Happy hump day! Just a wee reminder that if you’re not following me on Instagram — @stevecultonflyfishing — you may be missing out on some good stuff. What goes on Instagram doesn’t usually make it to currentseams. Like this website, I try to keep it informative, entertaining, or useful (and on a good day, all three). So, if you’re not following me on Instagram, hop to it. I just posted this nifty little black stonefly soft hackled nymph….
Steve’s BHSH Little Black Stone. You can find the recipe on Instagram. 🙂
I have shamefully neglected my trout vest and its accoutrements and baubles and other implements of destruction. So that’s today’s job: get it ready to go for some late winter/early spring fishing. Find a place for everything, and put everything in its place. Make sure I’m not missing anything. And restock the pathetic container that is my subsurface fly box — especially the nymph side, which is embarrassingly barren. Enough self-flagellation. To the tasks at hand!
Benjamin Franklin is famous for declaring the absolute certainty of death and taxes. I’d like to offer me with crappy weather for steelheading. It seems that no matter which days I choose months in advance, the conditions will suck.
I submit to the group this Tuesday and Wednesday. There are decent numbers of fish in the upper Salmon river, and the fly zones are absolutely polluted with steelhead. The bite has been, at worst, average. So what did we do? Dialed up a cold front and snow and wind for our two days. Thus endeth the bite.
There is a Christian tenet that says, “This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice in it and be glad.” Whatever religion you follow (or don’t) it’s good advice, especially if you’re a can-do kind of angler. There’s nothing we could do about the weather, so better be prepared for it, and be ready to adapt to conditions. I must confess, however, that I was not this happy by the end of the day. Thus endeth the lesson. (Photo by Gordon Culton)Yes, that’s wet snow blowing sideways across my jacket. After blanking for most of the morning, I stuck this fish in a soft water seam several hundred yards below the Altmar bridge. In fact, I set the hook so hard that I fell over into Gordo’s lap. Poor Gordo! He hooked and dropped a fish in some faster water just above this mark, and that was his only touch of the day. But he stuck it out and never complained. About a half hour after I landed this hen, I also dropped a fish in the same place where Gordo had lost his. Like son, like father?Both of my hookups came on size 12 Blood Dot eggs. If you don’t know that pattern, you should. (Photo by James Kirtland)We were so miserably cold on Tuesday that we called it around 2pm. Given the slow action, it was decided that if there was any open water in the LFZ on Wednesday AM before launch, I’d give it a few drifts. I don’t normally say exactly where I fish, but the mark opposite the boat launch is no secret, and it’s typically loaded with fish. As there was only one angler there, I waded in. Now, I’ve never fished this mark before, and it didn’t take me long to realize that I’d made a classic rookie mistake of wading too far into the river, too close to where I should drift. Once I adjusted my position, I started hooking up along the soft water edge. The problem was, the fish weren’t eating. I fouled four fish here, one in the tail (“Northbound train hooked on the southern end,” cracked Jim) and one on the dorsal. I didn’t see the third, and the fourth left me a souvenir of a scale. I really don’t like fouling fish — others where having the same experience — and I wanted to get Gordo fishing, so we buttoned up and began our float. (A fond note to Tom who was fishing above me, and was courteous and friendly and matey, and a boo-hiss to the churls below me who waded right where I was drifting, then couldn’t be bothered to move when anyone who hooked up above them had a fish roar down to their position. This is the dark side of crowded water, and it remains astonishing how rude some people can be.) (Photo by James Kirtland)Gordo had another rough day. He drifted an egg bag over a run with no love. Then I stepped up to bat and hooked up on my first cast with a Copperhead Stone. I stuck the fish good (I was really happy with my hookset speed, power, and direction on this trip) but it came off. A couple hours later, skippy here put a smile on my face in a fast-moving shallow glide/riffle. And that was it. Two-for-four for me on the trip, which isn’t a bad batting average, but I’d sure liked to have had more opportunities. I shouldn’t complain — Gordo executed dozens and dozens of quality drifts and had nothing to show for it. I’m proud of him for his perseverance.
I just got back form two days of spring — uh, make that winter’s resurgence — steelheading on the world-famous Salmon River in Pulaski. The weather was dreadful and so was the bite. More on that tomorrow. But for now, I’ll give you an image that perfectly sums up our Tuesday. As for the striper report, I went Sunday night for 90 minutes to Ye Olde Top Secret Striper Spot and am excited to report…not…a…touch. So it goes…
This photo needs no caption. Bonus points if you know the mark. Courtesy of Row Jimmy Guide Service.
I have a traditionalist streak a mile wide. So for years, I used one of those old-school wool fly patches. I shudder to think of all the dozens of flies I lost with that system.
Then, fly fishing pack makers introduced the rippled foam fly patch. They conveniently placed this patch inside the front compartment of their packs. Except, if you’re like me and tend to load up your pack, that system is not very convenient. I shudder to think of all the smaller items I’ve dropped into a river trying to get to a fly.
This product is absolutely brilliant. I attaches to your vest, pack, jacket — whatever — by means of two powerful magnets and a steel backing plate. (Note: the maker suggests that the magnets are so powerful, they are not advisable for use by anglers with pacemakers.) When you’re done with a fly, you place it onto the patch and it stays stuck. No more flies going AWOL. No more wondering where that midge nymph went. No more struggling to get to your stash.
Magnet-ique is headquartered in England. You can order directly from them, and possibly from your local shop. I actually saved some money by ordering a double (two of the orange units) and an extra backing plate, which gave me two usable separate patches.
The Magnet-ique MagMini Double on my steelhead pack. They also make a smaller, single size. Suffice to say I need the room of the double, especially for steelheading where I may be going through double-digit fly numbers in a day.
This is the “Bead Head Stone, Rubber Legs” pattern from the first edition of Matt Supinski’s Steelhead Dreams. My spies in Pulaski tell me that this time of year, big stones with wiggly jiggly legs are all the rage, so I tied up a few (along with some long-legged Kaufmann Stone variants) to have in my box.
Here’s how I tied the Bead Head Stone, Rubber Legs: Hook: Orvis 1524 #8; Thread: black UNI 6/0; Legs/Antennae/Tail: black Life Flex; Abdomen/Rib: black SLF, copper wire; Thorax: black hen hackle; Bead: copper 5/32″; Head: black SLF.
Until today. Back in November when I made my debut at the International Fly Tying Symposium, there was a Saturday night banquet. If you attended, you received an amazing fly tying swag bag courtesy of the IFTS, Keough Hackles, Hareline, Ahrex, and Core. And here it is!
What an amazing bounty! Most of this will get put to good use. Thanks again to the show and the suppliers/vendors who made this possible.
This weekend, I received a question about tying Leisenring’s March Brown Nymph. The reader wanted to know if I thought three pheasant tail fibers for the body was enough. As you can see from my original writeup, I had a few initial questions (or opinions) about the recipe as well. Here’s a little more about my M.O. when I’m tying a pattern for the first time.
I always like to honor the original recipe — at least in the beginning. I want to see what the the tier had in mind, what his or her vision of the pattern was, and perhaps try to figure out what they were trying to accomplish in terms of materials and look. In the case of Leisenring, a giant in the pantheon of American wet fly fishing, respect to the original was surely due. If Big Jim liked the pattern enough to include it in his book, that carried a significant weight. But, even if the pattern creator isn’t on the fly fishing Mount Rushmore, I still like to stick to the original design.
Now, there’s nothing that says you can’t improvise. Indeed, countless patterns have been improved upon because other tyers asked, “what if I?…” So, for example, if there’s a stone fly pattern I’m tying and I think — do I really need that wing case? — I might leave it out after a few iterations. If you’re really curious about discovering the necessity of certain elements or materials, use droppers. Tie one fly according to the original, and then tie one fly your way. Place them on droppers, change the positions frequently to keep it a fair fight, and see if the fish have any preference. Droppers are always the fastest way to find out what the fish want.
I hope this helps. Tie on, ladies and gentlemen.
The Steelhead Hammer (shown here) recipe I found all those years ago specified stretch floss for the underbody. I hated the stuff, so I don’t use it anymore. The original Tom’s 60-Second Redhead called for a mix of beaver, Angora, and flash. I use plain black rabbit fur, and the steelhead seem to like it. And so on…
Zip it. Hush. Shaddup. Small streams and wild trout are a finite resource — and more pressure is usually a very bad thing. So for goodness’ sake, never post stream names and locations on social media. Never take photos that clearly identify your location. (Picture this scenario: you make a video and post it on YouTube. The brook is clearly identifiable. Someone sees it and comments on how beautiful the place is. Someone else comments, “I know where that is!” Someone 1 reaches out to Someone 2, and the location is revealed. Someone 2 likes to share locations with his friends, and the cascade begins. Don’t laugh — I’ve seen it happen.)
And if someone asks, you can always use my line: “I won’t even tell my mother where I fish.”