Category Archives: Fishing Reports

Albie and Bonito fishing with Alan Caolo

I’ve known who Alan Caolo was for years. But it wasn’t until I started doing the Fly Fishing Show circuit that I got to meet him and get to know him a little. (He’s a swell guy, pleasant company, and he knows his stuff.) For those of you who don’t know who he is, Alan Caolo (pronounced KAY-lo) is an author and instructor and all-round master of many things salt. He’d been wanting me to go shore fishing with him for False Alabacore and Bonito for a few years now. Last year we missed our connection (and I suspect I was hyper-focused on the book). About ten days ago, the planets aligned, and we were able to meet up.

I’d been fishing for these critters once before, a long time ago, when I was just getting into fly fishing, and had no idea what I was doing in the salt. It wasn’t really my bag; I couldn’t quite yet cast well, and the hit-or-miss nature of the fishing didn’t appeal to me (honestly, it still doesn’t). But now I can cast, and I’ve never caught one of these fish. Plus, I’ve got an expert instructor who wants to get me into fish. Giddyup!

Great minds and all that. I was delighted to see that Alan uses the same reel I do, an old Scientific Anglers System 2 8/9. The shooting basket is mine. Note the electrical tape on my rod; it was my backup safety plan due to a bent flange on my reel and a resulting odd fit into the reel seat. The System 2 makes a delightful, distinctive zinging sound when line peels off the drag. Unfortunately, it was not our lot to hear it on that day.

We arrived at the jetty and secured our spot by 7:30am, with fishing commencing around 15 minutes later. If you’ve never fished for these speedsters from shore, there’s a lot of waiting and, if you choose, blind casting. The blind casting isn’t as crazy as it sounds. Twice, I had albies suddenly materialize near my fly where moments before, there was only a vast expanse of water. I had three shots at fish over the course of an about 6 1/2 hours. The first one I blew. I’m stripping my fly, and then in a blink there was a pod of predators hunting it down. I saw the eat, and that was my downfall, as I jerked the hook right out of the fish’s mouth before the transaction could be completed. The albie was on for perhaps one second, and then it was woulda, shoulda, coulda time.

About an hour later, while retrieving my fly (at a very nice pace, my teacher observed) across the breachway mouth, three fish came racing past us, heading out to sea. Collision course. I felt a bump as one swiped at my fly, but there was no hook purchase. Oh-for-two. My final shot came around 11:30am. We’d seen a boil off the jetty tip. I put my fly out there, and as I brought it in, a telltale bulge appeared in the water behind it. “Almost there…stay on target…almost there….stay on target” (from what movie?). And then, the wake was gone. (Sighs heavily.)

This kind of fishing is not for the impatient or the easily distracted. As with steelheading, or bonefish, or tarpon, you may only get one shot at a fish (Alan didn’t get a single touch all day. But to be fair, he was constantly setting me up in the sweet spots, which I thank him for.) It was a fairly slow day. Two spin anglers below us each hooked up — the only ones we saw all day — but they were covering 5 times as much water, and the sporadic nature of their hookups suggested that they’d lucked into rogue fish. The wind was a challenge, and it’s not for the faint-of-heart caster.

But I’m going to go back, with steely resolve to not to let my coach down again. Thanks again, Alan, for a most enjoyable morning.

The Last Blast, Largemouth Style

A few weeks ago, I had one of my more meaningful fishing outings in recent memory. It was a reunion with one of my church youth group leaders, Mark Bieber, who, after my high school years, became a fishing buddy. At that point in my life, I was a spin-only angler, as was Mark. We’d sometimes fish from land, but most of the time it was from Mark’s rowboat or canoe. Our quarry ranged from carp to largemouth bass to pike to channel cats, and we fished in places like the coves of the Connecticut River and the old claypit ponds in Berlin. Life happened, and we eventually stopped fishing together. But we always kept in touch; Mark and his wife Sharyn came to our wedding. Both were strong influences on me.

I think we can all agree that forty years is quite a long time to not fish together. So, dammit, we fixed that. Our happy fishing reunion/outing took place on a cool, sunny, breezy August afternoon, not the best conditions for largemouth bass fishing, but then again, catching fish was not the prime directive. We fished Dunning Lake at Winding Trails in Farmington, Mark with his spin rod and rubber worms, me with my fly rod and bass bugs. The conversation flowed, just like it did 40 years ago, from Bob Dylan to women to fishing to my book to retirement to getting older to more fishing, all while we both savored a wonderful cigar.

Mark got on the board first. Not a giant, but I have yet to meet a largemouth bass of any size that won’t eat a rubber worm.
Even if I held this critter out at arm’s length, it would still be small. I admired this guy’s spirit: he hunted down my crayfish, nipped at it twice, then ate it, cartwheeling out of the water when I set the hook. Old friends, smiles, cigars, and fishing. Yeah. That’s what I’m talking about. We declared the outing to have been most excellent, and agreed to do it again in the spring. I already have the cigars picked out.

Montana, Part II: The Kootenai Smudge

Unless you’re a setback player, you’re very likely puzzled by the author’s intriguing choice of a headline. For you non-card-types, a smudge is a bid where you declare that you will not only make all four points, but also win every trick (when each player reveals a card they’re holding). Smudges are rare, and if you’re lucky to make one, you get five points.

So, if catching three different species of fish is a hat trick and four is a grand slam, what’s a five different species? Pentachamacallit? So smudge it is. And on my second day of fishing the Kootenai (pronounced KOOT-en-ee by the locals), I scored a smudge.

This was a day that I fished solo, under the capable guidance of my guide Jeff from Dave Blackburn’s Kootenai Angler. We floated a different section of river, starting below the town of Libby. While the river is still wide and overhead-deep in many areas, there’s a lot more gravelly structure, pocket water, and whitewater pools. I far preferred it over the section we’d fished the day before. We did a little bit of everything: wet flies, dry-dropper, nymphing, streamers. It turned out to be a smudge-tastic day.

Let’s start with our new old buddy, the Kootenai Redband Rainbow trout. The ones I connected with — and they were plentiful — were generally under a foot long. Nonetheless, they were spunky and frantic when hooked, and I can’t even begin to describe their breathtakingly beautiful flanks adorned with delicate parr marks.
It’s a sucker! It’s a bonefish! No, wait. It’s a northern whitefish, native to these parts. Despite their appearance, whitefish are a salmonid. Every one I hooked was taken on a nymph. This was the biggest one by far, and she gave me a good tussle. Two down.
On this day, I hooked and landed my first cutthroat trout. Consider me a fan. Another native fish, these are beautifully colored and look like someone took a fine point black Sharpie to their sides as an exercise in minimalism. This fish was an epic eat. We were fishing western style, pounding the banks with a hopper-dropper, when we approached a grove of trees with overhanging branches that nearly touched the waterline. Naturally, the sweet spot of the run was beneath the branches. I made a cast, and began mending, dropping my rod tip nearly into the water so the floating line would clear the branches. Three…two…one…and whack! She ate the hopper right where we thought she’d be. That’s one take I wish I had on film.
A few minutes later, I asked Jeff what that green thing in the water was. As we got closer, we could see it was a hopper going for a swim. We fished him out of the water and put him on the oar to dry off. We were going to use him for a science experiment, but before we could send him on his way, he decided to go for another swim. I haven’t seen many hoppers in the water, but this was proof that it does happen — and the way this thing was struggling, it’s not surprising that they get eaten. My fourth species was a pikeminnow. Sadly, no photo. But before you laugh at the noun “minnow,” you should know that they grow over two feet long! Mine was about 18″. Pikeminnow are a member of the dace family.
If you look under the maxillary, you can see the reddish band that gives the cutthroat trout its name.
Ooh. Ahh. Ohh. To complete the smudge, I offer you the cutbow. As its name suggests, it’s a cross between a rainbow trout and a cutthroat trout, with characteristics of each. I was fortunate to be able to tangle with a half dozen of these gorgeous creatures. Is it time to go back to Montana yet?

Farmington River Report early September: a wet fly lesson, broodstock sampling, challenging conditions

I guided — we’ll call him “Bob” because he’s in incognito mode — last Thursday. We did a little dry fly and a lot of wet fly. The Farmington can be a highly technical dry fly arena, and sometimes it comes down a perfect drift and a little luck. But a good starting place is a long leader. I was happy to see that Bob was using a 13-foot minimum line-to-fly leader/tippet length. We added a couple more feet of 6x and had at it. Unfortunately, we missed the Trico spinner fall, but we did manage some practice, and by the time we made the decision to go to wets, Bobs drifts were noticeably better.

We spent the next six hours on classroom, then banging around the PTMA, as well as above and below it. Like many people who take a wet fly lesson with me, Bob had to learn to wait a few beats — “Are you still there?” — after the hit to let the trout hook itself. We missed a handful of strikes, but stuck four and landed three, which was pretty darned good under some tough conditions. Low water/seasonal hint: all of our hookup came in fast, bubbling water.

A lovely wild brown from the PTMA, taken by Bob on my Drowned Ant soft hackle. And on the first cast! At first, Bob thought he was hung up on a boulder. But boulders don’t shake their heads…

Which brings us to the conditions. We’re out of meteorological summer, and the water is running clear and low. Because of the drought, the trees are behaving like it’s fall, turning color and especially shedding leaves. On windy days from now until the trees are bare, expect organic matter to be blowing into the river. Leaves were a constant challenge for us on this gusty day. The trout and bugs are also in a transition. Most of what’s hatching is very small (there are exceptions, like Isonychia). The trout are getting into pre-spawn mode. This adds up to more frequent windows where fish are much harder to catch. Bob was the only angler I saw land a fish on Thursday, and we encountered multiple anglers who were astonished by our success. Well done, Bob!

But wait, there’s more. Normally, the slug of rain we received over the weekend would mix things up a bit. However, Tuesday through Thursday this week, the CT DEEP will be drawing down the dam release to do their annual broodstock sampling. You can still fish the river, but vast stretches will be rendered as rock gardens. If you do fish, please give the sampling crews a wide berth. Things should be back to normal by Friday.

However, that normal will still mean challenging fishing — which makes every trout you land even sweeter. Catch ’em up!

Way Out West, Part 1: The Kootenai River

Years ago, when I first heard of the Kootenai River, my brain assumed that it was in Alaska. I mean, it sounds like it belongs in the 49th state, doesn’t it? Well, it’s in Montana, and the locals pronounce it “KOOT-en-ee,” not “nye.” So I was wrong on both counts.

Located in the extreme northwest corner of Montana, a ‘way up by Canada, the Kootenai is Montana’s largest tailwater fishery. This is a big, deep river with crystal clear waters that mask its depth; if you’re going to fish it effectively, you really need to be in a drift boat. When we first arrived at our cabin — located just a cast away from the back porch — I thought, “Maybe later I’ll just wade out to that deeper stretch along the opposite bank.” Wrong. The water would have been chest high just 20 feet from shore. Over the next tow days, we floated over pools that were well overhead deep, and you could still easily see the bottom.

This was just a few paces from the back porch of our cabin. Libby, MT, is so far north that on August 1, this is the light at 9:30pm. You can see that the immediate shoreline is wadeable, but then it drops off in a hurry. The Koonetai is wider than the Housatonic in many places, and consistently far deeper. When you’re fishing the Kootenai, you focus on the transition areas between depth and shallow — the “change of color,” as my guide Jeff put it. I did some wet fly fishing, but mostly dry-dropper, with the dropper being another dry or small nymph.
We stayed at the Kootenai Angler, run by Dave and Tammy Blackburn. There’s a fly shop on site, and full guide service available, which you’ll need. We rented their Betts Cabin, which was spacious and rustically elegant and wonderful. More than enough room for my me, my wife, and two sons. You can imagine how wide and deep the river must be for it to be flowing at 6,900cfs and still be low and clear!
There’s also a restaurant on site. We ate there two nights, and I think my favorite part (besides the good food and incredibly reasonable prices) was being able to buy a bottle of wine, drink half of it, then bring it back the next night to polish it off. I’ll also go on record with this: Tammy Blackburn makes the best sandwiches I’ve ever had on a guided trip. They bring plenty of water, and with my stash of snacks (I’m a growing boy) I was well-fueled both days. The town of Libby is just a 15-20 minute drive, so you can get a breakfast sandwich or sit-down breakfast at a number of locations.
The first day, we floated as a family in two boats; Karen and myself in one, the boys in the other. Neither Karen nor Gordon have done any real fly fishing, and both of them did a fantastic job with the learning curve — and yes, they both caught a good number of fish. The Kootenai is primarily a rainbow trout fishery, and they have the state’s only native strain on rainbows, the inland red band. While being out with the family and seeing everyone catch fish was a positive, I wasn’t thrilled with the water we floated over on the first day. Much of it was unremarkable, with flows that were in no rush to get to the ocean. But, I understand that is was good water for the beginners. I was also disappointed with the size of the fish on the first day. What you see here was typical of what we were getting into. Jeff explained that the feeder creeks had gotten too warm, and so much of the resident smaller fish had made their way into the bigger river in search of cold water relief.
Then, there were the whitefish. Some consider them to be a trash fish, but they are part of the salmonid family. And it’s a new species for the fly-fishing tally sheet.
Jeff Kalwara was my guide for two days. He did an excellent job teaching Karen, managing her rigs, releasing fish, and just being an all-around swell guy. Jeff and I went out solo the next day, but you’ll have to wait to read about that adventure…and more fish…and bigger fish.
A guide’s work is never done. This is Jay, who guided Cam and Gordo. When we left Libby at 9am, he was busy in the shop replenishing his stock of guide flies. He also did a commendable job with Gordo, who really hasn’t fly fished proper before this. Well done, gentlemen!

Farmington River Report 7/8/25: Dodging thunderstorms, swinging wets, catching trout

John and Chris took a wet fly lesson with me on Tuesday, and we were having grand old time — a little streamside classroom action, a leader tying clinic, lots of fantastic Q&A (very inquisitive minds, these two, which I loved). When we finally got into the water, darkness fell across the land, and the thunder rumbles began.

This is good time to say this: get out of the water and seek shelter if there’s a threat of electrical storms. I am routinely astonished that some people still don’t do that. End of public service announcement.

We drove along the river trying in vain to find sunshine, which took about an hour. By then, the storm was over, and we had blue skies and hot weather. We headed north to fish above the PTMA. Finally able to wet a line, we got into some fish, although in the bright sunshine they didn’t come easy. It wasn’t until after the session ended that John and Chris were able to test their new wet fly skills. Both took multiple trout during the evening rise. Tremendous job, gentlemen. Your instructor couldn’t be prouder!

This brown fell for my Partridge and Light Cahill soft hackle. So simple and so effective! John Ryan photo

Tip of the Week: Beware (or at least be aware of) the shadow hatch

Who knows why the trout aren’t eating your Hendrickson fly? The Shadow Hatch knows. Shadow hatches are so named because they are concurrent with — and less glamorous than — the hatch you think the trout are eating. In the case of the Hendricksons, the shadow hatches are likely to be tan caddis and BWOs, although in early afternoon, the tan caddis are the likely culprits. This phenomenon manifested last week during my lone outing. I was fishing a team of three flies: Hare’s Lug and Plover (caddis) top dropper, with two Hendricksons below. Hendricksons were in the air and there were rising trout. Yet all of my fish came on the Hare’s Lug and Plover. This is the strongest argument for fishing a team of three: droppers are always the fastest way to find out what the fish want.

This magnificent brown might not have eaten had I not given it the choice of a caddis. You can get a better view of the fish’s weight and size on my Instagram @stevecultonflyfishing — and while you’re at it, please follow me there.

Last week’s underwhelming Hendrickson outing

I managed about 3 hours of fishing last Tuesday, and it was a disappointing. True, I got my first few trout of the year on a swung wet fly. True, the weather was pretty darn nice. True, I rather enjoyed my Ashton VSG torpedo. But the bite and the Hendrickson hatch were disappointing. I’d give the hatch a 4/10 and the bite a 2/10. There just weren’t than many fish rising, and when they did, it was for an all too brief 30-minute window.

Some of the details: I fished with guide extraordinaire Steve Hogan for about an hour. He fished nymphs, I fished wets. He stuck several fish. I didn’t get a touch. We fished in the lower STMA. Water temp was low 50s, good medium-low flow. After Steve left, my action picked up, but again, only for a brief window. I then went to a mark a quarter-mile upstream and fished a 150-yard section with a team of wets, again without a touch. Normally, I would have expected at least a half-dozen fish. I heard from others who fished in the Canton area that it was similarly underwhelming.

I just wrote the section in the book about ID-ing an Atlantic salmon smolt. They’re often confused with small wild browns, but once you learn the specific markers, you won’t ever again mistake a salar for a trutta.

I’m going to try to get out again this week, then continue pounding away on my keyboard. The book is nearing the completed draft home stretch, but not quite there. Still gotta round that clubhouse turn.

Farmington River Report: Fishing with Torrey, congratulations to Antoine!

In case you haven’t heard, veteran Farmington River guide Antoine Bissieux was just named the 2025 Orvis-Endorsed Fly Fishing Guide of the Year! In addition to being an exceptional guide, Antoine is also a friend and a contributor to the Farmington River book. You’ll get to see a few of his favorite fly patterns, and his wisdom will be sprinkled throughout the text. Congratulations, Antoine. We’re all tremendously excited for you.

From a photo shoot for the book this past August, Antoine patiently scans the water looking for a rise or the signs of a lurking trout. I’m grateful to have the opportunity to draw from Antoine’s knowledge and experience. When we’re out doing these shoots, I’m not only working — I’m also engaging in professional development: watching, learning, and just enjoying being on the river talented anglers like Antoine.

Speaking of anglers who know what they’re doing, I spent Wednesday afternoon on the river shooting Torrey Collins from UpCountry Sportfishing. We had a slow day; a cold front came through the night before, which was strike one. Bug activity was light (strike two) but we did see midges, early stones, and some olives. Torrey was Euronymphing, and we hit the lower end of the PTMA, and then two marks below it. It was a few stocker rainbows until Torrey connected with an archetype wild Farmington brown, a handsome buck in the upper teens. What was eye-opening to me was where Torrey caught him. I’d never fished there before, but I’ve driven past it hundreds of time without giving it a second thought. The more I write this book, the more I learn about the river — and the more you’re going to learn when you read it.

Torrey working the water, expertly covering every seam and hole in the pool. While I’ve fished in far colder temperatures, this was the coldest I’ve been on the river in a very long time. While the bite never really got going, we did our best and I got some excellent shots. Thank you, Torrey!

Swinging with Dave, 2H rods, fishing starting to pick up

I spent last Wednesday afternoon with Dave, who wanted to explore the river and learn how to swing streamers and wets, and give his trout spey rod some action. We hit several marks within the PTMA, both to fish and investigate. While the weather was gorgeous (mid 60s and sunny), the water was still very cold (below 40 degrees in New Hartford). That’s a little chilly to expect significant action on the swung fly. Still, we managed a couple touches, and Dave did a fantastic job casting and managing his drifts. In another time and situation, he’s going to be a dangerous trout-catching machine.

I don’t usually talk about specific pools, but when we hiked into the Boneyard — the gate is still closed — the advantages of the two-handed rod became glaringly evident. Especially if you’re swinging a streamer. Dave was making effortless 60-75 foot casts — well, semi-effortless — and reaching spots most single hand casters would struggle with. Food for thought if you’re considering the 2H rod.

Ed releasing a lovely wild brown his buddy nymphed up. The size of the fins and the fish’s skinny I-made-it-through-winter body told me that it has been in the river for a very long time.

After our session, I went to do some scouting for the book, and I ran into Ed and Drew from the Avon Orvis store. They were nymphing with a couple friends below the PTMA, and having some success. To illustrate how a cold front can squash the bite, I went back the next day to do more recon, and hit the marks where they were getting into fish. Not. A. Touch. The overnight cold front and gale-force winds clearly had the trout in a dour mood.

Still, the fishing is starting to pick up. And it will only be getting better as we get into April. Fish ’em if ya got ’em!