flyfusion

My own father passed quite a few years before I ever learned to fly fish. I joined the Cornhusker Fly Fishers in Nebraska because I had always wanted to learn. It looked so cool, almost like poetry in motion. I even bought my first fly rod and reel before I really knew how to use them. Ed was this tall, slender member of the club. He became my father figure. We tied flies together. He showed me the small details and the tricks of the art. One night after a meeting, he saw me struggling and walked over. “Let me show you how this is done.” Five minutes with someone who knew what they were doing, and something clicked. I felt like I could do this. And I did. I’ve been fly fishing for years now, often with Ed. We’ve represented the Cornhusker Fly Fishers at events across the state, sharing our love of the sport. I even followed in his footsteps, running for and serving as the club’s president. What made that moment meaningful wasn’t just learning how to tie or cast. It was finally learning something I had always wanted to do, and doing it right. Ed made it all feel comfortable. – Mike L. | Bellevue, WA The post Father’s Day Collection | Mike L. appeared first on Fly Fusion. View the full article

Me and daddy go fishing at lakes. I like putting flies on fly rods. My most favorite part is going in the boat and holding the fish and taking pictures of me holding the fish. I see fishies and water and also boats out in the lake. I feel happy to be fishing with daddy and it’s just me and daddy and we’re fishing buddies. Taya (5), Salmon Arm, BC The post Father’s Day Collection | Taya appeared first on Fly Fusion. View the full article

Lance Robertson has acquired the R.L. Winston Rod Co. Robertson is a longtime business leader, engineer and passionate fly angler. He and his family live near Twin Bridges, Montana. “My family and I are excited to have the opportunity to be part of the Winston family,” Robertson said. “We look forward to helping people enjoy their outdoor pursuits and build cherished memories through great products. We look forward to our stewardship of the company as those before us have done, maintaining the company as a family-owned business since its founding. We are focused on maintaining the innovative spirit of the company and products of the highest quality. In addition, we will be purposeful in engaging our customers early in our tenure to understand how best the company can serve their needs in the future. “The R.L. Winston Rod Company has a compelling team in place, delivering among the best rods and reels they have ever produced, positioning the company well for a bright future,” Robertson said. “We anticipate the entire Winston team remaining with company moving forward. As part of today’s announcement, I would like to share that Andy Wunsch, general manager, will continue with the company in the role of president and general manager.” “I am really excited about the future for Winston!” said Winston and Bauer President/General Manager Andy Wunsch. “Having been here for almost two years, we have an amazing team that takes great pride in their work. We look forward to continuing building outstanding products to be sold by the finest retailers in the world.” “I also want to thank David for his many years of leadership at R.L. Winston and the great pride he has maintained in the company and its products over his long tenure,” Robertson said. “We are pleased that David will continue to serve the company as an adviser for a year after closing.” “It has been an honor to have been involved with Winston for more than three decades, and to have worked with outstanding people committed to making the world’s best fly rods every day,” Ondaatje said. “Under Lance, I look forward to celebrating Winston’s industry leadership and success in the years to come. Mostly, I want to say thank you for making my time with Winston the most fulfilling professional experience of my life. It’s a rare thing to get to say you’re involved with a company that makes the best product of its kind in the world. I’ve been lucky enough to do that for 35 years.” The post R.L. Winston Rod Co. Announces New Ownership appeared first on Fly Fusion. View the full article

I started out fishing with my dad on the Squamish River in B.C. He was showing me what needed to be done with his cane rod, and I was right there beside him, watching everything. He threaded the line through the rod and laid it on the ground so he could tie on the fly. I was so excited to see what he was going to use that I stepped closer to get a better look. And stepped right on the tip of the rod. Snapped it. That was my first experience fly fishing with my father. Seventy-two years later, I still love fly fishing, on rivers and still waters alike. And it all started with a day on the river with my dad.” — Brian P., Abbotsford, BC The post Father’s Day Collection | Brian P. appeared first on Fly Fusion. View the full article

“My father, Clarence, was the doctor in a small town in northern California. He worked hard and made house calls. But whenever he could escape the grind, he was on the water, fly fishing the mouth of the Van Duzen River where it meets the Eel. He learned that love from his own father, Clarence Sr., who fished whenever and wherever he could. When Clarence Sr. was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease, he retired immediately and moved to California, so he could walk down the hill from his house and fish the Eel River. “My father, Clarence, was the doctor in a small town in northern California. Whenever he could escape the grind, he was on the water, fly fishing the mouth of the Van Duzen River where it meets the Eel. He learned that love from his own father, who fished whenever and wherever he could. When he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s, he retired immediately and moved to California so he could walk down the hill from his house and fish the Eel. My older brother Dick learned to fly fish before he could ride a bike. Dick taught me. We’d ride our bikes to the Eel and bring salmon home balanced across our handlebars. Dick grew up to be the most passionate fly fisherman I’ve ever known. A sculptor by trade, he eventually moved to Twin Bridges, Montana, where he became a guide. Fly fishing has moved through our family the way rivers move — quietly, steadily, always finding its way forward. Both our sons fish. So do their children now. They gave me something I didn’t fully understand at the time. Something I’ve been passing on ever since.” — Doug, Portland Doug with his son, Ben and grandson, Brady, in Alaska Doug with his son Tim and Grandson Levi on the Deschutes The post Father’s Day Collection | Doug C. appeared first on Fly Fusion. View the full article

Ross Reels is introducing the next evolution of one of its most trusted reel platforms with the launch of the Cimarron LT. Built in Montrose, Colorado, the Cimarron LT builds on the original Cimarron platform with several notable updates. Aggressive new porting reduces weight without compromising durability, while an upgraded aluminum drag knob and in-house anodizing process give the reel a refined look and feel. At the heart of the Cimarron LT is Ross’s adjustable composite-disc drag system paired with a stainless steel interface that delivers ultra-smooth startup inertia and solid stopping power. Whether protecting fine 7X tippet or putting pressure on fish with 0X in fast water, the reel is built for the kind of use trout anglers demand over a full season on the water. Available in 4/5, 5/6, and 7/8 sizes, the Cimarron LT comes in four finishes: Platinum, Matte Black, Matte Blue, and Matte Olive. The appeal of the Cimarron LT comes from its balance of performance and accessibility. It brings together the fit and durability anglers expect from Ross in a reel built for everyday fishing without entering premium-tier pricing. The Cimarron LT is available through authorized Ross Reels dealers and online at rossreels.com. The post Ross Reels Launches the Cimarron LT appeared first on Fly Fusion. View the full article

Rendezvous at Sullivan’s Slough Silver Creek makes me feel as though nothing else matters when I am fishing on the Nature Conservancy property. Nothing else matters except catching those big, fat, and very smart fish. During the past seven years, I have spent every spare moment possible at Silver Creek. My wife will attest to this. Along the way, I have learned a great deal through trial and error, talking to others, and reading about this beautiful place. I do not consider myself an expert at fishing Silver Creek, if that is even possible, but I usually catch at least a few fish. Of course, some days are more productive than others. Usually, if I am not having much luck on the creek itself, I make tracks to the slough, otherwise known as Sullivan’s Pond. I have heard more than one person say fishing the slough is more difficult than fishing the creek, but I have always found a fish or two willing to take a nymph or streamer somewhere in the slough. On this particular day, I was fishing with my dad and my younger brother, Luke. The action was slow, and there was no hatch activity to speak of. This was one of those unlucky days on Silver Creek a few summers ago. None of us had caught anything worth mentioning, so we decided to test our skills on Sullivan’s Pond. The upper end of the slough is difficult to fish because there is a steep bank leading down to the water’s edge. Trees and bushes hang over the bank, so wading out and roll casting is the best option. Wading in the slough can be treacherous, though. Silt hides sinkholes, and one wrong step can leave you soaked and shaken. We ended up above a beaver dam at the upper end of the slough around noon. At that point, I think I had caught two fish, Luke had landed one, and my dad was still getting skunked, which was great for us because he usually outfishes us at least two to one. My dad was standing in the clearing closest to the dam, and Luke was up on the ridge spotting for him. I was getting bored catching weeds, so I climbed out to join Luke above the bank when the fun started. I was just finishing the steep climb out of the slough when my dad yelled, “Fish on!” Luke, who was supposed to be spotting but instead was watching me struggle up the bank, looked down toward the water and after a couple of seconds said, “*#@!^, you hooked that huge brown we’ve seen swimming around.” I joined Luke and made the same observation. Of course, Dad did not believe us during the first couple of minutes we spent trying to convince him. Luke and I then decided we should get down into the water to see the fish up close, or to help our father land it, but mostly to see the fish up close. Luke started down the steep bank with me close on his heels, a little too close, I guess. He lost his balance but managed to stop himself before falling into the water. Unfortunately, because I was so close behind him, I slammed into his back and knocked him a couple of feet out into the slough, where he landed in a very ungraceful belly flop. After colliding with Luke, I lost my balance, and my feet flew out from under me. I ended up on my backside in the mud with branches poking and scraping me every which way. I still have not decided which is worse: ending up with waders full of scum-covered water or cracking your tailbone and not being able to sit for a week. Meanwhile, my dad was still playing the fish and making comments about how agile his boys were. We collected ourselves, muttered a few choice words, and moved to help him land his quarry so we could finally see that huge fish. My dad grew up fishing the rivers near Klamath Falls, Oregon, so he is an experienced fly fisherman, but he seemed to do just about everything wrong that day. I guess he was following our lead. For some reason, he did not think it was important to get the fish onto the reel, so he was stripping line by hand while stumbling along the shallows. His next mistake was catching his rod and line in an overhanging bush. I was elected to scramble over and free it, which resulted in several more branches and thorns protruding from my body. The moment we solved that problem, the brown trout charged straight toward us at full speed. My dad feverishly stripped in slack line while leaning backward. I was yelling at him to avoid tangling the line in the bushes again, Luke was yelling at him to get the fish on the reel before he lost it, and Dad was yelling at both of us to keep our mouths shut. The fish finally turned and headed back into the slough, but during all the commotion my dad somehow wrapped his excess fly line around Luke’s legs. I remember Luke jumping around like someone had rubbed Icy Hot on his crotch while desperately trying to untangle himself from the line. Somehow he managed to free himself before the fish snapped the 5X tippet, and the rest of the battle was fairly uneventful until it came time to net the fish. None of us had a net large enough to land it. My net was long but too shallow to hold the beast. Dad had a narrow but deep net, and Luke had managed to lose his somewhere during this entire comedy of errors. Originally, my dad planned to net the fish himself. After enduring all our mishaps, however, he changed his mind and instructed me to do the honors, mainly because I was the only one who still had a net. I spooked the fish into another run with two or three failed attempts to scoop her up. Then, when I finally positioned the net correctly and lifted it beneath her, she flexed and flipped right back out. Naturally, this started another round of shouting: “You’re going to lose the fish!” “I know what I’m doing!” “If you’re so good, get your ass over here and net the fish yourself!” Luke was still near the dam participating in the yelling while muttering expletives and trying to retrieve his missing net. Fortunately, he found it, because he was the one who finally got over there and landed that fine fish. Somehow we managed to land the monster female brown trout and gathered around in awe for pictures. Being conservation-minded, we kept the fish in the water while fumbling for our cameras, one of which is still at the bottom of the slough. It does not really matter whose camera it was. My dad posed with the fish while Luke and I prepared to take the photo. I told my dad to smile. The instant before we snapped the picture, that old brown decided she had had enough of us. With a mighty wiggle and a splash, she disappeared before we had any proof beyond our own word. The women in our lives say they have a hard time believing this story, but fishermen know the truth. With all the noise and commotion we created during that extended battle, I am surprised we did not attract a crowd wondering where we came from and why we did not just stay there. We were blessed that day to encounter one of the larger fish on the Silver Creek Preserve, and hopefully I will cross paths with her again someday. When that happens, I will be ready to do everything right, and I still probably will not land her. I guess that is the nature of Silver Creek: supremely challenging, infinitely frustrating, amazingly beautiful, and ingenious enough to provide just enough reward to keep fly-fishing addicts coming back again and again. – Noah M., Twin Falls, MT The post Father’s Day Collection | Noah M. appeared first on Fly Fusion. View the full article

By Al “Doc” Mehl All things considered, when it comes to casting a fly, my school chum Chuck Monninger was the best I’ve ever known. Even though it’s been 50 years, I still remember one Chuck Monninger cast like it was yesterday. On East Elk Creek in western Colorado, Chuck was demonstrating fly casting to our mutual friend (and then-novice fly angler) Bear Miller. “Just below the jagged yellow rock, tucked in behind the driftwood snag, with that sweet twisting current on the left and calm water in the crease, that seems a likely hold for Mr. Trout,” Chuck chuckled softly to Bear. Then, from 60 feet away, he deftly delivered a No. 16 Adams inside the 12-inch target zone, a cast instantly rewarded by the convincing strike of a 10-inch cutthroat. Bear shook his head in disbelief, then started his own tiresome day of clumsy greenhorn fly casting. Yes, Chuck was as good as they get. Even so, I’d have to think that Chuck would be shaking his own head in amazement if he’d been in Montana to witness, a half-century later, the best cast of my fly-fishing life. And, in an unplanned homage to Chuck, I was fishing a No. 16 Adams. I’d spent the month of July doing some weekday temp work in Helena, and that left the weekends open for exploring the local fisheries. On a blue-sky Saturday, I was fishing the North Fork of the Blackfoot River. By midafternoon, I had landed four rambunctious rainbows, all of them from the long, deep hole a few hundred yards above the canyon bridge, a pool that I’d discovered during the previous month’s explorations. I might have kept fishing well into the evening if I hadn’t found myself fighting a chilly, freshening wind from the north. Maybe, I thought to myself, it’s time to call it a day, scramble up the scree embankment to the still-warm car sitting in the high summer sun, and find my way to a local watering hole to toast my successful outing with a beer. I reeled in. With only a few feet of fly line and 7 feet of leader remaining on the water, a sudden gust of that north wind swung around behind me and lifted my trusty Tilley hat from my head. Just out of reach, the hat hovered at eye level for a split second and then jumped onto the wings of that wind gust, landing upside down 25 feet away in the middle of the riffles that coursed along the left side of that honey hole. The current arced away from me. Soon, my hat was 40 feet away and turning to the right. In mere seconds the current would pick up speed at the tail end of the pool, and my hat would tip over the splashing falls and drown, forever lost. My hat size, you might now ask? 7 3/8. The oval outline of that Tilley hat in the water took on the look of a skewed archery target, the khaki-colored outer ring enclosing the 7 3/8-inch mountain-snowmelt-blue bull’s-eye, a target that was creeping ever farther away. My hat was a goner. Damn. Unless … Lifting my fly rod instinctively, I snapped the fly line toward me into an abbreviated backcast. As the line hovered behind me, I stripped a great armful of line from the reel and loaded it forward in a false cast. The hat was almost 50 feet away now and swinging left to right. I made another backcast, reloading another stripping armful of fly line onto the second false cast. Watching that serenely drifting archery target was tantalizing. I have never tried archery. I’m told it’s all about breathing, about focus, about the Zen of mind-body calmness. Stripping line wildly from the reel, precariously flailing my graphite fly rod to and fro, cursing out loud about the favorite fishing hat I was about to lose forever, I was anything but Zen calm. I loaded another strip of line into the backcast as the fly reel sang out its siren song in a higher key than ever before. Momentarily I wondered if my backcast would now be traipsing through the riverside willows, a No. 16 Adams soon to be snapped off by an innocent-enough twig. But this was not the time to worry about a $1.59 dry fly when an $89 hat was about to disappear. On the third forceful false cast, my fly line was now extended and hovering 50 feet in front of me. And the hat? It now drifted 60 feet in front of me, picking up speed in its left-to-right journey out of my life. If I had been standing on the opposite bank, I might have been close enough to lean in and grab the sucker, but alas, I was not on the opposite bank. I stripped line from the reel again, dug my shoulder and upper arm deeply into one more great backcast, and took aim. But where to aim? My hat was now a pheasant on the wing, and the savvy hunter knows to swing the gunsight past the flying bird and place the buckshot into the bird’s flight path. I started my forward cast knowing this was my chance, in fact, my only chance. I have never entered a fishing tournament. Fishing tournaments are meant for talented and serious fishermen like Chuck, and not for recreational fishermen like me. Still, if I were to enter a fishing tournament someday, I have always been intrigued by the idea of a one-fly fishing tournament. How terribly cautious must one be with the backcast? How close to the snag must one dare drift to catch fish without losing the critical fly? What fly to pick if you can only pick one? For me, perhaps a No. 16 Adams. But even more challenging than a one-fly contest, I had now been unwittingly entered in a one-cast contest. The end was at hand. There would be time enough only for a single cast to hit the drifting target. Win or lose, this contest would be one and done. I let the last handful of stripped line sing through the guides as the double-tapered fly line carried the newest of its now 60-foot length away from me. Then, with the confidence borne of a lifetime of fishing, I paused my breathing in Zen-like anticipation of the final artistic brushstroke. I calmly swept the rod tip gently to the right of the target. The extended fly line and attached leader responded like the lead pair of an eight-horse team, veering ever so slightly in the direction that the driver’s reins had requested. The fly rolled over the final feet of that long cast as I leaned as far forward as I dared. I extended my casting arm fully, added a few extra inches to the cast by swinging my opposite leg backward and flexing at the waist in a balanced, ballet-like maneuver, then willed the No. 16 Adams to land gently on the water. That battered dry fly settled proudly on the calm water inside the bull’s-eye. I marveled at the once-in-a-lifetime cast. Oh, if only Chuck Monninger could see me now. And then, before even one more heartbeat, the spell was broken by the realization that a No. 16 hook has a bend that measures less than 1/8 inch. Even perfectly placed inside the crown of the floating hat, what might be the odds of that hook finding purchase in the fabric of the hat, relinking me with my lost lid? But purchase it did find. Unbelievably, the hook embedded itself into the swirling neck strap that had been floating serpentlike within the bull’s-eye of the crown — the neck strap that is designed to keep the hat from blowing off in the wind, if only the fisherman remembers to wear the strap properly when the wind picks up. Having nearly claimed the gold medal in this day’s one-cast fishing tournament, I now found myself enrolled in the subsequent one-fly tournament extension. I had hooked a lunker, and it pulled hard in the current, hoping to make its escape by exiting the pool, entering the falls, and stealing the fly from the leader. Steadily, I pulled with an even flex in my rod, now trying to remember which tippet I had tied on hours before. Had it been 5X? Was it even finer, maybe 6X? Too much tension, and I would be snapping my only-hope fly from the line. Too little pull, and the hat would pass through the falls, breaking me off regardless. Steady, slow and steady. Redirect. Turn the head of the beast. Slip the quarry from the strong current and coax him gently back into the pool. Ever so slowly, the battle was won. The hat put up a mighty battle, but by now had lost all fight. The long line was gradually retrieved, and I landed the monster without a net. Better than a streamside photo of a long-played lunker now in hand, better than even a trophy mounted on the wall, that Tilley hat remains head-mounted to this day, still in service. It’s a living reminder of one more good day on the water. And it’s a beat-up, poignant keepsake of the very best cast of a lifetime. The post The Best Cast of My Fly-Fishing Life appeared first on Fly Fusion. View the full article

By Kirk Deeter Excerpt from the winter issue: “Presentation. Well, that’s simple. Trout like to eat insects that are hapless and drifting at the whim of the river current. The dun dry fly has just shed its shuck and is most vulnerable as it dries its wings before taking off. You must spoon-feed those duns to trout, and even a bit of subtle micro-drag can kill your chances. Likewise, spinners have mated, fallen and are essentially dead when they hit the water. Trout know this. Spinners should drift at the whims of the currents. On the other hand, fish that chase food (sometimes trout, but also northern pike, bonefish, redfish, tarpon and many other species) aren’t used to their live food attacking them. No reasonably smart trout is going to eat a dry fly dragged in front of its face (except maybe a skittering caddis). By the same token, fluttering a crab fly, for example, toward a feeding permit is the kiss of death. When you’re fishing in the salt, or even fishing streamers for trout, you want to show your target the morsel and then make it escape. So… spoon-feed rising trout with as little drag as possible. For most everything else (including salmon and steelhead), you want to bother them, make them agitated, make ‘em grabby, and see what happens next.” Subscribe or pick up the back issue for the full article. Photo: Faceless Fly Fishing The post Kirk Deeter’s Lesson on Presentation appeared first on Fly Fusion. View the full article

The Ratio Reel is built for moments when big fish enter the ring and the outcome matters. The carbon-stainless drag system has precision-engineered surfaces that deliver smooth, consistent pressure with zero startup inertia. In demanding conditions, the oversized indexed drag knob allows for micro-adjustments without fumbling. Built to withstand saltwater abuse, the Ratio’s drag system is fully sealed to keep out salt and sand. The Ratio is built for anglers who target powerful fish in demanding conditions. The reel has the strength and durability for tarpon, big roosterfish and permit, as well as bluewater battles with tuna and billfish. They are equally adept at moving big trout in heavy water, steelhead in fast flows, or carp hell-bent on leaving town. Key features: Orvis’ highest-performing saltwater reel, with best-in-class drag profile and industry-leading stopping power. Fully sealed drag with multifaceted O-ring protection keeps water and debris out. Instant-engage drag with oversized knob for more control (12 – 20 lbs, depending on reel size). Oversized shaft (5/16”) and line guard for strength and reliability. Available in three colors: Blackout, Gold, and Silver/Deep Sea Available in five sizes: III, IV, V, VI Shallow, VI Deep (see full specs in imagery folder) Size VI includes deep and shallow spools. The deep spool holds a 14-weight line with 600 yards of backing to take on any big-game species. For full details, visit Orvis. The post Orvis Introduces the Ratio Reel appeared first on Fly Fusion. View the full article

By Derek Bird I’m always a little stressed when I pull up to the boat ramp with my dad. I’m eager to get my gear set up, and in doing so, I’m trying to avoid as many people as possible. My dad, however, appears to be there to connect with as many people as possible. To be sure, he loves fly fishing, but he might love talking about it with random strangers even more. When we arrive at a boat ramp, Dad’s never in any rush to set up his gear or take it down. I’ll inevitably look up from tying on a fly or getting the boat ready, and Dad is nowhere to be found. Then 10 minutes or so later he’ll walk up to me with a new friend and say something like, “This fellow wants to meet you. He reads your articles in the magazine.” Though I broadcast my thoughts, I often do what I can to avoid the spotlight. I make small talk with the stranger, all the while fighting through what I feel is an awkward moment… For my dad’s 80th birthday, I wanted to take him fly fishing. More than that, I wanted to keep him away from busy boat ramps, so we headed out into the middle of nowhere for a walk-and-wade. Not that I didn’t want him to do his favorite activity on his birthday, but the window where the trout are active and taking flies in autumn can be quite short, so there’s not a lot of excess time to chat. Away from civilization and boat ramps on his birthday, Dad grabs his rod from the truck. I offer to help him tie on some new tippet and ask him what fly he wants to start with. He holds open his fly box and invites me to have a look. “What do you think?” he asks. “I plan to start with a nymph. Do you want me to set up a nymph rig for you?” I say, quickly getting a few jeers from my brother and nephew at the mention of a nymph. “Dry,” he says. “OK,” I say. “I’ve got an October Caddis I’m going to tie on for you.” After I finish the blood knot attaching 5x tippet to his leader, I tie on the mangy orange caddis pattern. “They might not take it right away, Dad. The sun will likely need to be up for another hour or two before they start rising to your fly.” Dad’s still fishing with his kids and grandkids. I want to be like that when I’m his age. Time has a way of slowing us all down, but I’m sure my dad is going to live until he’s 120. He’s not allowed to leave us any sooner than that. Besides, he’s a young 80. He still works out in the gym a few times a week, and he’s out here in the middle of nowhere hiking along stream banks with his boys. I’m not sure I’ve come to terms with the role reversal time has forced upon us. Though it’s more and more difficult, I still recognize the boy I was in the early 1980s when Dad would take his boys out on the backroads in search of lakes and rivers. As a kid, he showed me what flies to tie on and the knots to use. He taught me how to cast, and he dealt with the bird nests in the reels. He took that on. He tells a story from when I was very young, when he took me to a spot on a river just one valley over from where we are now, where he met up with some friends. His kidless buddies ran down to his favorite run as he set up his kid’s gear. I’m not sure I ever thanked you for that, Dad. I don’t remember it, probably because it was a good moment for me. You made it a good moment. I guess you’ve more than earned the right to embarrass me at boat ramps. We arrive at the stream, and I land four good-sized trout on nymphs before the dry-fly purists decide that they’re maybe not as pure as they were when they left the vehicle. I call to Dad to join me on the other side of the stream. Though he’s 80 today, he’s sturdy and has little trouble negotiating the stream crossing. I’m only moderately worried about him. He arrives, and I tell him I’d like to change his setup, so he hands me his rod. I tie on the “secret” nymph I started the day with. Because of the odd flow and the depth of the run, I don’t give him an indicator. I let him know he’s going to have to pay attention to the tip of his floating line. “If it dives or pauses, set the hook,” I instruct him. On the first cast, the line pauses, and he doesn’t pull up. “Dad, you’ve got to pull up when the line pauses,” I remind him. “Here, let me show you.” He hands me his rod, and I send the fly into a seam where I know there’s a trout, and after three or four seconds, the line pauses. I pull up, and there’s a nice-sized trout on the other end. “You make that look easy,” he says. I release the trout and hand the rod back to him. It happens again. The line pauses, and he doesn’t see it. “Set the hook,” I say. He pulls up, and nothing’s on. He swears in frustration. He’s still got fire in him. In his prime, my dad was a highly competitive fastpitch player. He pitched against some of the best both provincially and nationally. As a kid, I lived at the ballpark on the weekends watching Dad pitch no-hitters and one-run games. In his youth, my dad had a lot of what people used to call “piss and vinegar.” Though certain senses may not be as sharp as they used to be, there’s still some vinegar left. I admire that. He heads back across the stream so he can nymph from the high bank on the other side. From that vantage point, he can see the trout in the clear water. “When you see a fish move and open his mouth, set the hook,” I call out. “He’s likely moving for your nymph.” A few minutes later, Dad’s into a fish. He takes out his net and lands the biggest trout of the day — one that’s fitting for his 80th birthday. The next day on my flight home, I sit beside a stranger on the plane. She turns to me and asks, “Are you from the Kootenays?” “I am,” I reply, “but I don’t live there anymore. I was just in town visiting family.” Before long the conversation turns to my children. I’m well into the conversation before I catch myself. I’ve been talking about my adult kids and their accomplishments for the last 10 minutes. The plane isn’t a boat ramp, but it might as well be. Looks like I owe my dad a birthday fishing trip next year on a river with a boat ramp. Photo: Arian Stevens The post Birthdays and Boat Ramps appeared first on Fly Fusion. View the full article

The Spring issue of Fly Fusion is now available on newsstands, and it arrives with a clear purpose: Season Opener: Solving Spring’s Toughest Trout. This issue leans into the nuance of early-season fishing, where success is rarely accidental and often earned through attention to detail, timing, and restraint. From Gary Borger’s reflective journey in First Season, which traces how early encounters shape an angler for life, to Jim McLennan’s Please, Sweat the Small Stuff, readers are reminded that spring rewards precision over force. April Vokey highlights the overlooked window of opportunity in The Quiet Advantage of Spring, while Frank Brassard challenges convention in When a Fly Learns to Breathe, exploring how movement and imperfection can outfish technical perfection. Beyond the core features, the issue is layered with insight across every corner of the sport, from stillwater strategies to fly tying, culture, and conservation. It is a season defined by transition, where trout behavior, water conditions, and angler mindset all shift at once. This issue is built to meet that moment, offering not just tactics, but perspective. Pick up your copy on newsstands now and step into the season with a sharper eye and a more thoughtful approach. The post Spring Issue on Stands Now! appeared first on Fly Fusion. View the full article

The fly-fishing world is filled with incredible people who believe in the sport and what it does for the soul. Some are well known. Others work diligently behind the scenes. They are the people running CNC machines late at night, the engineers designing and building the gear, the marketing geniuses who create the memorable ads, videos and stories that bring it all to life. Ours is an industry teeming with talented people who believe as much in the spirit of fly fishing as the gear they create. Over the past few years, we’ve lost too many of them. We celebrated icons like Lefty Kreh, Flip Pallot and others, people who moved our sport forward and left a mark. We don’t often touch on the lives of those who played a significant role behind the scenes. People who may not have known that their work shaped fly-fishing culture. People like Joe Wolthuis. Joe was a beacon of compassion and kindness to many. He touched countless people through his creative genius, providing the inspiration to trade the magnetic noise of life for the silent solace of the water. He did this in his life and through the tools available to him in his role as the Marketing Manager of Scientific Anglers. If you’ve been on the water over the last decade, read a fly-fishing magazine, listened to a podcast, attended a film event, been to a show, or walked through the doors of your local fly shop, you’ve experienced his support and work. I’ve always been drawn to the people in the fly-fishing world. They are a salt-of-the-earth community with a shared passion for the pursuit of freedom that adventure provides, the beautiful places where fish live, and the need to conserve them. Joe embodied the spirit of the very best people in our community. Without question, the single most treasured gift the Bird family has been blessed with over these last twenty years are the friendships. This community is an industry, but it is best defined as a family where friendships run deep. I recall a dinner where we were introduced to Joe. The conversation was an instant connection over bed bugs, nerdy marketing data, metrics and demographics. And there was always laughter. That first dinner turned into countless dinners, lunches, phone calls, zooms and text messages. Sometimes work-related, most times not. One of my favorites was a dinner where Joe told us about an out-of-this-world “candy bar” he encountered on a trip to Canada. There was a joyous hope in the way he described this chocolate nectar he had discovered. He went on to explain that this particular candy bar was not available in Michigan. A few months later, as any friend would, I arrived for a lunch with Joe with a dozen Mr. Big bars. This would be the start of a long tradition. Joy can be found in the little things. When word of Joe’s arrival as Marketing Manager was announced, I called a mutual friend who knew him well. Of Joe, he said, “You are going to really like him.” Indeed, we did. The fly-fishing family is deeply saddened by the loss of our cherished brother. There is a place where rivers flow freely, where they run gin clear, where the fish are always eager, where peace is ever present, and where there is no last cast. Joe is there now. “Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.” ~ Norman Maclean Joe’s voice will continue to move quietly through the fly-fishing community he cared so deeply about. We will miss him immensely. Photo: Allen Crater The post On Candy Bars, Fly Fishing, and the People Who Shape Our Sport appeared first on Fly Fusion. View the full article

A Fishable Feast: Fly Fishing and Eating Your Way Around the World is more than a fly-fishing book. From crystal-clear trout streams to sunlit saltwater flats, untamed jungles and rushing mountain rivers, this beautifully crafted volume by acclaimed author Kirk Deeter and Matthew Supinski explores the cultures, cuisines, geography and history that make fly fishing such a rich and meaningful pursuit. Featuring a foreword by Tom Rosenbauer, the book blends storytelling, destination and culinary exploration into a global celebration of the angling life. As Kirk Deeter explains: A Fishable Feast serves up the sights, flavors and stories of the world’s most compelling fly-fishing destinations. It is a must-read for anglers with an appetite for travel and good food. The book’s release is imminent, and you can find it online at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Books-A-Million. Or, you can order your signed copy here:kirkdeeter.com The post A Fishable Feast: Fly Fishing and Eating Your Way Around the World appeared first on Fly Fusion. View the full article

By Kirk Deeter Excerpt from the winter issue: “A seasoned guide is used to saying things like ‘tip up’ and ‘let ‘em run’ over and over again. And in most cases, that’s really solid advice, in so much as the goal is to avoid having the fish make a run and break you off. But the truth is that a 9-foot fly rod is a lever that helps the fish as much as it helps the angler. The 9 feet are for casting, mending, and so forth. But if you play a large fish running around the maypole, you’re playing with fire. The real tension, and the real force happens through the line itself. So, dipping the rod tip low after the hookup, and being contrarian—fish runs left, you pull right, fish runs right, you force left—is the way to tire any species of hooked fish sooner, and that’s what will up your odds of landing it and getting the photograph you want. That’s most especially true with any saltwater fish. You want to pull on them with the line itself and tire them out, and you simply cannot depend on any rod to do that work for you.” Subscribe or pick up the back issue for the full article. Photo: Faceless Fly Fishing The post Kirk Deeter’s Lesson on Fighting Fish appeared first on Fly Fusion. View the full article

By Derek Bird There’s a scene in “The Equalizer” starring Denzel Washington where his character, Robert McCall, is sitting in a late-night diner and he’s reading Hemingway’s “The Old Man and the Sea.” A young lady looks over and sees McCall reading the novella and says, “He ever catch it? The fish.” McCall chuckles and says, “Yes.” She says, “Happy ending.” McCall replies, “Not exactly.” Then he explains that after he fights the fish, the old man ties it to the boat to bring it back to shore but sharks come and eat the giant marlin before he can get back to shore. The young lady replies, “What a waste…why didn’t he just let the fish go?” McCall responds, “The old man’s gotta be the old man. Fish gotta be the fish. Gotta be who you are in this world, right?” The Draw Wasn’t There This exchange happens in the first 15 minutes of the movie and acts as foreshadowing for McCall’s character. He initially appears to be a mild-mannered department store worker who shows up to work every day and does everything he can to make the lives of those around him better. As the plot progresses, he endeavors to be that person, but circumstances force him to be who he is at his core—an ordinary hero who can’t help but fight the wrong and the evil he sees around him. Gotta be who you are in this world, right? Watching this movie happened at an opportune time for me. Not because I’m an ordinary hero, but because I wasn’t fly fishing very much. I’d gone sporadically in the months prior, but I don’t fly fish sporadically. At first I attributed the blip to aging, but the thing is I’m not that old. I thought, maybe I just don’t enjoy it as much as I used to. The feeling of separation alarmed me a little. Even during the winter months, I get out at least once a week. Spring, summer and fall I’m out two or three times a week. But now, I was heading out once every two weeks or so. Worse yet, the draw wasn’t there. Losing Fish I’d felt the odd flicker of this before, but that always had to do with times in my life where I was experiencing exhaustion from stress and working too much. I easily diagnosed that, and the solution was always to work less and fly fish more. This time, however, I struggled to determine the root cause, but I knew it wasn’t that. A few weeks ago, I grabbed my gear from the garage and headed out to the river. I was driven by the need for fresh air more than the desire to fish. My mind wandered while I cast. When I hooked and landed trout, it felt more mechanical or ritualistic. Then on one drift, I hooked a summer-run steelhead. He jumped twice and I got a good look at all 5 pounds of his chrome side before the fly popped out the second time he landed. Too bad, I thought. I’ll get him in the next day or two. I headed out two days later and found him again, but this time when his mouth appeared behind my skated fly I set too soon. Shoot. I missed him a second time. I went out again a couple of days later but he didn’t appear. A few days after that I drove to a different stream. I got a few nice cutthroat and then I hooked another summer-run steelhead. This time I promised myself I wasn’t going to lose it. Which I didn’t until he was about 5 feet from me. I raised my rod and reached for my net. He turned, the fly popped, and I stood there watching as he swam away. Driving home that evening, I told myself I’ve got to get this figured out. I’m losing fish now because I’m not fully engaged in what I’m doing. Why was the act of fly fishing feeling like an otiose activity, like something I do, rather than the passion and connectedness I normally felt? Could it be I was just getting old? Had I done it too many times? Had it worn out? The Fish of a Lifetime The second lost summer-run steelhead finally provided me with the epiphany I needed. This unfamiliar feeling all started around the middle of March, and around that time I had my very own “The Old Man and the Sea” moment. Only, I’m not that old, my fish wasn’t a marlin and I was fishing freshwater. Ok, so maybe it wasn’t all that similar. Last March I was out in my boat with a friend fishing creek mouths on a remote lake. After traveling a number of kilometers up the lake, we found a nice drop-off near a stream and started to cast. It wasn’t long before we found trout. A few small rainbows at first, but as the wind gently pushed us along the steep drop-off, we started to see trout cruising in about 15 feet of water. We began to consistently catch cutthroat, with a few in the 18-inch range. A couple hours into the day, I cast in front of a group of cruising trout, let my line sink for a few seconds and then took a few quick strips. The water clarity allowed me a view of my streamer, so I watched it until it disappeared momentarily. I felt a hesitant tug and then the fly reappeared. I stripped the streamer again, and again the fly disappeared. I set the hook and felt a weight on the other end like I’d never felt before while targeting cutthroat. The fish peeled line then stopped. I reeled. The tug-of-war happened four or five times before I managed to lead the trout within view of the boat. The last 15 feet were the most difficult. He simply sat a few feet off the side of the boat about 10 feet down and dared me to pull harder on him. He sat there like he knew if I applied any more pressure, he’d simply break off. Seeing him was most difficult. He was by far the largest cutthroat I’d ever encountered, though I kept telling myself the water simply magnified his size. He couldn’t possibly be that large. His pressure on my line assured me he was. We engaged in the stalemate a few minutes longer, and then he moved an inch or two toward the boat letting me know he was ready for this to be over. My friend dipped the net in the water and I led him in. He measured 27 inches. I released him and watched until his green back faded to match the darkness of the water column. He was the cutthroat of my lifetime to that point and likely to the point where I take my last cast. Gotta Be Who You Are I fish for lots of different species, but cutthroat are the species I choose to target the most, and without knowing it, I chased that cutthroat my entire life. Then I caught it. I wonder if it’s similar to a professional athlete working all their lives to get the big contract, and then when they get it, they temporarily lose the edge they played with. Who knew accomplishing a lifelong goal comes with its own set of challenges? Regardless, I’m not the first to feel this. Hemingway’s old man, Santiago, felt this in the middle of his success. After going through a period of 84 days without catching a fish, he hooks into the biggest fish of his life and while he’s fighting it, he says, “Perhaps I should not have been a fisherman…but that was the thing that I was born for.” Yes, you gotta be who you are in this world. Photo: Arian Stevens The post The Old Man and Me appeared first on Fly Fusion. View the full article

By Skip Morris The Attractor-Fly Angle On the first count, that flies must always resemble the natural feed of fish, innocent elemental logic (so, teenage logic) was at work. That logic does add up: Want a fish to eat your fly? Make your fly look like what that fish eats. What I didn’t yet understand is that fish have little regard for logic or for fly fishers’ adamant beliefs; consequently, attractor flies really do work. Under the right circumstances (which I can only ever determine by trying one) attractor flies can far out-fish imitative flies, can be simply deadly. These right circumstances are, in my experience, fairly common. And one such deadly attractor is the elegant Alexandra. —Excerpted from the Summer 2025 issue of Fly Fusion. Morris makes the case clearly: sometimes suggestion, motion, and presence outperform strict imitation. When trout refuse the dead drift but continue to show, a swung wet can change everything. Here are six classic patterns, from bold attractors to quiet naturals, that deserve a place in your swing rotation. Alexandra Hook: Heavy wire, standard length (1X long preferred), sizes 14–8Thread: Black 6/0 or 8/0Body: Flat silver tinselWing: Peacock swordHackle: Black (or wine) hen-neck Why Fish It: A true attractor. Flash, contrast, and movement combine to provoke trout in a curious or aggressive mood. Cowdung Hook: Heavy wire, standard length (1X long preferred), sizes 16–10Thread: Black, brown, or oliveBody: Green or olive flossHackle: Brown hen-neckWings: Mottled oak turkey primary Why Fish It: Subtle and natural. Suggests green-bodied mayflies and works beautifully during olive activity. Hare’s Ear Wet Hook: Heavy wire, standard length (1X long preferred), sizes 16–10Rib: Oval gold tinselBody: Hare’s maskWings: Natural-gray duck-primary sections Why Fish It: Versatile and impressionistic. Covers a broad range of emerging mayflies and caddis. Leadwing Coachman Hook: Heavy wire, standard length (1X long preferred), sizes 16–8Body: Peacock herlHackle: Brown hen-neckWings: Natural-gray duck-primary sections Why Fish It: Dark and proven. Excellent during heavier mayfly or caddis emergences. Light Cahill Wet Hook: Heavy wire, standard length (1X long preferred), sizes 16–10Body: Cream fox or rabbit furHackle: Ginger hen-neckWing: Wood-duck fibers Why Fish It: A pale-winged swimmer that shines during PMD and Light Cahill hatches. Muddler Daddy (Davy Wotton) Hook: 2X long sizes 12–10 or 1X long size 10Body: Hare’s maskLegs: Knotted pheasant-tail fibersCollar/Head: Deer hair Why Fish It: A lively point fly with motion and presence. Particularly effective when swung at the tail of a team. The post Six Wet Flies to Swing with Confidence appeared first on Fly Fusion. View the full article

SITKA officially stepped into the world of fly fishing this month with the launch of SITKA Fish. Known for building system-driven hunting apparel, the well-known Bozeman-based brand is applying that same technical discipline to the water. The new gear launch centers on a focused lineup built around quality and the realities of fishing hard across a full season. The Crosscurrent Wading System anchors the collection. Constructed with four-layer GORE-TEX PRO construction, the waders deliver complete weather protection, next-level durability, and an ultra-dialed design for anglers. Available in both zip and non-zip configurations, they are built for those who spend serious time in moving water. The build specifically targets durability through repeated wet and dry cycles, one of the most common failure points in modern wader construction. The wading boots continue that systems approach. Interchangeable traction options allow anglers to adapt to varying river bottoms, while quick-drying construction addresses the issue of heavy, saturated footwear between sessions. The emphasis throughout the system is long-term performance in real-world conditions. SITKA’s long-anticipated entry into the fishing industry is centered on technical execution, with gear designed for anglers who prioritize quality, durability, and time on the water. sitkagear.com/fish The post SITKA Launches Fish Collection appeared first on Fly Fusion. View the full article

Abel Reels has released their first all-new reel since 2021’s Rove, and it marks their biggest push yet into high-capacity, large-arbor performance for fresh and saltwater. The SDX is their largest, fastest, and most advanced reel, designed for anglers chasing permit, tarpon, GT, steelhead, salmon, and bluewater species like tuna and marlin. It is not a casual upgrade. It is a purpose-built tool for moments when everything is on the line. The oversized arbor delivers the fastest retrieve in the Abel lineup, picking up an impressive 15.5 to 17.5 inches per turn. A newly designed larger handle improves grip and control during sustained fights, while the alternating stacked carbon and stainless-steel drag system provides smooth, locked-down stopping power. The sealed drag system and caged frame are engineered for extreme saltwater conditions, yet the reel maintains a lightweight feel thanks to its open-frame structure. It is available in either a ported or solid frame configuration. Another standout feature is customization. On the new Abel website, you can mix and match frame and spool finishes at no additional cost. Choose from Gloss Black, Deep Blue, Deep Green, or Platinum to build a reel that fits your style. The reel is offered in two sizes, 9/11 and 12/14. abelreels.com Photo: William Woodward The post Abel’s Most Advanced Reel Yet appeared first on Fly Fusion. View the full article

Fly Fusion’s Editors’ Choice Awards celebrate the year’s most trusted, fish-ready gear, products that don’t just look good on the rack, but prove themselves day after day on the water. From smart storage to quick-access functionality, the best equipment is the kind that helps you fish more efficiently and keeps essentials right where you need them. This year’s Best Pack winner does exactly that, blending adaptability, thoughtful organization, and convenience into one streamlined carry system: the Patagonia Stealth Switch Pack. A creature of habit, I’ve been fishing with the same Patagonia sling pack for several years. Like its predecessor, the 9-liter Stealth Switch Pack is built for left- or right-shoulder wear and easily slides into an on-the-water fly-change station. The new one, however, also converts to a hip pack. Among the features are a net sleeve and embedded magnets on the pack front and shoulder strap that temporarily hold flies and nippers for quick fly changes. For pockets, the pack has one exterior-front zippered pocket, one zippered pocket on the shoulder strap, and four large stretch compartments in the pack interior. The Stealth Switch Pack also features a water bottle sleeve, corrosion-resistant zips, and numerous gear attachments and lash points. Patagonia.com © Photo Andrew Burr The post Editors’ Choice Awards – Best Pack appeared first on Fly Fusion. View the full article

By Bob Reece As the winter snows of the Rocky Mountains begin to thaw, a change is set in motion. The landscape breaks loose and emerges from a crisp exoskeleton of winter. For many fly anglers, the pinnacle of this yearly change is the transformation of Pteronarcys californica – the stonefly known as the salmonfly – into its adult form. Most fly fishers have some familiarity with spring salmonfly hatches that proclaim the beginning of the new season on many of western North America’s freestone rivers and streams. While the salmonfly hatch is one of fly fishing’s most compelling events, success during this time is not guaranteed and often depends on the design of your flies. When creating the Beefcake Stone, I spent extensive time observing the naturals from both above and below the water. This provided me with an accurate picture of the insect’s visual and behavioural traits. The exoskeletons of adult salmon flies display a subtle sheen, so I selected a tying material that was capable of producing the same effect in my imitations. With a combination of buoyancy and reflectivity, Wapsi’s Loco Foam is the perfect material. In addition to its gloss, its laminated coating reduces flexibility. This allows for more realistic body segmentation. While the body of the fly itself is rigid, its appendages move easily. The Sexi-floss antennae and tail fibers, along with round rubber legs, provide the fly with actively twitching limbs. Tantalizing action is paired with realism by knotting all of the legs. This nicely mimics the prominent leg joints in adult Pteronarcys. Aesthetic appeal is crucial, but without durability, it is meaningless. Zap-A-Gap is essential when working with the foam elements of this pattern. It should be applied any time two foam surfaces are placed in contact. At the core of the pattern is the sturdy Tiemco 200R hook. This hook is strong enough to turn even the heaviest fish in high spring flows without straightening out. The elk and deer hair wings used in many adult salmon fly patterns have been replaced by Thin Skin. This is often used in the construction of nymphs and streamers, yet with its sheen, flexibility and extreme durability, it is an ideal wing material. The bottom of this pattern is viewed by fish and thus should be given special attention. To ensure the longevity of the Loco Foam in this area, I coat the bottom surface of the fly with a thin layer of UV Clear Cure Goo. This greatly increases the visual and functional durability of the underside. When fishing the Beefcake Stone, tippet size is dependent on water clarity. On freestone rivers, the water is often high and murky during the salmonfly hatch. In these situations, I use 2X fluorocarbon tippet. As water clarity improves, I move to 3X or 4X. Fish in crystal-clear water will happily take a salmon-fly pattern properly presented on 4X fluorocarbon tippet. On its own, the Beefcake Stone is more than capable of producing plenty of fish. I sometimes double down and fish a dual dry setup with two Beefcakes. I attach the second fly with two feet of fluorocarbon tippet from the eye of the front fly to the eye of the rear fly. I use a non-slip mono loop knot for all connections. These knots allow the flies to move freely and are stronger than clinch knots. I also fish a large but lightly weighted stonefly nymph on a dropper two feet beneath a single Beefcake Stone. With this rig, I target the shallow pockets and margins of the river. This technique can be deadly during the early stages of the hatch because of the large number of nymphs that congregate in these areas before their exodus from the water. Triumph in fly fishing is often signified by a successful meeting of fly and fish. The expectation of this is never greater than when you’re standing in the midst of a salmonfly hatch. Don’t leave triumph to chance. Try a Beefcake Stone and find success in the midst of chaotic beauty. The post Reece’s Beefcake Stone appeared first on Fly Fusion. View the full article

By Kirk Deeter Excerpt from the current issue: “Contrary to all the dogma about specific colors and fly patterns and all that, what it usually (really) boils down to is shape and profile. And that’s true whether you’re spoon-feeding emergers to selective trout, trying to match baitfish roosterfish are chomping in Baja, or throwing shrimp or crab patterns at bonefish or permit somewhere on the flats. Do fish see colors? Absolutely. But at the end of the day, what a fish is really going to want to eat is a fly that looks very close in shape and size to what they’re foraging on. There’s a reason why the Parachute Adams dry fly has been a producing staple for many trout anglers for over 100 years. And there’s also a reason why a Chernobyl Ant produces on many rivers in the West and elsewhere during the terrestrial season. A Crazy Charlie or Squimp in the flats will work, nine times out of ten, if you stick it in a place where the fish sees it. It’s all about shape and profile.” Subscribe or pick up the issue at your local bookstore or fly shop for the full article. © Photo Faceless Fly Fishing The post Kirk Deeter’s Lesson on Picking Bugs appeared first on Fly Fusion. View the full article

Leader and tippet might not steal the spotlight, but they matter, especially when presentation gets technical, flies get smaller, or conditions get tough. For 2026, Scientific Anglers has expanded its leader and tippet offering with the introduction of the new Mastery series, providing high-quality, budget-friendly lines for freshwater and saltwater applications. Leader optionsThe Mastery leaders are available in lengths from 7.5 feet to 12 feet, with a variety of tapers designed for specific conditions and target species. Leaders are available individually or in three-packs, which is a practical option for anglers who like to keep a couple of fly rods ready. Tippet optionsThe Mastery tippet is available in both fluorocarbon and nylon in sizes 3X to 5X, and in spool sizes of 30 meters or 100 meters. For most anglers, that range covers general trout work, everyday nymph rigs and a wide range of light saltwater applications. Where it fitsThe addition of the Mastery series alongside Scientific Anglers’ award-winning Absolute series of premium leader and tippet provides one of the broadest leader and tippet offerings on the market, and ensures anglers have access to Scientific Anglers’ legendary quality and innovation across every price point. Learn more about the Mastery series here: scientificanglers.com/new-products The post New for 2026: SA Mastery leader and tippet appeared first on Fly Fusion. View the full article

By Derek Bird The logjam provided enough depth and structure to hold decent sized trout. I waded in just below it to about thigh deep and made a good cast up to where it looked like the large fish should be holding. My beetle pattern bobbed and drifted a foot or two from about the half-way-point of the jam where a few larger logs protruded into the river. I pulled quickly at the line to manage the slack as the current pushed the terrestrial toward me. Then just like I’d envisioned, a pair of lips inhaled the beetle—a very small pair of lips. I set and a six-inch fish skittered over the surface. My anticipation for a larger trout may have affected my overly forceful hook set. I say the trout was six-inches but it could have just as easily been four or five. Admittedly, I may miscalculate by an inch or two regardless the size of the fish. I don’t often actually measure my fish because I’m quite confident in my approximate benchmark measurements. A six-inch trout could be anything up to six inches. A 12-inch trout is usually anything between nine and 12. After that I get a little more precise: a 15-inch trout is anything an inch or so shy of that, and a 16-inch trout is actually 16…at least in my mind anyway. An 18-inch trout…well, anything that looks like 18 inches or above I usually do a quick measurement against my rod before I send it back. Oddly, a few of my 18-inch trout have actually measured 16 inches. I say all that to say the six-inch trout that grabbed my beetle was about half way between me and the logjam when I saw a dark shadow dart out and ambush the small trout. The battle immediately transitioned from a quick land-and-release scenario into an uncertain tug-o-war. I’d actually been in this type of situation before—the small fish takes the fly and then a large bull trout hijacks the poor little guy. Never have I ever actually landed the bull trout. He always spits his prey just a few feet from me, so I assumed the same would happen this time. But there was something vastly different about this situation unfolding in front of me—there were no char in this system. As I brought the two fish closer, something completely unpredictable happened. I’ve replayed the event multiple times, and I still have no idea how. Without a change in tension or direction, I watched as the small fish swam away. Very nonchalantly…like he’d had enough for one day. Somehow the little Houdini escaped the jaws of his captor and now the large trout alone was on the end of my line. At about four feet away, I reached for my net and pulled it from my backpack then promptly fumbled and dropped it just as the large fish took another run straight toward the lower end of the jam. I turned the rod to my right in order to guide him away from the submerged timber, but I was a little late. When I pulled on my rod, I didn’t feel the head shakes of a large trout, just the solid and consistent tension created by deadwood. At this point I faced a conundrum. Do I wade deeper toward the jam in order to see if a slightly different rod angle frees the line and possibly the fish if he was still on, or do I run downstream after my net, which was now getting dangerously close to a slightly submerged stump? I chose the latter because it appeared more attainable. I sprinted down the river and got to the end of my unspooled line then lunged for my net just moments before it became part of the unretrievable mess around the stump. I picked it up and put it under my left arm and reeled in my line while trekking back toward the snag. When I arrived near the bottom of the logjam, I was able to comfortably wade another two feet beyond my original position and then another couple uncomfortable feet beyond that all the while angling my rod upstream as far as I could. To my surprise, I felt the line release from the submerged log and immediately felt the headshakes from the large fish. He was still there! I reeled him up as I moved back toward my initial casting position. Then I took the retrieved net from under my left arm, raised the tip of my rod toward the slightly overcast sky and watched as the heavily spotted, yellow-bellied cutthroat slid over the side of the net. I’m really not sure how it happened, but the beetle was embedded in the corner of the jaw in the very same way as if he’d taken it himself. I removed the hook and slid my hand under the fish’s belly and lifted him toward my rod. This one, by my closest estimation needed to be measured. My mental yardstick placed him on the larger side of 18 inches. When I placed his tail at the butt of the rod, his nose stretched well beyond any logos or weight hashtags. This one’s got to run a solid 20 I thought as I slipped him back in the water and held him for a moment before he decided to splash with his tale and swim quickly toward the chaotic ball of trees and branches. The rest of the day I fished each of the deep pools with dries first and then made a second pass with streamers. I caught lots of fish on both but none rivaled that trout’s size. On the way home, I reminisced about the one…or more accurately the two. I’ve been fishing now for four solid decades, mostly for trout, and to that point I’d never had a cutthroat ambush a six-inch trout at the end of my line. The only explanation…maybe I overestimated the size of the trout that rose to the beetle. I guess he could have been four inches just as easily as he could have been six. That’s a possibility. Regardless, a trout eating another a third its size, then the beetle transferring from the smaller to the larger mouth, and then the trout running me into a jam and me getting the trout off the jam…he’s likely a trout I won’t soon forget. When I got home, I grabbed my gear from the vehicle and placed it in the garage. I rummaged about for a tape measure and then stretched it from the rod butt to where his nose reached. By precise calculations, the trout measured just shy of 18. Hmm. I overestimated by two inches—glad to see even in the mayhem of a moment, some things never change. Photo: Arian Stevens The post Just Shy of Eighteen appeared first on Fly Fusion. View the full article

The International Fly Fishing Film Festival (IF4), a curated collection of world-class films and cinematic storytelling from independent fly-fishing filmmakers from around the globe, is honored to announce RA Beattie, founder of Beattie Outdoor Productions and co-founder of Off the Grid Studios, as the winner of Audience Choice Award — Best Film in the 2025 IF4 for his groundbreaking film “The Silent Spotter”. This year’s top honor was determined entirely by audience votes from viewers around the world, underscoring the film’s powerful connection with the global fly-fishing community. The Silent Spotter introduces audiences to the extraordinary life of Tommy Batun, a deaf and mute fly-fishing guide from Xcalak, Mexico. With sharp eyes, unmatched intuition, and an unshakable love for the flats, Tommy has redefined what it means to be a guide, an innovator, and a hero in the world of saltwater fly fishing. Through stunning visuals and intimate storytelling, the film showcases Tommy’s remarkable ability to communicate, teach, and lead on the water, proving that passion and skill speak louder than words. “‘The Silent Spotter’ reflects Off the Grid Studio’s unique vision and remarkable talent for crafting memorable, meaningful stories,” said Chris Bird, founder and executive producer of IF4. “Beattie’s talent, curiosity and dedication to the craft have made him one of the most influential voices in fly-fishing cinema, and this film is yet another example of his remarkable contribution to our community.” “I’m honored that ‘The Silent Spotter’ has been recognized by IF4 Audiences as the top film in 2025 – especially with so many amazing and passionate films in the festival lineup,” said RA Beattie. “Tommy’s story is unlike any other. His skill, dedication, and spirit inspired every frame of this film, and we’re grateful to share his legacy with the global fly-fishing community.” With the 2025 festival tour now officially concluded, IF4 is already looking ahead. A new collection of world-class films for the 2026 season is complete, and the festival will debut the new lineup beginning in January, bringing fresh stories, new voices, and groundbreaking cinematography to anglers around the world. The full 2025 IF4 presentation is now available to watch at FlyFusionStreaming.com, offering audiences worldwide the opportunity to experience the complete lineup. “The Silent Spotter” is now available on the Off the Grid Studios website as a Limited Edition Mixtape (USB), plus digital download and other streaming options: offthegridstudios.com/pages/the-silent-spotter About IF4 IF4 is the ultimate celebration of fly-fishing culture, featuring a curated collection of world-class films and cinematic storytelling from independent filmmakers around the globe. Rooted in the soul of fly fishing, it brings together powerful stories that capture the heart and adventure of fly fishing. IF4 is a gathering place for the fly-fishing community and a celebration of friendship, stories and stoke. About Off the Grid Studios and RA Beattie Off the Grid Studios is an award-winning film and creative production company led by filmmaker RA Beattie. Known for cinematic, story-driven work rooted in adventure and conservation, the studio produces documentaries, broadcast content, and brand campaigns for partners around the world. Their films blend authenticity and craft to spotlight the people, places, and stories that shape our natural world. The post RA Beattie Named Winner of the International Fly Fishing Film Festival for “The Silent Spotter” appeared first on Fly Fusion. View the full article