dry fly fishing heaven. Here, every movement and breath is magnified. Having the fly land softly and letting it dead-drift, watching carefully to make sure there’s no pull from the line. Intensely staring at the fly, waiting for the salmon to come to the surface. If you let your mind wander, you will miss the take. The fly will roll off the salmon’s back.

A slow-motion video of disappointment.

Did that fish just wink at me?

Taking their place I’m using about 100 feet of weight-forward floating line on a six weight, 9-foot rod. I’ve got a 10-foot homemade tapered leader consisting of 12, 10 and eight-pound test monofilament, pieced together with blood knots.

I connect my wet flies to the tippet with a Turle knot and use a modified clinch knot to tie on the dries. A lightweight, large-arbour reel and 150-200 yards of backing completes the setup. As I look behind at my backcast, I notice my three kids approaching in their waders. One has a pocket full of frogs. They pick their way out and take their place with us on the river. We share a few casts. Soon, Terry hooks a salmon and passes the rod over. They take turns playing the fish. They bring it to the net. By now, the kids are familiar with this process and can land and release a fish carefully, with very little instruction. They grew up hearing about the Keep Fish Wet movement; to them, seeing a fish played too long or held out of the water is akin to smoking a cigarette: people doing it should know better.

After releasing their salmon, the kids head back to the fire for a hot chocolate. That was all they needed, just to be involved a little. That’s all I need, too.

Look at the smiles on their faces. What are they talking about over there?

© Photo Hooké

Stories connect us

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

In the summer, anglers will parade to the rivers daily. Some will fill their tags and leave, and some will fish just to fish.

We fall into the latter category. Fly fishing is a way to pass on traditions to our family, a chance to spark discussions about conservation. Every time we step into a river, we’re flooded with memories from past trips, the excitement of a new day, the possibility of finding fish, the challenge of reading water. We choose to fish and to release what we catch in hopes that our children and grandchildren can share the same experience.

The stories we collect, the joy of being immersed in nature, like the spruce smoke from our beach fires, they cling to our clothes.

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Midnight Madness

The Quest for Trophy Calico Bass Glen Ueda

O

n a cold and lonely launch ramp, my Edgewater center console slides off its trailer and into the inky water. Soon, we’re passing dozens of dockside condominiums, festooned with Christmas lights. With the trolling motor purring, and under a low glow emanating from our nation’s busiest harbour, my fishing partner launches loop after loop, slowly bouncing his mouse-sized fly down the face of a rugged subsurface outcropping we lovingly call “The Wall.”

Suddenly, he grunts loudly, trying his best to muscle the tip of his now-lunging 10-weight out of the murky black flow. He’s not giving an inch but neither is whatever is yanking hard on the other end. It’s a brutal, seconds-long tug-of-war. Something has to give. Finally, something does. He reels in his shredded leader. Blinded by my headlamp, I’m not sure if my partner can see me as I smile knowingly.

“Dave, welcome to calico bass fishing!”

Predatory predilection Kelp bass (Paralabrax Clathratus), aka calico bass to us impassioned fly anglers, range from Point Conception,

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

about 200 kilometres north of Los Angeles, to the northern coast of Mexico’s famed Baja Peninsula. Inhabiting a rich tapestry of island or coastal kelp-covered rock, as well as man-made oil platforms and concrete rubble reefs, this beautifully-speckled species will feed on anything that will fit in its mouth—including its own. As aggressive as calico bass may seem, it is nonetheless a very slow-growing species, measuring only 12 inches after five to seven years.

A broadcast spawner once water temperatures rise to 65 degrees Fahrenheit in spring, they stay very close to where they are born. Calico bass can reach sizeable proportions— the IGFA All Tackle World Record is 14 pounds, seven ounces—but it doesn’t happen quickly. The largest recorded calico bass landed on a fly rod, which weighed in at nine pounds, four ounces, was a female that likely exceeded 30-years-of-age.

Like its freshwater relatives, calico bass are ambush predators. With their large, vacuum-like mouth, heavilyscaled, spotted and bronzed fuselage, and a broad, powerful caudal fin, they are perfectly-suited to their hostile, saltwater environment. Lipping your catch isn’t an issue as they do not have slicing teeth per se, however, after a solid night of angling it is not uncommon to suffer from a serious case of “bass thumb.”

Bundle up Though calico bass are available all year long, we target the largest ones from November to April when water temperatures range from 58 to 65 degrees Fahrenheit.

Any colder and the fish hunker down, becoming mostly inactive. I was told many moons ago by an old timer that 65 degrees in spring was key to triggering the spawn and seeing much-improved activity. It is at this time that the fish are coloured with beautiful spawning markings: vibrant oranges and golds adorn their flanks, especially noticeable as gangs of followers chase your hooked fish to the surface.

Like tuna, striped bass and a host of other species, truly large calico bass prefer to feed in very low light conditions.

It is not unusual to feel your heaviest grabs well after the sun goes down. Similarly, the action often slows again with the dawn’s early grey. Not surprisingly, then, searching for

darker, more nutrient-rich water often leads to improved fishing. Finding moderate current (not to be confused with tide) is essential as it will position fish in relation to cover.

Foaming wave surge generated by a large swell can also trigger sensational fishing. Rocks, pushed-through by the surge, dislodge any number of food sources that the bass can target including octopus, crabs, lobsters and shrimp.

Beaches, breakwalls and islands Living in Southern California, we are fortunate to have a large variety of natural coastal environments, including San Clemente and Santa Catalina Islands. Tens of thousands of calico bass call these waters home. Interestingly, some of our best fishing can be found in Los Angeles-Long Beach Harbours, only a minute’s drive from the chaos of metropolitan Los Angeles. Providing protection from enemy submarines during World War II, the surrounding

Glen Ueda As a native to Southern California, Glenn was introduced to surf fishing as a child by his father.

Today, Glenn enjoys sharing his passion for our sport, through writing presenting and tying demonstrations.

Borne from an affinity for sightfishing, he has ventured abroad for exotic species and enjoys the challenge of stalking finicky carp, pelagic and coastal species; having landed 126 species on fly to date.

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

breakwater now creates sanctuary for cargo ships while defining the harbour limits. Constructed in the 1940s of immense granite boulders, the breakwater is more than eight miles long and carpeted with underwater cracks, crevices and caves, all offering perfect habitat and an allyou-can-eat buffet for our target species. Lobster divers tell me that the largest of calico bass are backed way into these spaces, peeking out, just waiting to pummel a hapless creature that may cruise or crawl by.

Located in slightly shallower water, there are also numerous manmade oil islands, piers, and docks—all of which hold gangs of these pugnacious bass. Organized with a jagged perimeter, then filled with sand, many of these structures have wonderfully-deep bottom cuts where crew ships back in and offload expensive drilling equipment.

Combined with some bushy rag kelp, those depressions create ideal ambush points for calicos, but also for barred sand bass (Paralabrax Nubilifer), a shaded grey and equally hard-tugging relative of the kelp bass.

Foam is still home While these extensive aggregations of rock offer miles and miles of significant habitat in and of themselves, it is the “spot within these spots” which are the subtle difference makers. Using our boat’s depth sonar, we seek out smaller irregular mounds, stepped edges and tapering points, many of which are much too small to appear on your chart plotter’s preloaded software. Generated seasonally by powerful Alaskan storm or Mexican hurricane surge, we pay special attention to our electronics, recording differences in bottom terrain and how they fish—some of them do well with an uphill (westbound) current, while others fish best flowing in the opposite direction. Even in slack tide conditions, wind-driven current can create just the right amount of movement to trigger calico bass activity. Kelp will be leaning in the direction the current is flowing. We often seek the foamiest, most turbulent section of water; that’s where bass will be aggressively seeking prey. Remember that foam line in your favourite trout stream? It’s the same out here. The foamy water is also often discoloured, only adding to our presentation’s deception.

Safe access to, and functionality within, this fishery

is via seaworthy center consoles and bay boats equipped with bow-mounted trolling motors. These crafts offer an appropriate platform from which to ply these waters on the fly. Wind, surge, and swell, as well as bow wakes created by passing water taxis and crew boats, are all part of the game, so a stable vessel with substantial freeboard and a sturdy railing is essential. Deck lights and head lamps, along with non-slip footwear, help us navigate an often wet deck.

Big lumber Most serious calico bass fly anglers deploy 9 to 10 weight outfits that begin with fast action rods powerful enough to stop a big fish and yet lightweight so that you can launch hundreds of searching casts with bulky flies attached to heavy, fast-sinking 400-450 grain integrated fly lines. Also doubling for offshore duty, I’ve not found a better setup than my Orvis Helios 3 fly rod with Galvan Grip 10 fly reel filled with Scientific Anglers Sonar Titan Deep 3 / 5 / 7.

An 8-foot leader of straight 30-pound fluorocarbon with a loop knot completes the outfit.

To locate calico bass, we like to fan-cast a piece of structure to determine where the fish are positioned. They tend to show a distinct preference for the up-current side of structure, where upwelling drives food towards them. A variety of structure-bumping retrieves ensure that you are fishing where the big ones live. Many of your grabs will occur on the sink between strips. A strip–pause–strip style seems to work best. The colder the weather, the slower the retrieve.

Keeping your rod tip low and aimed down your fly line will help create a straight path to your presentation, which will allow you to feel everything from a subtle “tick,” a rubbery pressure bite, or an aggressive slam. Keep constant pressure, stripping hard until you feel the weight of the fish. Once hooked up, keep your rod low as you pump and strip, always keeping the bend in the lower third or “power” section of your fly rod.

Consistent with our mantra “play with them in the boat,” we forego weaker IGFA-compliant leaders and use a straight 8-foot section of 30-pound test fluorocarbon.

Abrasion resistance is going to be critical to your success when wrestling that bull calico bass from its lair, so softer monofilament is no bueno. At first glance, the combination

of a powerful 10-weight rod and 30-pound leader may seem like overkill but remember: you are preparing for that calico or sand bass of a lifetime.

Hair, plastic and steel My first exposure to calico bass began in the early 1970s, bobbing around in a small tin boat powered by a smoky Johnson. Chucking soft bottom-bouncing plastics like Mister Twisters, Sassy Shads and twin-tailed grubs, we caught lots of bass. From depth control to bait size to colouration, decades later, those early successes have only informed the way we approach them now with the fly.

Ambush feeders, calico bass wait in the shadows or dirtier flows, eager to attack everything from passing baitfish schools to drifting pelagic red crabs to crack-dwelling cephalopods. Given the breadth of food choices, calico bass fly patterns can vary dramatically. Only occasionally a topwater feeder, most of your patterns should be weighted to cover the water column from just below the surface right to the bottom. Given their propensity to avoid snags, heavy Gamakatsu 3X flipping jig hooks have grown in popularity and when combined with an ultra-heavy 100-pound mono ‘V’ weedguard, they do an excellent job of keeping you out of trouble. Don’t worry, these bass are tough. Used to being poked, they have absolutely no problem crushing those weedguards on the strike.

Often working the depths in complete darkness, your fly’s overall footprint is essential to its success. Sink rate, silhouette, colour, and vibration—in combination— are among the important variables to consider. Though standard dumbbell eyes will suffice for smaller patterns, our most popular weighting system is Flymen Fishing Company’s Fish Skull Sculpin Helmet Head. It comes in a few sizes, but I prefer size large and further enhance its effectiveness by powder coating (ProTec) each one to complement body material colours. Materials in warmer earth tones of brown, oranges and reds are very effective, while bright chartreuse or pinks can sometimes trigger a few extra bites. That said, an all-black bug can produce amazing results on a new moon.

Bulky, yet water-shedding bodies of synthetic fibres

by SF Blend or Enrico Puglisi, combined with wiggly silicone legs and magnum rabbit strip tails, create an

enticing offering while improving cast-ability. Some of the new curly tail accessories look particularly nice, as do Gamechangers. Going barbless may cost you a few fish but doing so assures that each giant is released with only its feelings hurt.

For optimum movement and sink rate, use a loop knot of your preference. Conversely, using a Trilene knot or

similar “fixed” connection can help slow your fly’s descent, thus keeping your fly in the zone a bit longer. In slack current or cold water conditions, slowing the speed at which your presentation sinks can make all the difference.

Welcome to the jungle Hooking and landing trophy calico bass is serious business.

What these fish lack in size they make up for in serious pulling power. Every season we get absolutely destroyed by bass that we simply cannot stop. If you’ve yanked on big Amazonian peacock bass or cabrilla in Baja Mexico, you understand. Like those species, the thrusting torque

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generated by calico’s broad, square tail is unbelievable. In the middle of the night, standing on a pitching deck, you are absolutely ruined as your slippery fly line is ripped from your cold wet grip and your rod is almost wrenched from your hands. These bruisers have to be horsed through and away from their rock lairs, throngs of heavy kelp and clusters of jagged barnacles. Line piled in your stripping bucket, there is absolutely no time to put them on the reel. Whether a rod-jerking slam or subtle tick or rubbery pressure bite, a swift, long strip combined with a hard, opposing scissor strike will move fly line and help you come tight and sink the barb. With a 60-foot cast into 30 feet of water, all these hard pullers have to do is dive straight down and you’re done for. After landing even a smallish one, oftentimes your leader is absolutely shredded.

Strip, pause, BOOM Purposeful boat positioning when working a piece of structure is everything. While many bass anglers prefer to simply let their flies trail along with the drifting boat, as dictated by the day’s wind, this strategy offers very little presentation management. A more controlled, more productive option is to aim your vessel into the wind, moving forward very slowly while casting. Once a cast is made, maintain your boat’s position with a GPS-equipped “anchor lock” trolling motor, such as that manufactured

by Minn Kota. Doing so will allow you to carefully dissect holding water.

Not unlike working a streamer in a river, I prefer a down-and-across presentation, letting the fly swing with an occasional twitch and pause, then adjusting for current by casting further up-current as required to get your fly to depth. I routinely use the countdown method to effectively cover the water column. Whether casting down-current, perpendicular, parallel, or up-current to the underwater structure, it’s all about angles and repeatability.

Being aware of the depth at which you are receiving strikes is extremely important. Are the bass suspended up in the water column or holding tight to structure?

Are they responding to a dead-drifted crab pattern or an aggressively-stripped streamer? Don’t be afraid to experiment with different looks. Having each angler using different patterns can help determine the flavour of the day.

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

Calico bass are notorious for eating your fly while coming at you before turning. From the moment the fly lands on the water and begins its descent, or is pulled off the edge of a kelp mat, always be in contact with your presentation, with the fly line and rod pointed straight towards the fly. It begins by not releasing your fly line from your line hand during the cast. On a recent trip, I watched as my boatmate missed numerous bites without even knowing it. Making the cast, he would release the fly line from his line hand and before he could grab it for the first strip, the line would flick as the fish hit the fly on impact, then spit the hook. Keeping your line in hand will allow you to detect even the most subtle of takes, but as importantly, will afford you the best opportunity to direct the fish away from cover with a good hook set. This is especially true when bass are backed into rocky structure and facing out, waiting for that next meal to come by. They quickly dart out, grab the fly, quickly return to cover, and summarily break you off.

This is a game of inches, so any slack in your presentation only favours the fish. Oftentimes, calico bass will attack the fly while swimming towards you, introducing slack and imparting a certain loss of feel. This is usually detected when you go to strip the fly and the weight of the fly is no longer there. When this happens, quickly take a long strip while sweeping the rod in the opposite direction from your line hand. The idea is to move lots of line. I’ve tried utilizing the “strip strike” method so popular on the flats but it just does not remove slack quick enough nor drive the hook into the fish’s mouth hard enough.

Moment of truth Recovering from that earlier beatdown, Dave rallies with a couple of stunning captures later that evening. Fishfriendly rubber net, flash-ready preset camera and a giant smile, we’re prepared for the moment, and as a result have the fish returned to the water in a few seconds. Calico bass are an ultra slow-growing resident species and need to be protected. That trophy brood stock female might be 40-years-old. What must a fish of that stature have endured to have achieved such proportions? By taking care of these incredible species, you may one day be able to enjoy a wonderful evening on the water after tucking in your vacationing family at nearby Disneyland.

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No Contest Finding Fishing Fraternity Ryan Ermet

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s a young fish head in Jasper National Park, competition for clients was fierce and a rivalry between the guide outfits got occasionally heated.

When our boats came in off the lake, we clipped our flies and secreted them back to their box. There was no way another angler was going to catch a glimpse of what was working for us, especially if there was a guide or a friendly from the other shop hanging out at the dock.

We’d never disclose where fish were schooled up or what hatch was taking place where. It got so intense that I was persuaded not to fish with some of my buddies who worked for the competition.

Contrast that with how I fish now, where before even getting to the lake I’m sharing ideas, tips, tricks and fly patterns with a community of anglers, and then once I get on the water it’s fun, not faux pas, to invite another boat into the same bay that we’re anchored in.

What changed? A lot. And I’m grateful for the new outlook. Although my concerns as a young guide were overshadowed by so many amazing aspects of that job, I’m not sure I even realized how much the element of protectiveness bothered me until I joined a community of anglers who held strong values of inclusivity and openness.

Ryan Ermet Ryan Ermet grew up fishing the majestic lakes of the Canadian Rockies with his dad, and at 12-years-old got his first job at the local tackle shop. Ermet is a founding member of the Stillwaters social media group. He is supported by Canadian Llama and Marlon boats.

Clout Unlimited My first link to this new perspective was via a chance run-in on a local lake with a member of Edmonton’s Trout Unlimited Chapter. This angler’s understanding about fly fishing— particularly when it came to entomology and the natural life cycle of the lake—was encyclopedic. More importantly, he was friendly, passionate and extremely generous with his knowledge. There was no clipping his flies when my boat came close; on the contrary, he was happy to offer me a pattern that he knew caught fish. This warm welcome was where my friendship with Phil Rowley began. At first, it was somewhat surreal: I’d watched the emergence of Phil’s YouTube channel and many-a-times tried to duplicate his patterns. Now he was borrowing flies from me!

Blood ties

© Photo Brent Gill

For someone who was used to keeping his fishing cards close to his chest, the idea of sharing fly patterns and

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trading tips so easily was liberating. Embracing that ethos, not long after being introduced to Phil’s friend, Brent Gill, I sent a small selection of bloodworms I’d tied through the mail after Brent expressed interest in them on Instagram.

Little did I know when I sent those flies that Brent operated one of the premier stillwater destinations in the pacific northwest. I’m sure he thought I was kissing butt to get a deal at the resort, but I plead ignorance! Shortly after connecting with him I learned that not only did Brent have an intimate knowledge of chironomid fishing, but he also was a community organizer and a filmmaker. He was the talent behind Wait4ItFILMS and the energy behind the Stillwaters Facebook group. As that group’s membership rapidly grew, and my enthusiasm for being involved in the community kept pace, Brent asked me to help out.

group of savvy Washington state anglers—fisher folk who were always two steps ahead of the chironomid crowd in the Thompson-Nicola region, where Brent spent most of his time. The way he tells it, while out looking for fish on B.C.’s famous fisherman’s highway 24, after noticing a cluster of wooden rowboats anchored over a deep hole, Brent found it unusual that none of the anglers appeared to be resetting their presentation, or making any casting motions whatsoever. He wasn’t sure that they were even fishing, until the tell-tale hooting and hollering of an exciting hookup.

Brent was intrigued.

“They had their fly rods out of the side of the boat, and it looked to me like they were jigging,” he recalled. “One guy had two rods, one underneath each leg. He looked like a trawler, until fish started jumping.”

The jig is up

Chill but kill

How could I say no? This was the guy who’d helped introduce several anglers I respected to the glories of “the dangle.” While I learned the dangle from Rowley, Brent gleaned the relatively-novel stillwater technique from a

After watching them find success, Brent of course needed an explanation. They weren’t jigging, and they weren’t using extra long leaders with super-tapered floating line to push out a heavy rig—in fact they weren’t even using floating line

at all. The anglers huddled together were all using Type 6 and 7 high-density, fast-sinking line, attached to which they had a measly two-or-three feet of tippet. A heavy chironomid was getting the presentation vertical, and because they were fishing so deep (30-plus feet), they weren’t worried about spooking trout with their boats.

“You have to be double-anchored and not budging, and you have to find bottom,” Brent learned, noting that by hanging an old bell sinker or a pair of forceps off your hook you could delineate the depth.

“Find bottom, reel up six inches, strip the line back in and remove the weight. Don’t mess with the reel and flip it back over. Hence ‘the dangle.’”

It’s not for every situation, of course, but the dangle can work all year round. When wind or current is pulling your presentation out of the zone, or when you know fish are too deep for your floating line and indicator setup, the dangle can be deadly. For dedicated chironomid anglers, it means fishing those micro patterns even in the hot summer. For the rest of us who simply like to switch things up and try new strategies, the dangle is a great way to keep a line in the

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water while you’re passing out cooler snacks.

“We call it sandwich casting,” Brent says. “It’s chill but kill.”

It’s chill alright—until you’ve got a big fish on and a hoagie in your hand. I’ve been witness to at least one unattended rod shooting off the bow of the boat because the “chill” angler forgot about the “kill” part.

“I know we say the tug is the drug but when they hit that sinking line that rod is just buckled,” Brent says. “It’s an injection of energy.”

Less is s’more Brent has a pretty good motor himself, which is why, when he put out an invite to a group of anglers to meet up to film the sequel to his fishing/camping/buddy-film, Still, in which a group of friends fish by day and tie flies around the campfire by night, I leapt at the opportunity. Brent’s films have a contagious, potent punch, inspired by the snowboard and skateboard flicks he used to devour as a kid.

They celebrate not the hardest-to-get-to angling destinations or the most exotic species or even the biggest fish. Rather,

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they salute the fly fishing lifestyle—super high frame rates, perfect lighting and tripods be darned.

“We’re not choppering in, we’re camping,” he says.

“There are no rules, you can have shaky camera angles and drop in some beats. It’s low stress.”

Hot seat, cold feet Until it’s your turn to tie, that is. A hallmark of the Still trips, and a way to honour the Stillwater community as the catalyst for bringing us together in the first place, are the after-dinner “spotlight fly tying” sessions, where each angler gets in the hot seat to come up with his or her best pattern for the following day. The rule is you have to fish it, so you don’t want to come in rusty. While a couple of the crew members are absolute magicians in their ability to blend thread and tie exact replicas of bugs they pumped from trout’s tummies, for some, including myself, being under the gun can be somewhat nerve-wracking. Luckily my chosen fly was a simple larva (bloodworm) pattern, now affectionately dubbed the Cariboo Shake—named after the tremors in my hands that Brent’s spotlight induced.

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

Simple pleasures Whereas the anxiety of tying a tiny fly with a hot LED shoved in your face can certainly cause a bit of selfconsciousness, I’m happy to count that scenario as the most stressful five minutes of my fishing season these days.

No longer am I concerned I’ll be giving away trade secrets if I swap stories with a fellow fisherman. No longer am I hiding my flies from genuinely curious onlookers when I’m getting off the lake. No longer am I reluctant to offer a friendly wave to boats who want to set up close to where I’ve found cruising trout.

What changed was that I saw how sharing the resource, and the knowledge to connect to it, was much more satisfying than measuring one’s on-water success against other boats. Thanks to a couple of key mentors and a social media community of like-minded anglers, I’ve been able to improve not just my own game, but witness those around me take their fly fishing and tying to the next level. Like the dangle technique, fishing doesn’t always need to be complicated. Nor should finding others to share our passion for stillwaters with.

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LONG LINES

Seasonal Delicacies Careful Casting in Clear Conditions 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.

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s we transition from spring’s high flows to summer’s dropping water conditions, we see changes in fish behaviour. The trout that weren’t shy to take a size 12 stimulator with reckless abandon in stained, fast moving water are now seeking shadows in clear water as they sip size 18 mayflies. For anglers, once-aggressive casts required to turn over large flies have evolved to presentations featuring delicacy and finesse. I love casting those splashy patterns to hungry, aggressive fish in the spring but as the season changes we have to adapt—just as the fish do.

While I appreciate the flurry of activity that spring can bring, few things are more satisfying than fooling a spooky fish with a long, well-presented cast in the summer. Many of us can catch a gullible fish after ice-off, but tricking a fish in lower, clearer water requires a more versatile toolbox.

Subtle setups To make a delicate cast easier to execute, start with adjusting your equipment. If you can, choose a fly line with a longer (slower) taper. Presentation-specific lines are meant to make a cast’s energy transition longer, but keep in mind they might fall short when the wind comes up or if you want to switch to a nymph rig or tie on a larger fly.

Their situation-specific features make the case for carrying multiple lines on extra spools.

If you can’t shell out for new fly line, you can certainly swap out your leader. A longer leader (nine feet or more) with a less-aggressive taper will allow for a delay of the cast’s energy dissipation and reduce casting “kick.” Your local tackle shop probably carries dry fly or presentation leaders, but even a nine-foot, 5x leader will generally give you the subtly to create a more nuanced offering.

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

Rod type can also affect presentation. The most versatile rods, in my experience, have faster action, tip flex and a fast recovery. That being said, fast-action rods’ ability to generate line speed can make subtle presentations more difficult. A softer rod can make delicate presentations easier because the slower line speed becomes the default. Slower action rods can also protect lighter tippet and reduce break offs when fishing 6x or 7x.

Position decision Earlier in the year, when the water is off-colour and moving fast, I’m less concerned how I move into a run.

When fishing summer’s calm-water situations, however, a thoughtful approach is critical. As the water level drops and the season progresses, increasing the amount of time you take to evaluate your approach will pay dividends.

Take a few minutes to look up-stream at the character of the water. Think about where you will cross or move to maximize the use of the current and the flow of the river channel. As much as is reasonable, limit your movement to lessen the chance of spooking fish.

When approaching a specific section of water, take the time to look for fish and fish-holding water. Begin by casting to the edges of water you think will hold fish and gradually work your way out. I have often been surprised to find trout in water that upon first inspection looked devoid of fish. Once you have worked these areas, begin moving into the more prime water. My objective is always to make the shortest cast possible while not spooking the fish. Keep line length manageable. It does little good to make a long cast that you can’t mend or control; usually the result is spooked fish.

© Photo Faceless Fly Fishing

© Photo Faceless Fly Fishing

Controlled casting For many of us, the idea of long casts, clear water and dry flies is angling heaven. On the other hand, if you’re not doing them right, repeated long casts can be hell on the body. Even an average 30-foot cast, made many times in a day, can strain one’s arm. When faced with a distant target, novice casters often try to overpower their rod, forgetting that a well-executed cast is one which makes efficient use of their equipment. You want the loop to barely unfurl over the surface of the water. Not only is this more efficient, it will also present the fly better. We want the fly line and fly to have enough power to turn over, but from the lowest height possible. The higher the fly line drops from, the more likely it is to splat, rather than touch down lightly.

Additionally, the lower the line, the less susceptible to wind it becomes.

Presentation preferences As we sight our target, we must consider the target’s ability to sight us—particularly during the low, clear water conditions of summer. Remember that trout have a cone of vision and are looking through two different mediums (water and air) causing light distortion. Casting over fish creates movement and shadows which they may perceive as a threat, however, at some point you have to get your fly into the feeding lane. To ensure I’m putting a fly the right distance upstream of a fish I’ve been fortunate enough to sight, I’ll often first pick a target to measure my cast by.

If a fish looks like it is 30-feet away in the middle of the stream, for example, I like to find an adjacent point—be it a rock, a branch or a current seam that looks to be the same distance as the fish—and use this point to measure my distance. We want the fly to float into the fish’s vision.

If your cast is too short and the fly drops right on its head, not only does the presentation appear unnatural, it gives the fish less time to see the fly. Too long, and you risk spooking the fish with your fly line. Once you’ve got the distance dialled, deliver the fly to the feeding lane.

Straight and narrow The best, most accurate and easiest cast, is going to the one in a simple straight line. Typically this means an upstream cast, with a presentation roughly 45 degrees up and across

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

the current. This situation presumes the currents are mostly travelling at the same speed, and that there’s enough space to allow for a backcast and forward cast.

Pile it on A straight line cast isn’t always possible, however.

Sometimes you need some extra slack to get a drag-free drift. A simple way to achieve this is to perform a pile cast. A pile cast is similar to your straight line cast, but is oriented on a more-vertical plane. More tilt gives more slack, less tilt equals less slack. Note you will need to add some additional line to the cast to accommodate the tilt, and be prepared to mend to help keep your fly on target.

But the pile cast is special for its simplicity. Keep the rod tip high as the loop unrolls and begins to fall. As it does, drop the rod tip to the surface of the water. The resulting “puddle” of line will add a few extra seconds to your drift, and give you some extra slack to play with for mending.

Reach for the chars Another critical technique for presentation is the reach mend. Not exactly a cast, because it is done after the stop, the reach mend nevertheless might be the most underutilized, and yet potentially most useful, technique that fly anglers can employ. An aerial mend is characterized by manipulation of the rod and line after the stop of the rod, but before the line hits the water. Similar to the pile cast, it is typically used to increase slack and ultimately to generate a longer drag-free drift.

The reach mend is just that: a simple reach to the right or the left after the stop of the rod and before the line hits the water. The goal is to have the fly land in the same location as it would have before you made the mend, but with the line upstream of the fly.

During summer time the livin’ may be easy but the fishing can be anything but. Clear, low water and tunedin, skittish trout often require long casts and creative presentations. By adjusting your equipment, altering your approach and practicing your casting, you can make the most out of classic summertime conditions. Hopefully you rise to the challenge and are rewarded by more than a few trout rising to your offerings.

WANDERING CURRENTS

What Dreams May Come Spellbound in Magic Minipi 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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hug, chug, chug went the little mouse as I stripped him across the turbid, broken surface of the river. The deer hair fly plowed courageously through the foam as it bravely made its way back against the current, towards the bank. Cast after cast the mouse dutifully swam the gauntlet. Meanwhile, I muttered incredulously under my breath. A few minutes earlier, it felt odd to be tying on a mouse without requiring a head lamp. Now, the idea of seeing an eat in full sunlight was exciting…but hardly believable.

While in most places where there’s a chance of a big trout eating a small mammal, mice patterns are fished in the dead of night. In Minipi, Labrador, a float plane’s ride away from the far east coast of Canada, however, mice are fished sun up to sun down.

Hyper hope Often high expectations end with disappointment. Minipi was one of those locations I had seen in a magazine as a kid but doubted I would ever get the chance to visit.

Now that I was here, and had been working a section of river for the last few hours with a barrage of streamers, the thought occurred to me that my long-seeded intrigue with the Minipi River system had built the hype too high. If the fish didn’t respond to a streamer, why would they even consider moving through the water column to break the surface and eat a mouse?

Then, a thick tail appeared. It swatted at the little foam and deer hair mouse, spraying water into the bright fall sky. A quick pick-up-and-cast sent the mouse back into the fray. Another splashy miss, another quick cast into the hot zone. This time, the fish connected! The tail swat was

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

traded for an aerial maneuver, its mouth wide open as the massive brookie prepped for lunch. I would like to say it was my “nerves of steel” that ensured I didn’t rip the fly out of its mouth with a knee-jerk trout set, but I think the term is “deer in the headlights.” As the fish splashed back into the security of the tea stained water, a firm strip sealed the deal.

The first blows thrown in the ensuing fight were a series of head shakes, followed by a race to the current.

More head shakes, an effort to bull-dog me to the bottom and finally, a few furious death rolls on the surface. The match was over. The colourful male hit the net in defeat while I stood there, stunned.

Whiffs of Wulff In Minipi, the unlikely just seems to materialize. Eats that you’d never convince a toddler could happen somehow come to pass. Whether it was a mouse being smashed in broad daylight or an eight pound monster taking an ultraclassic dry fly, we learned that childhood dreams can come true here.

We also learned to trust our guides! While you would think I would’ve figured it out after admiring the spotted flanks of my six-pound mouse-eater, later in the trip, sometime in the afternoon of what had been our slowest day so far, the guide suggested tying on a size 6 royal Wulff. We had been pounding a pool with streamers, nymphs and even mice, all to little effect. The guides kept reassuring us that this hole regularly produced some of the biggest fish in the area, so like good little guests we kept casting, but when the idea of fishing an old-school attractor pattern was floated, I know I wasn’t the only one raising my eyebrows. However, thinking back to day one

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and the mouse, we realized we had no reason—and no room—to doubt.

Cort waded out waist-deep to a rock and pulled himself up to make a cast. He had already put in a solid effort to pull a fish from this pool, but was willing to try something new. On his first cast, the Minipi magic took effect. As the fly drifted lazily along in the current, an absolute giant mistook the Wulff for a drowning mayfly. In sheer disbelief we watched Cort set the hook on what ended up being the fish of the trip. The guide slid the net underneath and attached his scale to the basket. The monster lay still as the guide pronounced he was more than eight pounds.

Dreamscape drama Childhood fantasies can’t always be relied on in hopes they will come to fruition. Never did I think, as an adult, I’d be presenting a fly to the quality of brook trout I’d admired in the well-worn fishing magazines I’d leafed through as a kid. But in the red and blue hues of a Labrador sunset, Minipi turned that presumption on its head.

Soon, the roar of the float plane was growing louder as it approached the dock. The week was over, and as we threw our gear in, shouted our final goodbyes and climbed aboard, I thought back about what had transpired.

Eventually, the endless blanket of trees blurred into one, and the memories of big, muscly brook trout were crisp against the softened landscape.

Was it believable? Was it a dream? The answer is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose, but it’s unlikely that the memory of Minipi will ever fade.

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

STILLWATER SECRETS

Dragon Slayers Imitating Lakes’ Apex Insect Predators 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.

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was very fortunate to have a wonderful mentor to guide me during my formative years as a stillwater fly fisher. Jack Shaw, from Kamloops, B.C., was a pioneer in the development of lake fly fishing methods as well as innovative fly patterns based on actual food sources. Some of Jack’s very first words of advice to me were to set up an aquarium and fill it with the common aquatic foods that the rainbow and brook trout feed on in our local lakes.

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Doug’s Aftershaft Dragonfly Nymph Hook: 2XL curved nymph hook in size 8 or 6 Thread: 8/0 waxed in olive green or brown Tail: Pheasant rump or hen saddle Underbody: built up with wool Body: SLF dubbing in light olive to dark brown to match naturals Rib- medium gold or copper wire Back: raffia Legs: knotted pheasant tail fibres Thorax: filoplume or aftershaft feather spun into dubbing loop Collar: pheasant rump or hen saddle, sparce Wing Case: raffia Eyes: knotted ultra chenille

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The Soul of Fly Fishing

Back then, we could get a permit to collect invertebrates and keep them in our home aquariums. My collection included chironomid larvae, scuds, damselfly and dragonfly nymphs, mayfly nymphs, leeches, water boatman, backswimmers and snails. I added a marl bottom along with some vegetation and a few rocks for a good habitat base and proceeded to watch how the various creatures moved, and also how they changed as they matured. I still vividly remember having adult damselflies flying around my basement suite in the middle of December. It wasn’t long before I noticed fewer shrimp and damselfly nymphs and upon closer inspection I could see pieces of their carcasses strewn about the bottom. While watching the tank one evening I observed a Jurassic Park moment when a large darner dragonfly nymph came out of hiding and slowly moved within striking distance

of several scuds that were partially buried in the marl substrate. With lightning-like speed the nymph extended and then retracted its lower triple-hinged jaw, which was now wrapped around an unsuspecting shrimp. I quickly learned that the dragonflies needed their own tank where I had control of who and how many they ate for dinner.

Jaw-dropping hunters Two families of dragonflies are common inhabitants of our trout lakes. The darners of the family Aeschnidae, and the mud dwellers of the family Lebellulidae. Unique nymphal body shape and other features makes it easy to tell the two species apart. Darners have a slender, streamlined body, perfectly-suited to their aggressive hunting behaviour.

Mud dwellers, conversely, appear almost spider-like with a short, squat body, long legs and an abdomen covered in hair. Mud dwellers are ambush predators, waiting for unsuspecting prey to swim or crawl within striking range of their retractable lower jaw.

While dragonfly nymphs are the apex insect predator of other invertebrates in the lake, they are also highly sought after by trout and other fish species. Dragonflies can spend up to five years as a nymph so they are an available food source at all times of the year. As well, they are a big food item; mud dwellers grow to more than an inch in length and darners can reach in excess of two inches long.

Molten larvae Dragonfly nymphs are most vulnerable to trout predation when mature nymphs make their emergence migrations to shoreline riparian vegetation or emergent vegetation, such as cattail or bulrush stems, to complete the

transformation into the adult phase. The heaviest emergences typically occur during the first couple of weeks of summer. Large numbers of nymphs crawling or swimming along the lake bottom become very easy targets for foraging fish. Trout also seek out these nymphs when they are molting, which occurs numerous times during the aquatic phase of their life. Freshly-molted nymphs are often bright-coloured, making them easier for the fish to find amongst the vegetation and other benthic debris.

Golden retrieval Regardless of the stillwater season, because of their size, dragonfly nymphs are always a good searching pattern.

During the hot summer months anglers can have good success fishing them during the day as well as at night.

While the sun is up, anchoring along the edges of the drop off and fishing both darner and mud dweller patterns up the slope on Type 3 to 7 full-sinking lines can be very rewarding. Match the line density to the angle of the drop-off slope so that the nymphs are bumping along just off the bottom. Darners are fast swimmers and are best

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imitated with a continuous strip retrieve between four and eight inches in length.

Mud dwellers are much slower swimmers and their movement is best represented with short, slow, two to four-inch long retrieves.

Deer Hair Mud Dweller Nymph Hook: 1X long nymph in 10 or 8 Thread: 8/0 waxed in olive green or grey Body: spun and clipped deer hair Thorax: spun and clipped deer hair Legs: hen pheasant tail fibres

Darn it anyway The shallower areas of the shoal zone are prime trout food real estate, however, often it can be too warm during the daytime for the fish to feed. At night, cooling water temps and better oxygen levels will allow fish to venture back into these food-rich areas. A large darner pattern retrieved on either an intermediate or slow sinking line can provide some exciting fish fighting action under a moonlit sky—just make sure your tippet material is at least eight pounds (3X) to 10 pounds (2X) in strength, or be prepared to lose flies. And

remember to tie that big pattern on with a non-slip loop knot to give more life-like movement to the fly.

Dragonfly Patterns Over the years fly tyers have become extremely creative in the design of realistic dragonfly patterns, particularly with darner nymphs. Many years ago I met a young teenager named Doug Wright who was already tying some incredibly detailed stillwater fly patterns. His darner imitations immediately caught my eye and some 20 years later that pattern is still my number one choice for mimicking the nymph. Doug continues to create fish-catching patterns when not guiding steelhead fly fishers on the Dean or Bulkley rivers of northern B.C. Because of its body shape and lifestyle, the mud dweller nymph lends itself to patterns tied using spun deer hair for the body material. The buoyant nature of deer hair allows this fly to be retrieved just inches above the lake bottom without fear of getting snagged up. Waterproof marking pens can be used to get the exact colour of the nymphs but the natural colour often works equally as well.

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Paws for Effect 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.

64

The Soul of Fly Fishing

Would fishing be better with a canine companion?

Y

ou’ve seen the images: a magazine shot of a handsome, noble Labrador sitting attentively on the bank while Master fishes a beautiful mountain stream; a Christmas card showing your friend’s silky golden retriever, riding proudly and patiently in the front of the boat, helping Master scan the lake for risers; or the video of a cute and faithful spaniel carefully “kissing” every fish Master catches. There are tiresome stories of dogs that point and retrieve fish, yuk yuk, ha ha. I’d probably say the whole “fishing dog” thing is urban myth, a concoction of social media, except I know several of them, dogs and people.

When I see these images I feel sorry for myself, deprived even. Dogs are a big part of my life and so is fly fishing, yet I’ve never had a “fishing dog.” Every once in awhile though, I wistfully imagine one of my dogs coming along on a day of fishing for purposes of companionship and photo-ops.

My first imaginary trip is to a pretty, small lake in a pretty small boat, just Charley and me. Charley was a big, furry, slightly clumsy Brittany with a poor sense of direction who liked to sit on things. He’d have found a small boat particularly fascinating. This pastoral scene starts out pleasantly enough, the boat anchored off a nice shoal and Charley sitting on the cooler. The lake is surrounded by pretty green hills that will make a nice background for the upcoming photos. But before long Charley gets antsy and starts pacing in the boat. This could mean boredom, or the pressing need for a poop. I start to row quickly toward shore, which is when the expedition

pivots toward its inevitable conclusion: chaos in a small space. There are no Instagram posts of this day because the expensive camera that was supposed to take the photos is at bottom of the lake, flipped overboard by a loop of loose fly line that “There are no Instagram wrapped first around posts of this day because Charley’s foot, then his the expensive camera that ear, then an oarlock, two fly rods and my was supposed to take the sunglasses, when he photos is at bottom of made a sudden lunge the lake, flipped overboard at a passing dragonfly.

There is additional by a loop of loose fly line damage: a soggy that wrapped first around lunch, a broken rod, Charley’s foot, then his ear, an unexpected swim, a missing boat plug. End then an oarlock, two fly of fishing-dog fantasy rods and my sunglasses, number one. when he made a sudden My dogs, you understand, have all lunge at a passing been hunting dogs, but dragonfly.” not the polite retrievers that are trained to sit quietly in the duck blind until the birds arrive. They are upland-bird dogs, and specifically, pointing dogs that are more, shall we say, pro-active, than the mannerly retriever just mentioned. They don’t wait for the birds to arrive; they go and find the birds. So maybe that gets them a pass on

the idea of riding quietly in a boat. Maybe a nice day on a trout stream would be better?

Fishing-dog fantasy number two: I’m with Reuben, a setter and the fastest, most athletic of the dogs we’ve owned. Oblivious to the fact that the places I fish are very similar to—or at least to a bird-dog look very similar to— the places I hunt, off we go along a brown-trout stream in the foothills. Or, shall I say, off Reuben goes. He’s out of sight before I strip line off my reel, rocketing through the woods seeking grouse scent. I have two choices. I can ignore him, assuming that he’ll be back at some point, or I can worry about what he’s up to. I choose the latter and try to follow him. Luckily he’s wearing his “beeper collar,” a clever device that makes a loud, annoying sound every seven seconds so I can keep track of him audibly when I can’t visibly. The beeper tells me that he’s getting farther and farther away. I stumble along, wishing I had brought my whistle, falling and tearing my waders. The idea of fishing has now evaporated entirely. Eventually the beeper changes to the different sound it makes when the dog is stationary. This sound is called, optimistically,

Alberta's Native Trout

the “point signal.” The collar stays in this mode for the several minutes it takes me to bash my way through the bush. I finally find him, indeed on point and looking rather grand. In a farmer’s yard. At the chicken coop.

With the farmer coming out of the shop to find out what all the noise is about. End of fishing-dog fantasy number two.

Maybe it would have been better with Nash, an elegant white setter whose life’s calling other than hunting was, in the words of George Carlin, “just waiting around to get in on stuff,” or with Rosie, an orange and white pointer from Oklahoma who was the most (don’t take this the wrong way) “cat-like” of our dogs, sort of stoic and snobby, unwilling to consider any activities beyond hunting worthy of her attention. Could I have turned one of them into a fishing dog? Maybe, but I doubt it.

I should have started the process of developing fishing dogs when mine were pups, but I didn’t, and now that I’m likely on my final dog, I expect it’s too late. So I tip my hat to fly fishers who do have fishing dogs, freely acknowledging my jealousy.

are a big part of what makes the backcountry in Alberta so incredible.

Learn more about how to protect Alberta’s native trout and their habitat at: AlbertaNativeTrout.com

END OF THE LINE

Thursday Night Live Tim Hepworth & Dana Lattery Tim Hepworth Tim was born in Alberta to a family infused with the outdoors. He loves people, is passionate about the outdoors and strives to be an ambassador for sustaining it. Most of all, he loves fishing with his daughter Wren. When Tim isn’t on the river searching for trout, he’s in the TNL studio tying flies on his Norvise.

Foam is Home Stone Hook: Ahrex 531 Sedge Dry Fly Hook - 8 Thread: UTC Ultrathread 70 Denier - Burnt Orange Tail: Speckled Centipede Legs Speckled Tan/Brown - Medium

Body: Rainy’s Cross-Link Sheet Foam - Cinnamon - 1 mm Underwing: Rainy’s Cross-Link Sheet Foam - Tan - 1 mm Wing: Nature’s Spirit Select Cow Elk - Natural

Head: Rainy’s Cross-Link Sheet Foam - Cinnamon - 2 mm Legs: Round Rubber Legs Brown - Medium

Complex Twist Bugger Articulated​ Hook: Daiichi 2461 - Long Shank Streamer Hook - 1/0 Hook: Daiichi 2461 - Long Shank Streamer Hook - 1 Thread: UTC Ultrathread 140 Denier - Tan

Cone: Brass Cone Heads - Fl. Pearl White - Large (1/4”) Weight: Lead Wire Spool - .020 Tail: Hare’s Mask Grade #1 - Natural Tail/Body: Fish Hunter Premium Strung Marabou - Tan

Body: Solid and Krystal Tinsel Chenille - Gold Body: UV Polar Chenille - Gold Body: Fish Hunter Select Schlappen – Tan

Chubby Chernobyl

Dana Lattery Born in Alberta and raised in the backcountry, fishing, hunting, nature and the wild all run thick in Dana’s blood. A former professional hockey player now working as a professional guide, he loves to serve clients alongside the rivers of Southern Alberta. When not searching for a big brown trout, you’ll find him in the TNL Studio.

66

The Soul of Fly Fishing

Hook: TMC 5263 #6-12 Thread: 6/0 UNI Tan Tail: Pearl Krystal Flash Body: Cinnamon Foam, 2mm

Body Dubbing: Gold Synthetic, Legs: Pumpkin Sili Legs I used Harrop Nymph Dubbing Wing: White McFlylon or White here Strike Indicator Yarn

Foamulator Hook: TMC 5212 #6-14 Thread: 70 Denier Florescent Fire Orange Butt: Florescent Fire Orange Antron Dubbing Tail: Natural Deer Hair Overbody: 2mm Tan Fly Foam Rib: Copper Wire, extra fine

Abdomen: Tan Antron Dubbing Body Hackle: Brown Rooster Saddle or Neck Flash: Pearl and Gold Krystal Flash Underwing: Tan Mottled Web Wing

Legs: Medium Orange Barred Rubber Legs Overwing: Natural Deer Hair Indicator: Orange Float Viz Front Hackle: Grizzly Rooster Neck or Saddle Thorax: Florescent Fire Orange Antron Dubbing

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