Fly Fishing Steelhead

by Steve Buckner
Although we may never understand all of the variables that attract a steelhead to a given section of water, and ultimately what leads to a successful hook-up, the following paragraphs will hopefully give you some ideas to ponder before heading out the door with fly rod in hand. Steelhead can be particularly hard to catch, not necessarily because they won’t pursue a properly presented fly, but because you’re searching for a needle in a haystack. 99.99999 percent of the water is empty, and you’re trying to find that one fish that will take your offering. The reality is that many fly fisherman go years without success. Like most things however, once you consider the variables and process the information more carefully you can improve your chances of success. If you ask any successful northwest steelhead angler what are the most important aspects to becoming successful steelhead fly fisherman they’ll probably answer by stating something like “fish the right water” and/or “confidence”. These most basic of variables do go hand in hand, for without one, there isn’t the other. You most likely won’t catch Steelhead if you aren’t in the right water, and if you don’t catch Steelhead you won’t gain confidence.

Before we even begin to talk about the water that Steelhead can be found in, tactics and fly selection, it is helpful to know something about the life of a Steelhead. While this paragraph isn’t meant to be an exhaustive discussion on this species, we’ll take a quick look at what a Steelhead is. The Steelhead is a sea-run Rainbow trout. Its Latin name is Oncorhynchus Mykiss. Over time, Rainbow trout evolved to go to the sea where they were able to feed more efficiently. After spending approximately 3 years in fresh water as juveniles, they migrate to the ocean as 6-7 inch smolts and feed on the abundance therein. Steelhead may spend 2-3 years in the ocean and may grow to staggering size before returning to their natal stream as sexually mature adults to spawn in the spring. Upon returning to fresh water, Steelhead begin to lose their silvery appearance and regain the color characteristics of Rainbow trout. It is during the upstream migration in preparation for spawning that we fish for Steelhead. Now that we understand what Steelhead are, and what their purpose for re-entering fresh water is, we’ll examine the water that they tend to be found in. While Steelhead must pass through every section of a given water system in route to their spawning beds, they choose certain sections of a river to rest, and/or spend time. This water is referred to as holding water. Holding water is generally described as water that is 3-6 feet deep and flows about as fast as you would normally walk. While this is true, there are subtle variances that also make one piece of water more appealing to a Steelhead than another. Some of the variables that make up good holding water are: flow, depth, river bottom makeup, and structure. By evaluating this basic set of variables you’ll better determine where to spend your time fishing.

What creates great holding water is a function of geologic structure and its surrounding vegetation. For any given river system, the gradient, or slope, of the canyon or surrounding landscape through which the river flows determines the speed of the water. So, obviously, in some sections the river flows exceedingly fast, while in other sections within the same river system the flow may be nearly stagnant. High flows would exhaust the migrating Steelhead so they tend to push through fast water as quickly as possible. In extremely slow water, Steelhead may not get the oxygen they require and/or the temperature in the slack water may be above a comfortable level. Another crucial element that must be considered for good holding water is a run that has a deep section where the Steelhead can move to and hide if it feels threatened. In many cases this deep section may be 15 or so feet deep.

By throwing away the fast and the slow water, we then arrive at those sections of the river where depth and flow is such that the Steelhead can receive the oxygen it requires, the protection it desires, and without so much force that it would exhaust the fish. It is within these sections that you must concentrate your efforts fly fishing for Steelhead. So now that we have a general idea of the good holding water and what to look for, lets move onto other elements of good holding water.

The makeup of the river bottom needs to be considered. The structure for good holding water is usually made up of large stones or gravel. Sandy runs almost never contain steelhead for long as the sand tends to irritate the gills. Look for runs that have stones as large as your fist, maybe larger. In addition to the makeup of the bottom, runs that contain large boulders are especially appealing to steelhead as they offer protection from the currents.

Holding water can vary widely in length and width. On coastal streams, holding water may only be 30-40 yards in length and 30-50 yards in width, and in some cases may be even shorter. In contrast, on large river systems, they may be hundreds of yards in length, and may be over 100 yards in width. A very important point to remember is that Good holding water may be separated by hundreds of yards if not miles of river that is either too fast or slow to hold fish. Because of this, having some means of traveling fairly quickly to the next section of good holding water may mean the difference between success and failure. Keep in mind that fishing for Steelhead is seldom if ever a numbers game, one or two fish in a day is considered a very good day!

In addition to traditional holding water, other places that may occasionally hold fish for brief periods of time are referred to as resting water. Resting water is found directly above or to the side of a section of very fast water, or a chute. This fast water is usually the result of a large change in elevation over a short distance. As the fish come up through the fast water, or chute, they need a moment to rest before making their way further upstream and will find small pockets of slower, softer water to rest and may take a properly presented fly.

Now that you have some idea of what to look for, head to your local river and spend some time observing the water and look for situations as described above. On many small coastal rivers it is possible to gain a height advantage and hike along a given river system while peering into the water. By utilizing polarized glasses, you can now start concentrating on spotting Steelhead. It may take you 10 or 15 minutes of observing a run before finding fish and/or determining that it is empty. Often times, if you can spot one Steelhead you may spot additional Steelhead in the same run. Depending upon light conditions and water clarity, some days are better than others for spotting fish. Look for “shadows” that are about 2 feet in length (fish often look smaller in the water). After locating these “shadows”, look for the wavy motion of a fish as it holds its position. You may also notice a “flash” as the silvery sides reflect light from the sun. Spending time observing fish in their comfortable natural environment will give you a better idea of where fish will likely be the next time you decide to fish. Once you’ve been able to routinely predict where fish will be holding you’ll have better judgment of where to fish on an unknown river.

Remember that Steelhead are almost constantly moving. You may find several Steelhead in a specific location today only to find that same location without fish tomorrow. Locate and write down the locations where you have spotted fish. Also write down places where you observe fish caught. This list of locations will be later used as part of your game plan, which we’ll discuss shortly.

A very important point to remember is that run timing will also play a crucial role in your success. Sometimes there just isn’t anybody home. You’ll need to do some research before heading out the door to determine whether the river system you’re interested in fishing has fish and when the run is. Some river systems get Summer Steelhead, while other get Winter Steelhead. Some rivers get a mixture of both, but one run may be stronger. Don’t waste your time fishing during periods when fish are absent.

Ok, so now its time to customize your own game plan. You’ve done some research, you know which rivers get Steelhead, and when the run typically begins and ends. You’ve spent some time researching a river and have learned where Steelhead typically hold. You’ve checked the flows and have determined that they are conducive for good water conditions. It is now time to grab your fly rod, and head out fishing. Pick one of the runs on your list, fish it thoroughly, and then move onto the next run in your list. By fishing hard, and presenting your fly in those places which are most likely to hold fish, eventually, your efforts will pay off.

Maximizing your chances to catch steelhead.

In the previous section, I wrote about where Steelhead are found and why they are attracted to various stretches of a given river system. Moving on from there, I’ll describe another set of variables that must be considered to give you a better chance of hooking a Steelhead. By knowing where Steelhead can be found and then taking into account this next set of variables you’ll start to bring more fish to hand.

Steelhead are not hard to catch because they are necessarily fussy about what lure is placed in front of them. If you ever have the opportunity to look inside the tackle box of a gear angler, you’re likely to find a rather strange assortment of spin-n-glows, lures, plugs, spinners, and corkies. This assortment of man-made objects have all proven themselves effective as a means of enticing a Steelhead to strike. In addition to the aforementioned gear, gear fisherman may also use cured salmon or steelhead eggs and/or sand shrimp. On further examination, one lure may be shiny, one may be dull, one may be bright and another dark. The difference in size from one lure to another may be astonishing. Bait has natural oils and gives off a scent that may attract a Steelhead. But why would a Steelhead strike an orange fluorescent Hot-Shot? It stands to reason then that a Steelhead may decide to strike almost any object that is placed tantalizingly in front of the Steelhead’s nose. The same philosophy holds true as it applies to fly selection. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of effective flies that can be used to entice a strike.

While determining fly selection, also remember that unlike trout, Steelhead have generally stopped feeding once they’ve entered fresh water so matching the hatch is out. The truth is that we really don’t understand what triggers a fish to take our offering so in general, pick a fly and then continue to fish with it. Unfortunately this approach won’t offer the trout enthusiast much comfort, because the trout enthusiast is focused on matching the hatch. Keep in mind that there is no “magic” fly. The sad truth is that a Steelhead is just as likely to take a hook wrapped with yarn as it is to take an elegantly tied spey fly. The next few paragraphs will provide some suggestions and guidelines but after you’ve chosen a fly, you should continue to fish with it and avoid constantly changing flies as it wastes precious daylight. (One exception would be if you’ve had a fish strike and then refuse, it often pays to switch up flies.)

Although there are no hard and fast rules, Steelhead fly selection is usually based around water conditions so let’s have a look at what we generally experience in the Pacific Northwest. Many northwestern rivers flow from glacial fields and almost always have some amount of silt present and never or rarely run completely clear. The color of the water flowing from glacial fields has the look of a liquid elementary school chalkboard. It is greenish/grayish in appearance. In general, all rivers will run brown at high water, then to greenish as the water level begins to drop, and then may run clear after a few days to a week of little or no rainfall. Water clarity will play a role in determining fly color and size.

For greenish water and water with limited visibility, you want your fly to stand out so large flies in size 1/0 or 2/0 are a good choice. Steelhead are not going to be spooked by large offerings under such conditions. As for color of the fly, bright maribou flies and/or dark flies are generally a good first choice because they can be distinguished from other debris floating down the river. Everyone has their own favorite fly patterns, but those that provide movement and action will entice more strikes. This movement and/or action is probably the single most important factor responsible for triggering a strike.

When the water is low and clear, especially during summer and fall, large flies may very well spook Steelhead. Smaller, more drab patterns will usually out produce large bright flies. Steelhead are routinely caught using flies tied on size 6 hooks. Many Steelhead fisherman carry a Summer fly selection and a Winter fly selection, the difference being mainly the size of the flies.

Rain is an important variable in the Steelhead equation. As the rain falls, the rivers begin to rise and this triggers Steelhead to migrate high into their native streams. The rising water and the flush of minerals instill a sense of urgency in Steelhead to migrate upriver. They may move upriver quite quickly and they’ve been documented to travel over 20 miles in a 24-hour period. While rising rivers signal upstream migration, dropping rivers tend to set up ideal fishing conditions. After moving further up their natal rivers, Steelhead become more aggressive. You want to time your trips to target Steelhead after the rains have raised the river and when the water is beginning to drop. During the winter months, this may give you a very short window to target Steelhead, especially if you only have weekend days off. Especially during the rainy winter months, once you factor in the rains, your days off, and good water conditions you may have only a few days per month with ideal conditions.

To help you determine the flows for your favorite river, you can check the flows of most river systems by taking advantage of information available on the Internet. The United States Geological Survey, USGS, is the agency responsible for posting real time data related to the affects that weather plays on our river systems (check out http://waterdata.usgs.gov/nwis). By utilizing this site, you can observe hydrographs on many river systems. The hydrographs detail water flows over time and you can use them to your advantage to find optimum fishing conditions. As previously mentioned, optimum conditions are those where the river is falling, or dropping into shape after significant rainfall. In addition to government sites, there are numerous Fly Fishing forums where you can ask questions about your favorite watershed before heading out the door. It pays to do some research before you leave home.

Light plays another important function in being successful although its affects are much more pronounced during the hot summer months. Some runs are situated such that the sun shines directly into the Steelhead’s eyes at various times of the day. Fish do not have the benefit of eyelids and direct sunlight can be blinding. You should make it a priority to fish those runs that are shaded, or fish them when the light is either off of the water and/or coming from behind the fish so that the fish actually has a chance of seeing your fly. Vegetation along the river can provide shade and you may be able to entice a fish to a fly by fishing in the shaded areas during mid-day.

A few final considerations . . .

Because of the long hours required to hook into Steelhead, every effort must be made to minimize the time it takes to cast and maximize the time your fly spends in the water. It doesn’t matter how good the fishing is, if your fly isn’t wet it won’t catch fish. If you’re using a single-handed rod, don’t make more than two or three false casts before letting your fly settle on the water.

Tie good knots and learn how to tie them fast. I’ve observed anglers taking 10 to 15 minutes while trying to tie on a fly. Just like casting, learn how to minimize down time.

Keep your hooks sharp. You don’t get too many opportunities to hook into a Steelhead so you want to make sure that when it does happen you put the odds in your favor. Through the course of the day your flies come in contact with many objects that dull the hook. Check the hook often and make sure that it is kept sticky sharp.

Pick a run and fish it through thoroughly but it is also important to remember is not to spend too long fishing any one location.

The number one rule is Don’t give up!!! It takes persistence to catch these fish.

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Steelhead Nymphing Strategies

By Andy Simon and Mike Davidchik
Nymphing is a fun and effective way to take steelhead under many different conditions. Knowing how to nymph effectively will open up water to a fisherman that they have never been able to cover before.
While we know that mature steelhead do not metabolize food while they are in freshwater, it has been proven that they feed, extensively. During my own research, stomach samples of steelhead have turned up nymphs, most commonly caddis, followed by mayfly, and rarely stoneflies. Eggs, small fish such as sculpin, and adult October caddis have also been observed.

Mike (Steelie Mike) weighs in on the issue; Some sub-species of steelhead in rivers like the Rogue in Southern Oregon and the Feather and Trinity in Northern California have steelhead that come back to freshwater each year. These fish, called half pounders, are very aggressive fish and actually feed while in freshwater. These steelhead return each year of their life cycle and feed while they are there. The first year they return, they are trout sized and can be very aggressive; however they are not mature enough to spawn yet. Their second year they are sexually mature, however they still carry their instincts of feeding in freshwater and can be very aggressive to a well placed nymph. Rivers such as the Upper Rogue can at times have many steelhead in them. However the river is not suited well for the traditional wet fly swing. This is why the nymph fisherman has an advantage. Fishing from a drift boat here is the most effective way to catch steelhead. Matching the hatch comes into play and can lead to multiple fish days.

Steelhead Stomach Contents

A natural presentation can be important when targeting steelhead. These fish have seen hooks during nearly every part of their journey in life except the open ocean. Sometimes a bright colored pink fly, fished deep, will do more to spook a steelhead than entice it. Contrary to popular steelhead fishing methods, my friends and I do a lot of dead drift nymphing with small nymphs and soft-hackles in the size 8-14 range. Dark, drab, imitative flies, fished, as a nymph would naturally drift along the bottom will often pick up wary fish when they snub more intrusive offerings.

As steelhead move further away from the ocean, they begin to revert back to their old habits as stream trout, both in appearance and behavior. Many believe that this fish feed compulsively not as a way to obtain calories, but simply as old instinct, and as a way to entertain themselves. Stories of atlantic salmon playing with weeds drifting in the current and steelhead bumping sticks as they float downstream add credence to this theory.

Techniques:

Steelhead nymphs can be fished many different ways, from static dead-drift to a fast paces downstream swing. I have even caught a couple fish stripping rubber legged flies upstream in preparation for another cast.

However, the most effective techniques for my friends and I has been the static dead-drift. This is accomplished much the same as one would nymph for stream trout. When using a strike indicator, I will usually cast upstream using a tuck cast to bring the nymph(s) under the indicator. Upon landing, the flies will not be affected by drag from the indicator, causing them and the leader to sink very rapidly. Fishing along the bottom is very important in most situations, so keeping your flies there longer adds up to more fish hooked.

Mending is another very important facet of the technique. A drag free drift will help keep your nymphs in the strike zone longer and looking more real while they are there. If you notice the line is pulling the indicator downstream at an unnatural speed, pick the line off the water and flip it upstream of the indicator. Drag is a common occurrence while fishing a seam where your flies are on the slow current side and you are standing in fast water, trying to slow your drift down. Often, the indicator will be downstream of you and the line will be moving slower than it, causing the indicator to drag and the flies pulled out of the strike zone to the surface. This can be remedied by flipping line downstream of the indicator or by simply feeding more line out of the guides, and piling it above in the indicator with an underpowered roll cast. Keeping the flies drifting unhindered by the current is of utmost importance, so by default, you must be a confident and skilled mender.

Mike elaborates on the technique: The strike may be subtle or just a slow movement of the indicator. Although summer fish may be aggressive and hammer you fly, winter fish on the other hand often just peck at the fly. Cold-water conditions slow their metabolism, so winter steelhead are slow to move to a fly. When these sluggish fish take the nymph, the indicator may just wobble a slight bit out of its normal trajectory. However nymphing for steelhead in cold water is a very valuable technique. As stated winter fish are slow to move to a fly because of decreased metabolism. Due to this, steelhead will be more likely to take a fly that is placed right in front of them. They will not have to move as much as a fly that is swung to them with the wet fly swing. This is why nymph fisherman frequently catches higher numbers of steelhead then fisherman swinging traditional patterns.

Small water often lends itself to nymphing, but tactics will need to be modified to fish it effectively. When fishing small water less than 30 feet wide at most spots, I often forgo the use of an indicator and instead tightline nymph. This method requires careful line control as most strikes are felt with the rod, rather than seen. While tightline nymphing is easier than indicator nymphing, if you have never done it before, it is a challenge.

Cast your flies (usually heavily weighted, more so than with indicator nymphing) upstream with the same tuck cast, and as the flies land, instantly come tight to the flies with your rod and guide them downstream through the drift with your rod. You want to start the drift with your rod pointed directly upstream, and finish the drift with the rod pointed directly downstream. Because of the heavily weighted flies, you should feel bottom during most of the drift. You don't want drop the rod low enough that the flies snag over bottom, but low enough so they periodically tick rocks. The hook set is accomplished by a wrist snap directly downstream, followed by a burning reel and screaming fisherperson.

Swinging can be an effective technique during certain situations, and Mike has put the method to use while fishing nymphs more often that I. Here is what he has to say: When using your indicator, you can also swing you flies at the end of the drift. Your flies will rise to the surface at the end of the drift, just like during a wet fly swing. At times this natural movement of a bug emerging to the surface is all it takes to get a fish interested. Aggressive summer steelhead will often be enticed when added movement its put into the equation.

Sometimes fish will not respond to a dead drift fly for reasons unknown to man. However, this is most commonly seen under overcast skies. During these conditions, I usually remove the indicator if I am using one and swing slow and deep with the same nymphs. This technique proved deadly on the Grand Ronde later last year, and my buddies and I noticed many spey fishermen converting to more imitative flies, which improved catch rates. As usual with the swing, a strong hook set is not needed. When you feel the strike simply tighten up on the line until you establish a firm connection.

Reading the Water

The ability to understand where steelhead lie during given conditions is undoubtedly the most important skill in a steelhead fisherman's arsenal. Anadromous fish do not use the same lies as fluvial (stream and river resident) fish. Fluvial fish will select lies than allow them to feed easily, and are willing to fight a little more current and expose themselves a little more than anadromous fish to accomplish that. Anadromous fish, on the other hand, will commonly lie where the current is soft, and where they have shelter, regardless of how much food is available to them. Steelhead favor deep slots and seams, which provide cover in the form of large rocks and deep water. Long slow tailouts are also a favorite lie because of the moderate currents available. Log-jams, root balls, and undercut banks all harbor steelhead, but keeping one out of the snags while hooked can be a huge challenge. A simple rule of thumb is; if a system holds bull trout and steelhead, they will often use the exact same spots in the system. If you see bull trout or are catching them, at any time through the year, remember the spot, because it is likely to be holding steelhead, or will be holding steelhead during some time of the year.

An interesting exception to the deeper water rule regarding steelhead is riffles with larger bolders. These are areas where fish can hold behind rocks, where the current is really mellow. While they might be sitting in water than is only a foot and half deep, there will usually be deep water close by in case the fish is spooked. I tend to favor this type of water for nymphing because you can easily work different pockets, and the fish tend to be very aggressive. During the warmer months of the steelhead season (September, October, March, and April around Walla Walla) the fish are often extremely eager to engulf a nymph or egg, and the fight is usually amazing. A hookup followed by a warp-speed retreat downstream into deep water accompanied by a few jumps is commonplace. The landing ratio in this type of water is often low, but each fight leaves you breathless.

Covering Water

When fishing a larger system such as the Deschutes, Clearwater or Grand Ronde I often place multiple drifts over the same spot because fish will sometimes be stacked tight into certain areas and will sometimes be lying at different depths. On the other hand, when fishing small water less than 50 feet wide on average, one or two drifts over a likely spot is almost always enough, and will tell you if there are fish in the area. In skinny water, steelhead hold in defined areas, and almost always on the bottom. I have also noticed that steelhead in small water are more aggressive, and usually take on the first or second good cast.

On a large river, fishing through a long run more than once can often pay. I will often times start at the head and work to the bottom, focusing more casts on the pockets and slots. If I get a hookup I will usually move through the run a few more times looking for additional takers. On small water however, I have seldom taken more than one fish from a section of holding water during the same day, however I find it hard to pass by water I have just taken a fish in. One exception is if you hook a steelhead and it comes off just as the fight is getting started. Often times you can get this fish to come back, either right away or on your way back through the pool later in the day.

Hooking, Fighting, and Landing Techniques

Hook-sets are not to be taken lightly when targeting steelhead. These fish have large, tough mouths, so a firm hook-set is key to setting the stage for a successful battle. If at all possible, try to set downstream of the fish by lifting the rod sharply downstream while stripping line. This combination strip-strike has been my most successful setting method. If the nymphs are downstream of you, do not set by lifting the rod, but instead by sweeping it to the side. Lifting the rod will pull the fly upstream and out of a steelhead's mouth before it can establish a firm connection.

Keeping solid, smooth, heavy pressure on the steelhead, as with any large fish, is the best way to land them. Many fish are lost by people who don't tighten up properly, causing the hook to simply drop from the fish's mouth.

Steelhead are large and powerful, and they will do what they wish while on your line. Trying to stop a fish from running or turning downstream often equate to a lost fish. When the fish is doing its thing, lay off. It will most likely stop before that backing knot, and when it does, start reeling.

Often these great fish go air born, which is cause for deep concern to the angler. Loosing a steelhead in mid-air has happened to nearly all experienced angler, but many times this can be avoided. I try to ease up on the pressure when a fish is in the air. Bowing the rod towards the fish has been most effective method in my experience. Sometimes it works, sometimes it does not, but it is the best method I have tried for jumping fish.

Besides the hook-set, the most common place to loose steelhead is during landing. The fish is tired and stressed, however steelhead posses uncommon endurance, and usually manage one more run when you are convinced they are finished. In a fly fisher's haste to land the fish, they often up the pressure, which leads to some sort of tackle failure and a prematurely freed steelhead. Holding the rod high above your head can provide a big angle change on the hook causing it to pull free. I have done best by keeping the rod to my side and walking the fish back into shallow water. This way, it receives smooth, solid pressure, and the angle of the line pulling on the hook stays the same as during the fight.

If I am not going to keep the steelhead, I try to keep it in the water and remove the fly quickly for release. Photos of fish in the water look great, but lifting a fish out of the water for a few seconds carefully also does little harm. While reviving the fish, support its belly under the water with on hand and keep a gentle hand on its tail. Move the fish into the current and face it upstream. Do not move the fish back and forth in the water; instead just hold it steady until it kicks off.

Nymphing Gear

Rod: I like a slower action stick, as they seem to mend very well- a 6-9 weight depending upon the size of the river and size of the fish. Lengths from 9 to 11 feet are perfect because the longer rods mend more effectively. A spey rod is also ideal for nymphing, but that's a whole different game.

Reels: I think above anything a true large arbor reel is very important in steelheading. The ability to pick up line fast and keep that all-important pressure on the fish is key. Also, when a fish is taking line the spool spins more slowly with a large arbor, leading to less knuckling busting reel encounters. I've put a healthy burse on my hand from a spinning reel handle that made it tough to double haul for a few weeks.

Line: A high floating line with a long belly is the most important aspect of a nympher's gear. Sure, you can get it done with a standard weight-forward or double taper line, but having a line with a thick, heavy, high floating head will make mending easier, not to mention casting a cumbersome rig. I really like the Rio Nymph line for this application, it just fishes well, and casts relatively unburdened compared to other lines even with split shot and large flies attached.

Indicators - I have used everything from dry flies to store bought red and white plastic bobbers (to enervate some local spey freaks) as indicators. Here are a few of my favorite:

The Macram Yarn Indicator - Great for light flies and lighter biting fish, will respond to the slightest of strikes. However, these can be hard to cast in larger sizes, also can be hard to see because heavy flies or split shot can sink even large ones with ease. I use this indicator on smaller waters mostly and during low water periods where heavy flies fished deep and long drifts are not needed.

The Corkie - A favorite for big water, these things can float an anvil in bigger sizes, and even when sunk are very visible. I don't so much care if my indicator sinks, but I need to see it, no matter where it is. Corkies get the vote for big water and big flies fished deep. However, Corkies can be tough to cast on smaller rods. Also, it is sometimes difficult to get these to stay put on your line. Rather than fussing with toothpicks, I usually keep about a foot long butt-section in my leader made of 30lb amnesia, which I tie the Corkie to with a single surgeons loop, keeping it in place for good.

The Large Dry Fly: early in the season large dries such as October caddis adults and big grasshoppers make great indicators. They will not stay on the surface or be very visible with large nymphs attached, but for lighter nymphing they are the ticket. You also have the chance of a steelhead eating your dry, which happens more than one would think.

Leader: I normally just use a non-tapered piece of 15lb Maxima or 20lb Rio Flouro-flex plus, from 4 to 12 feet in length depending upon the depth of the water I am fishing. A non-tapered, thin piece of mono or flouro used for the leader will sink much faster than a tapered leader. A tapered leader's thick portion rests at the surface of the water, which is a problem. The current at the surface of a river is always faster than the bottom current, so these thick sections of leader cause the flies to drag in the slower bottom currents, and rise to the surface.

Tippet: I never go less than 8lb test while targeting steelhead and normally use either 10lb maxima or 15lb fluorocarbon. Stronger, thicker tippets roll out better, and let you play fish quicker and more effectively. Since steelhead have a high tolerance for thick line compared to most trout, using heavy tippet usually does not decrease catch rate. Connecting your fly with a loop knot will solve the problem of thick tippets dampening a flies natural action

A Quick Word on Knots

The kind of knots one uses for steelhead are very important because breaking strength changes hugely from knot to knot. Also, a given knot may work better with one type of line than another, with fluorocarbon needing special care because of the possibility of reduced knot strength. My favorite fly to tippet knot is the uni-knot, for its speed of tying and strength. I use a double uni-knot for attaching tippet to leader also, because it is much stronger than a blood or surgeons knot. The Pitzen knot is a favorite of mikes because of the higher strength rating. This is a great knot to attach dropper lines with because of it is stronger than the uni-knot.

Some Notes on Flies

Fly selection for steelhead depends greatly on time of year and location. Since I am covering techniques mainly used on the Snake and middle Columbia river strain steelhead, my fly patterns are somewhat specialized.

Early in the season (August to November), I mainly focus on patterns imitating food found in a steelhead stream. As the season progresses and the fish move towards spawning time, flies imitating the eggs of steelhead increase in effectiveness. Also, as the season nears spawning time, steelhead drop eggs at an increased rate. Even well before the fish will spawn hens will be dropping eggs, which show up in the drift. It seems steelhead reflexively will go out of their way to eat an egg, so it is important to capitalize on this opportunity.

This list includes the flies I most commonly use for steelhead in my area. Most major categories of nymphs and attractor patterns are represented.

The Copper John
Copper John Fly

Hook: size 4-12 caddis nymph hook, 2x heavy
Tail: 2 Biots, splayed from hook
Body: Copper Wire, in brass, olive, red, or purple
Wingcase: Thinskin, with a coating of UV knot sense
Legs: Centipede legs
Thorax: pure mylar dubbing or ice-dub
Weight: Gold or Tungsten Gold bead, and lead wire under Thorax

The Copper John is my most effective pattern, probably because it imitates so many different bugs at once. The red and olive versions alone cover most caddis, stone, and mayfly nymphs. Heck, if you put enough bright red dubbing in the thorax, it would probably pass for an egg. Thank you John Barr, I owe you a few steelhead fillets or something.

Wired Stone
Wired Stone Fly

Hook: size 2-10 straight or curved shank nymph hook, 3x long
Tail: 2 biots
Body: Variegated wire, most useful in black/red or copper/red
Wingcase: 3 pieces of thin skin, cut to shape
Legs: 3 sets of biots
Thorax: pure mylar dubbing or Gartside secrete stuff (not ice dub, needs to be more spikey)
Weight: Lead wire through thorax, and gold or black bead

I don't follow the recipe exactly for this one, but my version has always worked well for me. The profile of a stonefly is represented shockingly well in this fly. Fished with an egg, this fly completes the perfect steak and eggs breakfast that steelhead like so well later in the season.

Prince Nymph
Prince Nymph Fly

Hook: size 4-14
Tail: 2 rubber legs or biots
Body: Peacock ribbed with gold tinsel
Wingcase: Two white biots layed flat along the body
Legs: Brown hackle swept back wet fly style
Weight: Glass or Gold bead, lead wire optional

This is my favorite low water steelhead fly. The attractive, general profile this fly gives looks like a whole lot of bugs, both terrestrial and aquatic. I think the white coloring of the biots is very important, something that steelhead really like. I have also had success fishing this fly on the swing with a dry line.

The Short Buser
Short Buser Fly

Hook: size 2-4 4x long streamer hook
Tail: Black rubber legs, cut long
Body: Very buggy mylar dubbing
Legs: 3 sets of very long black rubber legs
Weight: Brass bead or lead eyes, and a gross amount of .30 lead wire

The Short Buser is a very large, very heavy pattern. It is the only fly that I have ever caught a steelhead on my first cast of the day with, so I like it. This fly is stupidly easy to tie, nothing more than a dubbing brush and a lot of rubber legs. The Buser is usually my point fly when fishing high water. It will sink the other flies without the use of split shot. The Buser presents a big profile and a lot of movement, while hugging the bottom in large currents. I loose a lot of these flies, so it important to be able to tie them fast. You can pound off one of these babies in around 2 minutes if you weight and bead a batch of hooks before you tie. This fly makes a loud crash when it lands often times, sending scowls of disproval from fellow fishermen, until they see you set the hook midway through the drift.

The generic egg:
Standard Egg Pattern

Hook: egg or saltwater gamagatsu
Body: krystal egg or glow bug yarn, spun and clipped

What can I say- super simple fly that takes fish, one of the best for late in the season. Beads fishes as a simple tube fly will also take fish when egg flies are working.

Double Bunny
Double Bunny Pattern

Back hook: Gamagatsu octopus or siawash hook, size 2-6
Front hook: 3x long streamer hook, size 6
Connection: 40lb super line, doubled
Body: Two rabbit strips, connected with bunny's milk
Head: Purple Polar Chenille and lead eyes

The Double Bunny is a great leach/minnow imitation that really slithers through the water. I think it is a simpler tie than the MOAL leach, while being equally effective. Purple, black, and olive/white are my favorite colors to fish the double bunny in. Steelhead dislike minnows, so this fly will sometimes get slammed when the fish pass up other nymphs. Putting a pink or deep orange bead in front of the bunny loose on the line can up the catch rates, and has for me.

A Balance

Steelhead are very hard to catch in most cases. This is not because of the intelligence of the fish, but rather the low number of fish per mile. We should be grateful that the Fish and Game Department does not publish fish per mile counts concerning steelhead. Depression is widespread enough, and fishermen on prozak are a sorry lot.

Nymphing will help increase the catch rates of fisherman, but I have only felt it was unfair a few times in a few hundred trips. When there are low water conditions, it is possible to take large numbers of fish from a pool that is difficult for steelhead to pass until the water rises. On small rivers, it has gotten to the point where I have taken the same wild fish more than once. When things like this start happening, it is time to move on and give these fish a rest. I don't much care if they are hatchery fish, but in my mind things change when there are wild fish in the equation. Around here, true wild fish run much larger than hatchery fish, posses deeper bodies, fight harder, and are often in better conditions. I would rather take one 12-lb wild fish than ten 5-lb hatchery fish. For this reason, I do my best to minimize my impact on wild fish, because I just really want more of them to be around. I suppose I could stop fishing rivers where they frequent, but I think there are better ways. I feel like I am preaching to the choir, but doing things like helping out with your local Fish and Game branch or conservation groups with either time or money, picking up trash, and helping stop poaching makes a big difference. There are much bigger issues that are, for the time, out of our control. However, anything done to help is infinitely better than nothing.

Enjoy nymphing for what it is, a difficult, engaging, fun and effective method for taking steelhead. If it objects to your moral or traditional fundamentals, by all means pass it by. The object of fishing is to have fun, so do what does.

Steelhead

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Old Reliable's Investigation

By Joe Hyde, Lawrence, KS
It’s 8:00 p.m. Saturday, April 21st. My friend Konnie and I are heading into the country to a spot where a family of Barred Owls puts on quite a show calling to one another after sundown. Our route out of town takes us across the dam of Clinton Lake, a big federal reservoir west of Lawrence.

As we’re crossing the dam, up ahead at the drawdown tower a number of vehicles are parked. A couple of guys are walking amongst the vehicles. I think nothing of it; this is a common sight. The waters of Clinton Lake lie west of the dam and at sundown the western sky is often lighted beautifully. Many people will drive to the drawdown tower and park just to watch the sunset and maybe photograph the sometimes spectacular scene.

Konnie was driving and we were yakking away, so it was blind luck that made me turn my head in time to see, hanging near the right knee of one of the guys walking toward me, a flash of movement and light reflecting off a fish – no, more than one – off two or three fish on a stringer this guy was carrying…and those babies looked BIG. I caught just this one glimpse as we zipped past. I couldn’t tell for sure but the fish appeared to be crappies, maybe white bass. Definitely not channel cats. They were just so big!

There was traffic behind us on this narrow, no-shoulder road. The only way to verify what those fish were was to drive clear to the south end of the dam, turn around and make a 1-mile drive back to the outlet tower. Konnie was willing to do this but after agonizing a few moments I decided to let it slide. Even if that lucky fisherman was still there by the time we returned, it would strike him as rude if a stranger hurried up asking to see his fish, inquired what he caught them on, etc., etc. Like some nosy tourist.

No. I would try to find out what those fish were the old fashioned way: by climbing over the guard rail, walking gingerly down Clinton Dam’s long, rocky face to the water’s edge and catching some myself.

But when could I possibly go? There have been so many weeks of high wind this spring. So when Sunday dawned and its 35-mph south wind forecast proved accurate, I stayed indoors all day long in an excruciating can’t-go-fishing funk. The only thing that made the howling wind bearable, ironically, were the recurring visions I had of that guy’s stringer of fish. This wind had to quit sometime and when it did I needed to be ready for a serious fishing trip. I thus set about going through my entire fly collection segregating nymphs, minnow imitators and what few floating flies I own into three small boxes that would go into my fanny pack.

Normally I don’t concern myself with floating flies. You ask me, they’re a pain in the neck – all that fussing with floatant gel or drying powder, which only delays the inevitable waterlogging and must be re-applied regardless each time a fish takes the fly under and slobbers it up with mouth slime. However, over the last three years I’ve been given too many tips by the folks at K&K Fly Fishers, Cabela’s, Yager’s, plus members of Lawrence’s Free State Flyfishers Club – tips about how wild the surface action can be at Clinton Lake along the face of the dam at sundown if the white bass and crappies move into the rocks to feed on mayflies. I’d even heard that the occasional wiper (a white bass/striped bass hybrid) takes a mayfly pattern. So to cover all the bases I held my nose and pulled a few dry flies out of mothballs.

It’s now Monday morning, April 23rd, pre-dawn. I’m in bed half asleep when the silence outside cuts through my foggy brain and I sit up with a start. I peek outdoors. The tree branches aren’t moving. I step out the back door. No wind. I turn on the TV and check the forecast. Today: north wind 5-mph, changing to 5-mph east wind around sundown. 5-mph? This can’t be a Kansas wind forecast, but it is!

Okay, calm down, man. Think. The guy carrying those fish Saturday evening, odds are he caught them around sundown, right? That means there’s no need to rush out to the lake; I can skip the morning fishing. Still, I should get out there more than a couple of hours before sundown, just in case. Early afternoon will do fine (I hope).

But "early afternoon" means I might have to spend six or eight hours standing on rocks in the open waiting for the feeding action to start, and during that long wait I’d be exposed to overhead hot sun, hunger, thirst and eventually the evening chill.

So wimp that I am, at 1:30 that afternoon when I stepped over the guardrail and began descending the dam’s rocky face, on my back was a hiker’s day pack filled with fleece clothing, food and two liters of water. Mountain climbers nearing a summit will shed their big main packs for a final push; they call their light bags an "assault pack." Today, picking my way downslope toward my own "summit," that’s what my day pack was for me.

I’d finally got here, and days earlier than I’d dared hope. Got here where unknown big fish lurk and I would stay on this dam and fish its entire length if need be and not stop until the sundown western sky faded to black starlight if that’s what it took to find out what kind of fish that guy had caught two days earlier.

Seeking shelter from the sun seemed a practical move upon reaching the water, so the first place I fished was the shaded area underneath the elevated walkway that stretches from the crest of the dam to the lake’s drawdown tower. A small but deep pocket of water lies directly below this walkway, a pocket that gets heavy fishing pressure because of how near it is to the descent trail most fishermen use when hiking down from the parking area above. Nobody was here so I tried the pocket for 45 minutes, but without a single touch.

I was about to move elsewhere when Old Reliable (a #10 flashback Hare’s Ear Nymph) snagged on a submerged rock that suddenly grew fins and began to slowly leave. The beast’s ponderous head wag snapped my 5-lb. test tippet like it wasn’t there. What followed was the appearance of two massive surface swirls created by what must be a very broad and powerful tail fin. I never saw the fish.

From its display of brute strength I deduced this was either a big channel catfish here looking for crappie eggs, or a flathead catfish hunting spawning crappies. Both possibilities assumed the presence of crappies which, if not actually present at this moment would doubtless arrive soon. Crappies are primarily what I came here to catch, so in hopes of discouraging any more catfish hits I stripped in my now empty leader and tied on a yellow bead-eye Wooly Bugger-type fly purchased at Yager’s last year. It’s a proven crappie killer.

My first cast went right back into the area where The Creature had just broken me off. Halfway in, the yellow Bugger took a vicious hit that yanked my line so hard the tippet once again instantly parted. Wow, two quick breakoffs by big fish! What’s going on here? This second fish couldn’t have been a crappie, no way; it had to be a white bass, a big one. Alright then: if the whites are running this big I’d better make an equipment adjustment or I’ll be out of flies before sundown.

I clipped off what little remained of the 5-lb. test terminal section of my leader, leaving a 15-inch length of 6-lb. test "repair tippet." Onto it I tied one of Rick Zieger’s light tan hairball flies, a pattern he likes for crappie. Thirty minutes of it brought no hits. I switched to a Mickey Finn minnow imitator and thirty minutes of it brought no hits, either. There just wasn’t anything going on anymore, it seemed. Surface feeding swirls weren’t happening anywhere, no surprise since it was still so early in the afternoon.

Then I bent down to pick up my day pack prior to relocating, and all the encouragement I needed to stay on the hunt until the bitter end was clinging quietly to my day pack.

Bingo: a mayfly is resting on my pack in broad daylight, proof that mayflies indeed live along this dam. To my thinking this one fragile insect clinched it – that the tips so many people had given me were true and sooner or later game fish would begin arriving here to eat mayflies by grabbing winged adults off the surface or intercepting nymphs rising to hatch. It was just a matter of time.

I clipped off the Mickey Finn, tied on another Old Reliable (to imitate the mayfly nymphs soon to rise) then found a flat rock to sit on while I ate one of my sandwiches and drank some water. No telling when the afternoon/evening action might start and I didn’t want to go into battle hungry and thirsty.

Not long after I finished this rest break and resumed fishing, two young guys showed up who had walked down from the dam road above. One soon walked behind me and headed south down the face of the dam, not cutting back to the water to begin casting until he’d moved well past me. I greatly appreciated the "space cushion" he gave me, as my intention was to proceed south myself. If his intentions were ike mine, to keep moving south away from the drawdown tower, I would certainly return his courtesy by making long leapfrogs past his position each time I elected to move.

Not many minutes passed and he came walking back the way he’d come, I guess so he could stand next to his buddy and visit. Dangling from his rod’s tip top was a triple-treble minnow lure that looked to be a Rapala. With his ultralight rod he was casting this lure way out into the lake, 30-to-40 yards out, easy. I paid no attention to this until he started catching fish and I still wasn’t. There one came, a silver-colored fish flopping loudly at his feet.

"If you don’t mind me asking: Is that a white bass you just caught?"

"No, it’s a wiper," he answered.

"Huh? A wiper? You mind if I come over and look? I’ve never seen one; at least, not a fish I know was a wiper. People have told me how to identify them, but it’s been so long I forgot."

Permission to approach was granted and I eased across the rocks to inspect the fish. Two little spots on its tongue, a streamlined profile plus almost unbroken black stripes along its sides are the identifying features. Very pretty fish.

Justin Shiney, the Lawrence fisherman who’d caught this wiper and pointed out its identifying features, released it back into the lake. I thanked him and returned to my spot. We were standing close enough and the wind was light enough that our voices carried far enough we could visit. Justin began educating me about wipers; not all at once but bit by bit over the next couple of hours. I was all ears.

Occasionally – every 40 or 50 casts – Old Reliable would absorb a hard hit from a fish that would quickly get off. Justin suspected these were wiper hits but wasn’t certain because he’d never seen or even heard of a wiper taking a Hare’s Ear Nymph, or any artificial fly for that matter. Justin’s experience was strictly that of a lure fisherman. And me? Hey, I didn’t know either, not really, if wipers will take a nymph. What if they only eat minnows?

Now I had another hit, and it felt connected. Very solidly connected, and to a fish that behaved like it didn’t really want to go anywhere.

"This could be a crappie," I told Justin, and sure enough it was. A good one, too. I stringered it, pendulumed the white crappie slab back into the lake and bowline knotted the end of my 10-ft. stringer to a belt loop. I checked my watch; it was 5:05 p.m.

Justin and his friend, Ian, now began steadily catching wipers. Many other fishermen had arrived by this time, but they were bunched up back around the drawdown tower and weren’t having any luck. Ian and Justin were putting on a clinic for anybody alert enough to pay attention, and it was my good fortune to be standing close to watch and learn.

"They’re hitting within the first 10 feet of my retrieve," Justin told me. "They’re jumping right on it, almost immediately."

Okay, I gave that little tidbit a chew. I’d been fishing Old Reliable deep all day, running him as close to the rocky bottom as I dared, on the assumption that deep is where the fish must be. I took a few seconds to watch Ian and Justin casting. They were commencing their retrieve the instant their lures splashed down. I was throwing a tiny Hare’s Ear Nymph whereas they were throwing long Rapalas – seemingly an insurmountable mismatch in tackle. But Justin had earlier told me he was using the original balsa version Rapala. That lightweight lure combined with his presentation could only mean the wipers were cruising close to the surface. I decided to abandon my deep nymphing approach and start swimming Old Reliable just below the surface using 2-foot line strips. This presentation of a nymph might not interest a wiper, but it might be just what the crappies are looking for if they’ve moved into the surface zone and are sharing space with the wipers.

A few casts later my line stopped, I raised the rod and something punched the throttle and tried to set a new world record in the 40-yard dash. Line melted off my reel in a blur, nearly taking me into the backing before the fish made a 90-degree left turn and stood its ground, fighting in place. I battled this fish for many minutes and was beginning to think it was a carp or channel cat judging by its stubborn struggle. Finally, the fish ran out of steam and I horsed it into view, saw a shining profile with black stripes, slid it toward the rocks and with some difficulty worked it into the mouth of my trout landing net.

"That," said Justin, who’d come over to watch, "is a wiper. It’s a good one, too."

I rammed the tip of my forceps through the fish’s lower jaw, preparing to grab my stringer tip and pull it back through.

"Better measure him before you string him," warned Justin. "There’s a length limit on wipers."

"Huh? Length limit? Really? I didn’t know."

Reaching into a pocket, Justin produced a small metal tape measure. My wiper was a shade over 18 inches long.

"He’s legal," said Justin, "if you want to keep him."

"You bet I want to keep him. Well," I hesitated, "I do if wipers are good to eat. I don’t know. Are they?"

"I think they are; I love eating them," Justin said. So onto the stringer went my career-first wiper. The slab crappie I’d caught earlier (later measured at 13-inches) looked like a bait shop bluegill next to the length and bulk of this wiper.

A few minutes later Justin leapfrogged me to the south. After a half hour passed with no hits I in turn leapfrogged Justin. Soon I had my next wiper hit. This fish took Old Reliable almost at the instant of splashdown, which was noteworthy because I’d made a maximum-distance cast with my OO-wt. Sage. In a heartbeat the fish was into my backing – the first time any fish has taken me into this ultralight rig’s backing. Glancing down at my spool and seeing that squeaky clean braided line disappearing – it was so exciting.

The fish bolted straight out into the lake then stopped, like the wiper I caught had done. Except this one turned south and ran parallel along the face of the dam, taking yet more backing off my reel. What in the world do we have here? Suddenly the line went slack; the fish was off. Probably broke my tippet. But no; Old Reliable was still there when I stripped the leader back into view.

At this point I remembered a purchase made a week earlier at the Cabela’s Fly Shop in Kansas City, KS. I’d bought a spool of Rio 3X (8 lb. test) tippet, thinking it would be useful for reestablishing the factory taper on any 4X leaders that lost too much of their terminal ends. Something to extend the lifespan of my most often used leaders.

The power and dazzling speed of these wipers had greatly impressed me, making me fear for the lives of my #10 nymphs. To safeguard my dwindling nymph supply I clipped off the 4X (6 lb. test) tippet section I’d been working with and surgeon knotted 18 inches of 3X tippet to my leader. There would be no step-down to a thinner diameter. It felt funny threading 3X tippet through Old Reliable’s eye, but the situation justified this act of self-defense.

Fifteen minutes later, about halfway back to shore came another wiper-type hit on my nymph followed by a bitter struggle. Just when I got this fish near shore I reached around to my left back pocket feeling for my net…and it wasn’t there. Alarmed, I looked on the rocks behind me; no net. Great: I must have left it at the spot where I caught that first wiper, and in my excitement had forgotten it when I leapfrogged Justin.

Hearing me grieve at not having a net, Justin looked back where I’d been standing and spotted my net. He grabbed it and made his way across the rocks to my new spot, handed me the net and I landed the wiper. I almost lost the fish anyhow because on my first lift from below its body would not fit through the hoop and slid off. I tried again and got him.

"That’s another keeper, I’ll bet," said Justin. He proved it by measuring the fish at a hair under 19-inches. I stringered the wiper, took a deep breath and scanned the shoreline for a flat rock to sit down on quick; I needed a rest.

"Godamighty!" I panted, "I don’t know if I can take another couple f hours of this! These wipers are a trip!"

"Better not keep any more of 'em," advised Justin. "There’s a 2-fish creel limit on wipers."

Here is where I began seriously thanking my lucky stars that I’d run into Justin Shiney. I began counting the ways he’d helped me. First: telling me that wipers are in this lake in good numbers. Second: telling me they are hitting real good right now. Third: showing me what a wiper looks like. Fourth: demonstrating how he catches them (which let me mimic his presentation). Fifth: telling me about the length limit. Sixth: finding my landing net and bringing it to me in a moment of dire need. Seventh: telling me about the 2-fish creel limit.

I’d come out here today woefully ignorant – illegally ignorant – of what this wiper game is about. Likely I’d been saved from a court hearing, is how I looked at it.

I kept fishing anyway, though. Catch & Release Time, amigos, just because it’s so thrilling being here I don’t want to leave. The next wiper that struck took Old Reliable like a midnight express snags a mail sack off the depot hook. The hit came halfway through the retrieve when loops of stripped line were floating on the lake surface at my feet. This line got yanked back through the rod guides the other way so violently that before I could react a loop whipped up into the air and wrapped around my hand and the reel. This was all the advantage that wiper needed. Snap! It broke me off, and another #10 HEN went bye-bye. Only five left now.

Like a punch drunk boxer I tie on another and with wobbly legs keep casting. Why not?

Wham! Another wiper cold-cocks me, turns for open water and kicks in the afterburner. It’s another good fish, I can tell. I glance over at Justin who is standing 30 feet away. He’d noticed the hit. Hmmm... why not, indeed?

"Hey Justin, you care to give this a try?"

Boy, did he ever; he quickly came over and I handed him a 00-wt. Sage rod bent deeply under a big wiper’s initial run, reel handle a blur, spool already into the backing.

"That reel has a drag," I told him, "If you want more, lay your open palm against the spool’s edge. Watch that reel handle; it can hurt your knuckles. These fish really go so let loose when he runs; if the handle tangles in your fingers he’ll break you off."

Justin proceeded to do a better job fighting a wiper than I’d done with the two I’d caught. He subdued his fish in far less time and looked more efficient doing it. Maybe I’ll get better if I hook more wipers in the future. Tonight I may have been overly conservative in my fighting technique due to fears of over-pressuring a strong fish and breaking it off, or pulling out the hook. Not Justin: he worked his fish to shore fairly quickly, I handed him my net and he bagged his wiper.

His fish measured 19 ฝ inches. What a beauty!

"Well, hey man, you’re the guy who landed this fish, not me," I told Justin, "You want to keep him?"

"Yeah, thanks! All the ones I’ve caught tonight have been just a little bit too short." He extracted Old Reliable from the wiper’s jaw, walked back across the rocks and added his 19-incher to a stringer holding two keepers that Ian had caught.

A few minutes later Justin’s cell phone rang; he was informed that a dinner date had been made and he was invited to attend.

"We gotta leave," he told me.

"If you guys go, I go. I’ll get in trouble out here without adult supervision," I said half-jokingly, alluding to all the advice and help Justin had given me.

On our hike up the face of the dam, Ian told me that the two keepers he’d caught were his career-first wipers, too. Well, that explained how come his shoes and mine were floating above ground most of the way back to our trucks. Wow, wow, WOW – what a trip!

Special Note:

In waters managed by the Kansas Dept. of Wildlife & Parks, forty seven (47) lakes have creel and length regulations that allow possession of two (2) wipers if each fish is a minimum 18-inches long.

Thirty eight (38) other bodies of water allow the taking of two (2) wipers of any length.

In Cheney Reservoir two (2) wipers may be kept, but each must be a minimum of 21-inches long.

In Coffey County Lake just one (1) wiper may be kept, and it must be a minimum of 21-inches long.

For any Kansas lake you know of that harbors wipers, the safest thing is to check the rules that apply to that particular lake. The information you need is in the Kansas Fishing Regulations Summary, available on the Department’s website: www.kdwp.state.ks.us. ~ Joe

About Joe:
From Douglas County, Kansas, Joe is a former municipal and federal police officer, now retired. In addition to fishing, he hunts upland birds and waterfowl, and for the last 15 years has pursued the sport of solo canoeing. On the nearby Kansas River he has now logged nearly 5,000 river miles while doing some 400 wilderness style canoe camping trips. A musician/singer/songwriter as well, Joe recently retired from the U.S. General Services Adminstration.

Joe at one time was a freelance photojournalist who wrote the Sunday Outdoors column for his city newspaper. Outdoor sports, writing and music have never earned him any money, but remain priceless activities essential to surviving the former 'day job.'

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Guided Walk and Wade

Much of the upper stretches through and above the main ranch area offer excellent wade fly fishing for men and women. If you enjoy this sort of fishing you will appreciate a guided walk and wade day by our Yellowstone fly fishing guides, which will allow you to gain a more intimate knowledge of different stretches of the river, many of which we suggest you return to that evening to test your skills. The entire section of river within walking distance of the lodge is ideal for walk and wade fishing as well as another 20 miles of river heading south towards Yellowstone National Park. While you’re on your family vacation, wading the Montana freestones can offer a great escape from the bigger waters provided openings are available.

In general, both guided walk and wades and floats will not only allow you an extreme advantage but will also allow you to familiarize yourself with the local waters and hone your skills. This is knowledge that can only be gained via an experienced Yellowstone fly fishing guide.

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Guided Float Trips

Experienced fly fishers will all agree that fly fishing from a drift boat with a talented Yellowstone fly fishing guide on the oars can be by far one of the best ways to fish period! These "drift boats" are designed with your comfort and safety in mind. Comfortable seating and stable standing areas allow you and a pal to cover a variety of waters, take in many sights and obviously fly fish from a great spot. In the hands of one our expert Yellowstone fly fishing guides each cast will be an exciting one, each drift perfect.

All Float trips come with a stream side lunch and plenty of insight and hands-on instruction from your fly fishing guide. The variety of stretches allows you to fish a different stretch of the river each day. Even our beginner men, women and children fly fishing guests will do well from the comforts of one of our boats. Depending on the stretch of river, you will often have the opportunity to combine some wading as well in more productive sections. This combination of experienced Yellowstone fly fishing guides and pristine waters equals an unrivaled fly fishing vacation for the whole family.

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The Second Fly Caster

By Randy Kadish
When I was a boy I thought my father was the greatest fly caster on earth, so I grew up dreaming of following in his way, and not of becoming, as my mother wanted me to, an accountant.
randy kadish
Now I am a man who often relives the important events in my life,
Now I am a man who often relives the important events in my life, but when I think back to the five state, casting tournaments my father won, most of their images and sounds have melted into a murky pool. Those that haven't are as vivid as this morning. They have even ripened, though not in a visual way.

And so I'll never forget that one, very special tournament.

I'll start telling about it this way: Our small, historic-looking town was almost exactly in the middle of the state. On the outskirts of our town was a beautiful, banana-shaped lake. The lake had a long, treeless bank that was perfectly suited for fly casting. And because our obscure town was in a valley, we were shielded from the biggest enemy of fly casting: gusty winds.

Those were the real reasons the annual, casting championships were held in our town, though now I'll admit there was some truth in the words of jealous people who had accused my father of founding the Casting Association just so he could win tournaments in front of his friends and neighbors.

But there was even more truth in the fact that my father won fair and square. You see, he loved practicing with his beautiful bamboo, fly rod, and trying new techniques such as holding his rod hand at different levels, and lengthening his casting stroke--so much so that I times I wondered if he loved fly casting more than he loved me. But in spite of my occasional wondering, I also wanted him to reach his cherished goal: to cast far as humanly possible, perhaps even a hundred feet.

As for my mother, well she didn't seem to mind that he spent so much time away from her. I guess she suspected that fly casting and fly fishing were what really kept my father sober; so day after day, as he practiced on our lawn, I watched in awe, sure that if he hadn't hurt his elbow in the minor leagues he would have been one of the best pitchers in the majors, instead of a carpenter.

And I made sure all my friends knew. They were so impressed some even asked me for his autograph.

It was about two months before that memorable tournament. My father said I could go with him to the Casting Association meeting as long as my mother said it was okay. Later, after dinner, as my mother cleared off the dinner table, I asked her if I could go.

"You have homework tonight and school tomorrow," she answered. "That's what should be important to you, especially since we aren't as well off as others."

"I'm eleven. I should be allowed to go, especially since I've already done my homework."

"All of it?" she seemed to accuse.

"Well, most of it. I'll finish the rest when I get back."

"Then go!" she yelled.

I was surprised by her outburst. "Are you sure I can?"

She put away the bread, then walked to the sink. She turned on the water. "Do what you want." Her words were as cold as ice.

For a few seconds I didn't move; then I picked up my plate and glass, put them on the counter, and ran to my father. He hugged me.

The meeting was held in our old, white, wooden church. Six other men attended. They formed a circle of folding chairs, below the stained glass window of Mary holding baby Jesus. I sat on the front pew.

For the next few hours the men talked about changing some of the rules of the tournament, like how much time and how many casts a caster should have. Before long the talk bored me; and because I was worried that my mother was still mad at me, I wished I hadn't argued with her, and had stayed home. Then I'd have my radio on real low so she wouldn't hear me listening to my beloved minor league baseball team, The Fire Birds.

I wondered if they were winning, then went to the back of the church. I lay down and dreamed about becoming the greatest fly caster in the world. When I tired of the dream, I simply changed my imagined scenery and became the greatest pitcher in the world. Again and again I struck out a menacing batter, and the capacity crowd rose to their feet and cheered wildly.

My uplifting daydream was broken by the sound of the church door being opened. I sat up.

A stranger stood in the doorway. He looked old, maybe because of his long, gray hair and beard. He chewed hard on something, and wore a plaid shirt that wasn't tucked in, and old, torn, dirty jeans. On his sleeve was what looked like a tobacco stain.

My father and the other men looked at him. There was a long, strange silence. The stranger took one or two steps inside, but didn't close the door. He said, "I'm here to enter someone in the contest. His name is Shane Riley, and he's the greatest distance caster in the country." The stranger's voice was deep and powerful, and seemed too good for his hobo-like appearance.

"Does he live in the state?" my father asked.

"Since last year."

My father held up a registration form. "Have him fill this out and mail it in with ten dollars."

The stranger marched to the front of the church. His boot heels banged on the squeaking, wood floor. He took the form, looked it over, then, without saying thank you, stuffed it into his shirt pocket and grinned. He strolled back towards the door. He glanced right at me. His eyes were blue and deep-set. They seemed to glow like small lights. He nodded slightly, then left, leaving the door open behind him. His bad manners made me angry. I got up and closed the door.

A half-hour later the meeting ended finally. My father took me by the hand, and we headed home. He didn't say anything, so neither did I, but when we turned onto our street I asked, "Do you think that this Shane Riley is really the best fly caster in the country?"

"Son, I guess well just have to wait and see."

"His name doesn't even sound real."

My father smiled.

I thought of asking: Are you scared that Shane Riley will beat you? But I guess I didn't want to know his answer or reveal that, even if he wasn't scared, I was. So for the next few months I kept my question and fear all to myself, right up until the morning of the tournament, when I walked to the lake, holding my father's hand and his fly rod.

The bleachers were almost full. People came up to my father, shook his hand and wished him luck. Our fat mayor, Bill Reems, told him how the whole town was counting on him.

"Mayor, I'll try not to let you down."

The Mayor rubbed my head. I resented being treated like a kid.

My father took his fly rod from me and shook more hands. Suddenly I felt lost, so I walked to the bleachers, looking for my mother. I didn't see her. I wondered, will she come and watch?

I sat down by myself and looked for the stranger with the long, gray beard and hair. I didn't see him. I thought, maybe Shane Riley chickened out.

I turned to the lake. A long narrow fire seemed to burn on top of the water. The fire didn't spread or go out. It just stayed the same and hurt my eyes. Wishing I had good sunglasses, I squinted; and for some reason I wondered if there really had been a burning, talking bush.

Stretching across the lake like the yard lines of a football field were six lines of ropes, the distance markers. The closest line, I knew, was fifty feet, the farthest a hundred. I prayed, God, even though I don't always believe in you, and even though sometimes I'm sometimes bad, please, please help my father break a hundred feet. But you don't, don't let Shane Riley beat him. Because if he does, what will I say to my friends after boasting so much?

My father sat down with the other casters on the bench borrowed from the church.

I studied the faces of the three casters I didn't know, and wondered which belonged to Shane Riley. I guessed the young man with curly, red hair and square jaw. He was lean and looked athletic. I hated him and didn't care if my hate was wrong.

My friends, Mike and Bob, climbed down from the top row and sat next to me.

Joe Dingly, the Tournament Director, picked up his battery-powered megaphone and said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, let's begin the distance competition. I'll call the casters alphabetically. Tom Brolan will go first."

I again looked for my mother. I didn't see her. I wondered if there was still something bad and dark between my parents.

Tom Brolan's best cast was eighty feet. None of the next five casters beat him. Finally, it was my father's turn. He stood up and looked at me. He smiled.

I yelled, "Show them, Dad!"

My father pulled line off his reel, then re-piled it on the dock. He cast the line back and forth, letting more and more line slide through his thumb and forefinger, and therefore making his casts longer and longer. (Fly casters call this shooting line.) My father stopped casting and let the line fall on the water. He bent his knees, crossed his heart, and got into his casting stance. He cast his fly rod up and back, and pulled down on the line. (Fly casters call this hauling.) The line lifted up off the water like a plane taking off, and formed a long, wide, rolling loop that streaked back and up. The top of rolling loop got shorter and shorter. Just before the loop opened and unrolled, my father rotated his shoulders and hips, and cast his fly rod forward, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until he stopped it abruptly. The line formed another rolling loop. The front of this loop, however, tightened and formed a sideways V. My father, I knew, then shot about seven more feet of line. When the top of the unrolling front loop was about three feet long, my father again cast back, then forward. When his casting arm was straight and all the way out, he stopped the rod abruptly and let go of the line. The front loop soared over the eighty-foot marker.

I was proud.

The fly turned over perfectly and landed gently on the water.

"Ninety-seven feet!" Bill Smyth, the official on the dock, yelled out. It was my father's all-time, best tournament cast.

The spectators stood up and cheered. I was sure that I had the best father ever.

Now if only he could break a hundred feet!

He didn't. Again I was scared that Shane Riley would.

The next caster was called. Since I didn't know him, I was relieved when his first cast barely broke seventy feet.

Three casters were left. The two I knew were not as good as my father, but the one with red hair--yes I was right. That was Shane Riley!

I crossed my fingers, but didn't want my friends to see. I stuffed my hands into my pockets. Suddenly I was a little lightheaded, and felt as if I were floating like a balloon and watching everything from high above.

Joe Dingly picked up the megaphone. He cleared his throat and called, "Shane Riley"

The red-haired man didn't stand.

"Shane Riley," Joe Dingly called again.

No one in the bleachers stood up. I saw my mother sitting by herself on the top row of the bleachers. I smiled and waved to her. She didn't see me.

"Shane Riley forfeits his turn," Joe Dingly said.

The air went out of me. I floated back down to the bleachers, and turned to my friends. "Shane Riley chickened out."

The red-haired man's name was called. He walked to the bank. I stuffed my crossed fingers deeper into my pockets.

His first back cast formed a wide, circle-shaped loop. I knew right then that my father was champion again! I took my fingers out of my pockets.

When the competition was over my father walked over to me, pulled me by the hand and led me to the official's table. Again the spectators rose to their feet and cheered.

My father hugged me, handed me his fly rod, then picked up his gold-plated trophy and held it above his head. He smiled like a boy, and I saw the space where he had lost a tooth. I wished I could fill it. My father looked up at the sky and said, "Thanks God."

After the tournament my father, mother and others headed towards the picnic area. The bleachers emptied, and suddenly I again found myself alone with my father's fly rod. I walked to the bank of the lake and began casting. Even though I barely broke fifty feet, in my mind, every cast set a new record and brought the crowd to their feet.

"You're pretty good," someone said.

I turned.

A tall, young man, with blond hair stood behind me. "That looks like a fine, fine fly rod," he said. "May I try it?"

I didn't like the idea of handing my father's rod to a perfect stranger, but there was trust in his face and in his soft, soft voice. I handed him the rod.

He stripped off more line, then made a perfect roll cast. He started his back cast. The sun flashed off his gold bracelet. He hauled straight down--longer than my father, and as I watched the line shoot straight back I knew he was special.

His second back cast was lower than his first, the way my father's was. The line unrolled. He rotated his hips and shoulders like a spinning top and snapped the rod forward. He hauled the line well behind his thigh. He let go. The front of the fly line took the shape of a sideways V. It flew like a rocket, parallel to the water. The line unrolled. The fly landed just passed the hundred-foot marker.

He handed me the rod. "If I were you I'd save this rod. One day it will be real valuable."

"How did you do that?"

He smiled and in his warm, blue eyes I saw the eyes of the stranger who had walked in on the Association meeting. The stranger, I now knew, was his father.

"Here's a secret," Shane said. "When you make your back cast try to keep your casting elbow in a little more." He turned and walked away.

I followed him. "Shane!"

He turned back towards me.

I asked, "How come you forfeited your turn?"

He looked up, stared into space, then right at me. Scared, I wanted to look away, but a voice inside me told me not to; and then--whether it happened in my mind or in his face--I saw his stare soften and seem to reach out to me.

"I knew who your father was from a picture in last year's newspaper," he said. "When I watched you holding his hand and--well, I guess the way you looked up at him that, that--he certainly is a great caster."

"But not as great as you."

He again smiled.

I thought of asking him if he had ever been ashamed of his father for drinking or for anything else, but somehow I just couldn't get the question out. I cursed myself for being a coward, then told myself I would ask Shane if I ever saw him again, though deep down I kind of knew I never would.

I was right; and so my father won two more casting championships.

But then something I didn't understand happened: My father started drinking again. Though my mother often held me and told me it wasn't her or my fault, I sometimes wondered if it was because I was small and not a great athlete.

Soon my father lost his job. My mother had to go to work as a cook. Several times I found her sitting by herself in the kitchen and crying. I knew enough not to ask why.

Then things got even worse in my house: yelling, fighting, blaming. So when I shot up four inches in height, and turned eighteen, and the Viet Nam war ended, I turned my back on following in my father's fly-casting way and faced my own: joining the Navy, seeing the world, qualifying for college tuition and eventually becoming a CPA. To my surprise, however, I often found myself waking up with a hangover.

I just got back from the sea. I walked into my barrack with my friends. A yellow telegram was on my bed. It stopped me like a punch. The telegram was from my mother. It read: "Your father is very sick. Wants to see you."

My friends tried to console me. I thanked them, then got a pass from my commanding officer. I headed home.

The house was empty. A note was on the dining room table. I picked it up, then ran to the hospital.

My father lay in bed. He was emaciated and pale. Tubes went into his arms and nose. I almost didn't recognize him. My mother held his hand. She looked at me with heavy, heavy eyes.

Cancer," she said.

I cried.

"Thanks for coming," my father muttered. "There's something I want to tell you. You know that old elbow injury of mine?"

"Yes."

"Well it never happened. The truth was, the truth is: I wasn't good enough to make the Major League. I only wish I could have accepted that, and not lived a lie."

I stated, "That doesn't matter anymore. Just because you lied to yourself about one thing, doesn't mean you lived a lie."

He smiled.

I asked, "Do you remember that casting tournament when Shane Riley forfeited his--I mean, didn't show up?"

"Yeah."

"I was so scared that he would beat you."

"You know, so was I."

"Maybe he never really existed."

My father's eyes opened real wide. "Oh, he existed, somewhere in our world; and I wish he had showed up, because the truth I've come to see is that fly casting isn't about competing against others. It's about competing against ourselves, and then one day accepting that we've done the best we can. I'm sorry if that sounds a little corny, but at least it isn't a lie."

"Dad, it doesn't sound corny at all." He closed his eyes and squeezed my hand. The next day he died.

Two years later, after I had been honorably discharged from the Navy, I went up to my father's attic and looked through a beautiful, hand-carved, wooden box of newspaper stories about the fly-casting tournaments my father had won. I read the last story, then saw folded sheets of writing paper on the bottom of the box. I unfolded the sheets. They were my father's handwritten notes on the techniques of long-distance fly casting. Suddenly I told myself I would study the notes, practice and win the next tournament for him; but after two weeks of practicing with my father's bamboo fly rod, I lost interest in competing, probably because, unlike the bright students I envied, I needed more and more time to study so I could maintain good grades.

I put my father's fly rod in my closet and out of my view, but weeks later, out of nowhere it seemed, the vision of Shane Riley making that long, beautiful cast came into my view, again and again. That night, as I sat over a book in the library, I wondered why Shane, after sacrificing so much to become a great fly caster, forfeited his chance to compete in a tournament just so I, a boy he didn't know, could hold on to an idealized image of my father. It just didn't make sense, until one night as I lay in bed and in the dark, I realized that maybe, in Shane's eyes, it wasn't about a boy holding on to an image of his father, but about a boy holding on to an image of himself, an image he would need to make it through the swirling, often dangerous eddies of life.

The next morning I again studied my father's fly-casting notes, then I took his fly rod out of the closet, walked outside and started practicing, and even experimenting with my own casting techniques. A few months later, when my name was called on the megaphone, I walked to the bank of our banana-shaped lake, without looking at the people sitting in the bleachers. I started my first back cast the way my father taught me: slowly and straight back. I kept my casting elbow in and hauled down straight and hard. As the line unrolled behind me, I broke my wrist backwards for more power; and on my first cast I became the second tournament caster in our state to break a hundred feet. The crowd cheered wildly, just as I always dreamed they would.

And I never got drunk or cast in a tournament again.

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Simms Aquaseal Guide Wading Boot Review

As I tried on various pairs of boots, Ray pointed me to the "Aquastealth Guide" model of boot, made by Simms. They were the most expensive pair in the store - but as I slipped my foot covered by the William Joseph stocking foot, I knew immediately that these were the boots for me. These boots along with the waders felt more comfortable than the pair of running shoes I had been wearing prior to trying on boots.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

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The Truth About Hoppers

By Doc Knoll
Last summer I had an elderly fellow come into my shop and he, like many others, began to recount his endless history about the flies he had once tied and the countless roosters to which he had survived taking "beatings" while he collected his "donations" from neighboring farms. These amusing stories are always funny to hear and guaranteed to bring a smile to my face. However, this gent was different.

After he completed his resume’ he began to move about the shop studying the feathers which adorn the walls. Suddenly he stopped and looked in my direction.
"You’re selling premium flies for a dollar apiece. Is that true?" He asked.
"Sure is," I answered proudly. I quickly added, "probably, much like yourself, I was tired of being overcharged by fly shops for most everything. So, when I opened up this place I decided that this shop would be different. That is why all of my flies this year are a dollar each. I’ll also tell you what you need instead of just selling you hoppers".

The old man just looked at me for a second as though I struck some kind of nerve. He picked up a plastic cup and began to select several dozen flies. He was transfixed in his work. I could tell by the selection he was purchasing flies for his home waters. After several minutes he placed three individual cups in front of me.

"I owe you forty eight bucks," he said as he began to drag out his wallet. "At this price an old guy like me would be hard pressed to tie his own flies. Especially since I can barely see what I’m doing anymore." I took his money and as I handed him some change, he added, "these flies would have cost me over a hundred dollars in any shop ‘downtown". I don’t see how you can do it."

"Well, I do raise the birds. Most people do not realize that," I said as I place the cups in a small bag. "You probably thought I was just another fly shop didn’t you?" I asked.

The man thought for a second.

"I was wondering why your sign on Highway 89 had ‘and Fly Shop’ in different colored letters." He then leaned closer to me as though he was divulging a secret and asked quietly, "Tell me. . . Doesn’t the fact that you’re selling flies at this price. . . doesn’t it cut into your hackle sales?"

"Not at all," I answered as I placed a cold Coka-Cola on the counter before him. "Have a Coke. It’s on the house... The answer is simple. Either you tie or you don’t. It’s that simple. I have anglers coming here from all over the world they’re all the same. Some tie and others wouldn’t dream of it. I guess it boils down to how much time you have... or dexterity."

The man nodded a thank you as he raised the cold can to his lips.

I then raised up my hand and displayed my fingers. " Do you see these stumpy Italian fingers?" I asked. "They can’t tie Muddlers and Hair flies for nothing. It doesn’t mean I don’t fish with them."

As we politely began to discuss our family genetics, I looked out the window as another car drove up and parked in front of the shop. I recognized the car and knew it contained a neighbor and her fly fishing son. Within seconds the young boy, who was all of eleven or twelve, came quickly through the doorway. Upon seeing I was with a customer he went about his own business. He stepped before the fly display and gathered up several very specific flies. After a few seconds he turned and spoke to me.
"Hello Doc," he said and then he pointed to the soda cooler. (I have a thing about giving away free soda. Or for you in certain regions...pop. ) I nodded and he quickly retrieved an Orange soda. He greedily guzzled it down the way kids (in a hurry) do.

The old man was intrigued with what he was witnessing. As the boy paid for the five flies with a very crumpled five dollar bill the visitor asked the youngster, "so what are they biting on?"

"Not Hoppers," the lad answered with a big smile as he looked in my direction. "Are you fishing the river?" The youngster added.

The old man said he was planning to later that day.
"Try a tentwing or Goddard caddis later this afternoon. There will be a hatch coming off the water. Sorry , but I have to split. My Mom is meeting some people at Chico Hot Springs and she is in a big hurry. See you later Doc," he said as he quickly shot out of the shop.

Slowly the old man spun around to look at me. "The kid hates hoppers also," he said to continue our own conversation.
"He doesn’t hate them. He learned and he understands what the fish really eat. He’s not about to deceive you. He knows that you came here to simply catch some fish, take a picture or two and then leave." I finally had to ask, "so, where are you from?"
"New York. Upstate, near Utica."
"I take that you have been told to fish Hoppers?"
"Several times. . . I was beginning to think it was the instant solution for a big Montana trout," He said before he raised his can again to his mouth.
"Sometimes it is but not to the extent some anglers believe," I said as I sat myself down on a stool. "Visiting anglers see thousands of hoppers as the walk to the river so it seems logical that a hopper might work. Another reason they are offered up as a solution is that many novice anglers have a hard time seeing a #18 anything. But, tie a hopper on and they’re good for hours of water whipping entertainment. Then, I must admit there is the financial aspect. Most visiting anglers are infatuated with hopper selections and naturally assume . . .a big fly means a bigger fish. Suprisingly the truth is; not too many of those hoppers which line the bank actually fall into the river. The big ones can fly from bank to bank."
"So what do you suggest I use?"
"Most of the standard flies you chose are good... but try something from this box," I said as I reached up and opened a box labeled ‘August / Yellowstone’.
"What are you hiding the good ones?" the New Yorker said with Eastern charm.
"Not at all," I said as I laid the box before him. "I just narrowed down the selection. I can’t hook them for you but I’ll sure try to help you catch a dream. After all, you came a long way to hang a picture on a wall that is not just trees and mountains."

The box opened and he immediately saw a few hopper patterns. "You have hoppers in here," he said as he picked one up and studied it.
"Sure... but they’re smaller then what is normally sold. I never said you couldn’t use them. You just have to size them appropriately."

The old man returned several days later and proudly showed me a series of freshly processed photos. He had found his Yellowstone dream with tentwing caddis late in the afternoon. He’s coming back for some fall fishing...

I sure do enjoy getting people into good fish... almost more then catching them myself. But, then again, I guess it’s my job. So try small hoppers this season and you’ll see (or feel) the difference.

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To Teach A Kid

By Doc Knoll
For most anglers "Doc's Fly Shop" is an very easy place to hang out. Almost everyone who show up is on vacation. Everyone is willing to swap a few fishing stories. The phone that occasionally rings will not be for you and, if you want to eat a picnic lunch in the shade of the front porch. . . go ahead and knock yourself out. It is this noon to mid afternoon time when things "get lazy" and conversations turn from, "what are they hitting" to, "Hey Doc. . . I have this nephew."

In teaching a beginner the skill of angling the experience can flow like good wine or it possibly be closely related to shooting yourself in the foot. (And, if you do that then; good for you and too bad for the student.) But, if you have it in you to educate a novice these few suggestions may help.

The first suggestion is simple. As a rule most beginning anglers (novices) are not as interested in the "art- or sport " of fishing as you probably are; so lighten up. Our nation is not at war and the last time I check McDonalds still had a pile hamburgers. Most beginners actually just want to see if they can catch one fish. That first prized fish could either make them a life long angler or turn them into a golfer. Then again, there are many people should be hacking up a golf course instead of falling into streams and lakes. Equipment is secondary to any beginner. Since they haven't a clue about whatever it is you place in their hands don't extol the virtues of your XYZ reel or the 300% graphite composition of the rod you probably paid too much money for. Novices just want to see a fish appear before them.

Location for the first "lesson" is of prime importance. The closer the stream or lake is to becoming a "hatchery" the better. Fish size is definitely not important. Neither is the specie. Let me explain this point a little further.

The first time I went fishing I was with my father. He wasn't much of an angler but he understood the "concept" of fishing well and within minutes I was releasing blue gill after blue gill. I even was "quite content" about the "worm juice" and "fish slime" that I was periodically smearing on my pants leg. I still remember my mother ragging on him (Dad) about that point! In hindsight old Dad. . . He did okay.

Then there was this guy who came to the shop several summers ago. Since I was fortunate enough to be pretty near the "top of the heap" in the business world my entire adult life, I had seen "his type" before. He was successful by default. He hired the best people for his father's business and he was smart enough to "get out of the way." But for him, his son's first fishing lesson was another story.

The father had purchased two tickets to Bozeman, rented a big SUV, stopped into the first fly shop he saw and dropped another chunk of change on a fly rod outfit that made the son, we'll call Brian, feel like he was carrying the silver chalice or Nero's scepter around. That was a poor choice for both the fly shop owner as well as the father. However, that was not enough. The fly shop owner had also decided to cash in a little more and recommended the father take the son to a "spring creek".

After another two hundred dollars, Brian arrives at a "famed" spring creek. These crystal clear artesian springs do hold fish. Yet, everyone and their mother has been whipping the water to death for decades and the fish are either really spooky or so complacent that you might have to beat them to get them to move. I guess you might easily say they (the spring creeks) are highly overrated. And, they are definitely not the place for someone who is not content just to "soak in the beauty" and catch one very lip punctured fish...

Well after several hours of misery (for Brian) the father realized that the experience wasn't working out and wisely decided that another route was needed. That's when I got into this picture. While Brian showered before dinner, Dad slipped out of the Chico Hot Springs complex and showed up at my shop. He was willing to admit his failure and (thanks to one of the resort's employees who fly fishes ) decided to enlist my help.

I spent the whole of the next morning with Brian. I found that the previous day's experience had definitely left a bad taste in the boy's mouth. But after we had completed a few chores. . . (I let the twelve year old feed some hackle birds) I handed Brian a beat up beginners rod and asked him to cast a hookless fly to my hat (which was tossed thirty or so feet from where he stood). After a few minor modifications I was satisfied that young Brian could cast straight and close enough to any given target. I told him to pile into the old Wagoneer and after a short, bouncy ride we stopped alongside of a small mountain stream. I don't believe it was what the boy had in mind but, as we stepped into the cool mountain water, I asked him to lay the fly at the head of a nearby pool of water.

The fly fell short several times and on his fourth attempt Brian's fly landed in a upper pool and silently fell into the intended "target pool". A native Yellowstone cutthroat rose and sucked the fly into its mouth. The boy missed the first "hook set". He steadied himself and he cast again. On this cast a fish rose and was promptly hooked. Brian brought the fish to his side where he raised the squirming red slashed troat to my camera. His smile was real and no "cheese" was needed. From that point on Brian was hooked (as certain as that fish) on fishing.

There was nothing but "reality" that made Brian enjoy what he experienced on that day. The rod was old and "breakable" and this fact allowed him some movement needed to present a fly to the target without worrying about scratching or denting the glorified rod and reel.

The fish he caught on that stream were not large. I think the largest was all of ten inches. But, since that day, he now haunts streams and lakes near his suburban community. Each Christmas I receive a picture of a new and bigger version of that twelve year old and in each photo he is holding a fish. . . sometimes it's big and sometimes it is not. Sometimes I can tell he's so intent on "getting a picture for Doc" that his photographic pose has his reel in the water... with cork handle soaking. Sometimes his waders have had patches. His fishing vest is showing more rips as the years march on. Hat is becoming progressively stained.

Brian is just a youngster growing into a man who may (hopefully) teach another youngster to fish simply for the enjoyment of it.

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