When director Matthew Vinick asked me if I’d like to appear in his upcoming film on dry fly fishing the Farmington River, I didn’t think twice. Crew and angler assembled on a gorgeous afternoon in late June for my segment. The trout were gathered too, although they were most uncooperative. Sadly, we’d caught them in between feeds, and rises were few and far between. Finally, we got the shot — and the fish — we were looking for, a healthy 17″ Survivor Strain buck, taken on a size 16 Light Cahill Catskills dry. Wouldn’t you know it? After we broke the set, the river lit up and it was trout after trout from 7:30pm till dark. We had a follow-up interview shoot in October. Now all we have to do is wait for director and editor to do their thing.
I don’t have a projected release date for the film, but when I hear more, I’ll let you know.
Those of you who fish for steelhead know how maddening the pursuit can be. When conditions and fish are cooperative, it’s hard to imagine having more fun while wearing rubber pants. When things don’t go well — well, you quickly reacquaint yourself with your cache of four-letter vocabulary words. This year’s November steelhead trip with #2 Son Cam offered a taste of both worlds. The first day I dropped three fish and Cam didn’t have a touch (along with suffering the indignity of leaky waders). The second day I scored a couple fish — it’s always a relief to get off the steelhead schneid — but Cam’s woes continued. He dropped a handful and as the sun began moving toward the western horizon things were looking grim. Then — on literally the last cast — Cam brought a sturdy buck to hand. What a finish! Or, as Alec Baldwin would say, “Coffee is for closers only.”
Give that young man a prize! You can read the full report here.
As the pandemic began tightening its grip on America, none of us could predict what was coming — or how much our daily lives and routines would be changing. So I had no way of knowing that my presentation of “Trout Fishing For Striped Bass” (here’s the SWE podcast) to the South Shore Fly Casters near the end of February would be my last live presentation of 2020. The evening was both a pleasure and a challenge. The group meets in a brewery (yay!) and the turnout was excellent; at the opposite end, I was battling a miserable sinus infection and thus was lathering on hand sanitizer and keeping social distance before I knew social distancing was going to be all the rage. Here’s the link to my report on the talk. It includes some striper Q&A, so give it a read.
Man, I miss going out and talking to groups live! We’re making do with Zooms, and I’m able to present to a wider geographic range of fly fishing clubs, but there’s nothing like a live audience. Hang in there. Once we get though this madness, we’ll all gather for a beer and some quality face-to-face fly fishing conversation.
This holiday season, I wish for all of you the blessings of love, happiness and good health. Thank you so much for following currentseams. Your readership is the best gift a writer could ever receive.
Feast or famine is the new normal for stream flows. In the summer of 2020, we were left wanting for water. After a soaking spring, precious rainfall eluded us through the start of fall, creating harrowing drought conditions across Connecticut. Thankfully, we have smallmouth bass.
It’s no secret to readers of Currentseams that I am a smallmouth addict. So even though the Hous was low and warm, it was still within the acceptable range for targeting Micropterus dolomieu. So I went at it hard. The challenges were many. Low water meant fewer places to find fish, and sometimes what was there wasn’t in the mood to play. This was clearly an off year on the Hous, with an exponentially smaller class of larger fish (this was by far my worst year in the last five for bass you could measure in pounds) and fewer fish in general (I witnessed one epic white fly hatch with hardly any bass on the bugs). Parking and crowds were a concern; there were times when I saw more angler traffic in a day than I normally do all summer. So what did I do?
I explored. I walked. I tried new water and new methods and new flies. I learned so much that I’m going to be writing an article about it in a future edition of The Fisherman magazine. It may be winter, but I can still feel the humidity falling over my shoulders like a coat, sweat collecting along my brow, as the dragonflies buzz around my head at dusk. Maybe one more cigar for the walk back to the truck?
This summer I tried to use multiple methods when learning a new piece of water. So in a typical outing, I might strip and swing a streamer, pop a Gurgler, swing wets, or dead-drift a surface bug. Here’s a nifty shot of a decent smallie blowing up on a Wiggly.
When people ask me about my fishing job, I break it down into three parts: guiding/tying/teaching, writing, and presentations. I love all three, but I think my favorite is presenting. I get to teach fly fishing (I’m passionate about doing so, and I believe that’s reflected in my energy and delivery) and I get to meet people and talk about fly fishing face-to-face. That last bit may sound strange coming from an introvert. I feel blessed to have this site, and Zooms are then next best thing to being there, but no computer interface can replace a handshake (elbow bump these days) and a smile.
At the time we had no way of knowing that the 2020 Marlborough and Edison Fly Fishing Shows would be the last for a while. (There’s talk about doing some parts of those shows remotely in 2021, but at this time I don’t have any information to share. If you want to re-live the 2020 shows, here are my 2020 Marlborough and 2020 Edison recaps.) I think I made the most of it, with big room seminars, Destination Theater presentations, and something new for me, a wet fly tying class. Thank you to everyone who came out to meet, greet, and listen. Thanks to my industry friends for your kindness and giving energy. I’m looking forward to resuming in 2022!
Fly fishing is so serious….or not. I love these guys: Jason Randall (partially obscured by Ed Engle) and George Daniel. If you haven’t read their stuff or seen them speak, you should.
As more and more fly fishing magazines wither and die, I find myself looking for new ways to contribute to the ancient art of print. (I have some exciting ideas that I may announce in 2021.) Sometimes those opportunities materialize seemingly out of nowhere. Like when Toby Lapinski asked me to contribute to The Fisherman magazine (new articles coming in 2021). Or when Dennis Zambrotta asked me to write a fly fishing chapter for his followup to Surfcasting Around The Block. As it turns out, I may be writing a couple pieces. I love Block. I love Dennis’ first book. And I’m loving writing for the followup. (Here’s the original post in case you missed it.)
I love all striped bass, but there is something wondrous about holding one in the sacred waters of Block Island.
…In which we count down a series that recaps my favorite fly fishing moments of 2020…
Marines are trained to improvise, adapt, and overcome obstacles. OK, so I’m not a Marine. But my oldest son is, and I’m going use that as license to borrow this mantra. This spring, with our nation in the grips of the pandemic, speaking in person to fly fishing clubs wasn’t an option. Lockdowns and social distancing in general were challenging for so many of us. And even though I’m an introvert, I dearly missed the chance to interact with other fly fishers. The idea of doing a regular Zoom seemed like a good one. Best if we keep it to the same night every week. But which night? In an homage to one of my mentors, Ken Abrames, I decided on Tuesday. And thus was born the Tuesday Night Currentseams Zoom.
While not as detailed and rehearsed as my paying gigs, I believe these presentations were still loaded with good advice and included a strong entertainment factor. Your reaction and support was overwhelming. There’s nothing worse than presenting to an audience of ten when you were expecting a hundred. Well, I never cracked the century mark, but we got over 75 more than once, and we were almost always over 50. While I intended these simply as a way to get us all to connect through fly fishing, some of you generously offered donations. So: thank you. Thanks for showing up. Thanks for so many great questions. And thanks for your enthusiasm. You gave me something to look forward to every week for a couple months.
As the pandemic continued, some fly fishing clubs discovered that if they held their meetings remotely, members could safely attend. This fall I got back to presenting to clubs via Zoom. In fact, I have a bunch scheduled for 2021 that I’m looking forward to. Many of you have asked that I do some pay-per-view tying Zooms this winter. Those are in the works. And we may still do a freebie now and then. So stay tuned…
This was my last Zoom, back in early June. At its close, I asked everyone to go out and fish and have an adventure this summer. Maybe next time we could talk about how you all did with your homework. I know I did a ton of exploring (new water, new flies, new techniques) for smallmouth. If you’re looking for a full, detailed presentation for your club, here’s my current presentation menu.
I got a late start today, and there’s so much to do: plow the driveway, catch a workout, pre-Christmas prep, a virtual wine tasting tonight (been looking forward to that for weeks!). I started the day proper by building a fire, an old Culton snow day tradition. I’ve also got lots of writing to do, but won’t get to it today: for Dennis Zambrotta’s followup to Surfcasting Around The Block, for my year-end wrap-ups for currentseams…plus Santa brought me an early gift of a new video camera. Gotta figure that out and hopefully make some even spiffier tying videos.
But for now, here’s a piece I did last year on the best nymphs for winter fly fishing. (Understand that “best” means my favorite, high-confidence patterns.) Also, remember that I don’t Euro nymph, so add weight and jig hooks to these patterns as you see fit. Enjoy the snow day.
We don’t need no stinking fake logs and propane fire!
Yep. I’m picky about the stuff I wear and the stuff I use when I’m fly fishing. I have very little patience for gear that doesn’t do what it’s supposed to do, or makes me uncomfortable, or just generally sucks (like this awful lamp). A winter hat seems like something that’s so simple, it shouldn’t require much thought. Therein lies the beauty of the UnderArmour Primaloft Ridge Reaper Hunt Beanie: it’s warm. It’s comfortable. It does what I want it to do.
For starters, I like to wear a ball cap when I’m fishing, even in the winter. The visor keeps the sun out of my eyes and precipitation off my glasses. On those really cold days, I like to wear a ski-type hat over the ball cap. My issue with previous hats was that they were too snug or too small or not warm enough. The last thing I want to be doing out on a river when it’s 20 degrees is be futzing with my hat. So the Ridge Reaper, even though it’s one size, is stretchy and roomy but snugs down nicely around my head and ears with no fuss.
New hat: the UnderArmour Primaloft Ridge Reaper Hunt Beanie.
Cosmetically, I like that the logo is understated. I’m not a fan of high-visibility, high-contrast logos, and as an outdoors person, you can understand wanting to blend in. According to the UA website, the yarn in this hat is breathable and water resistant, and it has a double layer knit lining. Sounds perfect. Like most UA products, this is more than I’d like to pay. $40 for a hat? But, as with so many other things, my eventual cost-per-use will make me forget the price, as will the hat’s performance and comfort.
Price: $40
Rating: *****
A post-steelhead-landed victory shot, hat under the hood. A warm angler is a happy angler.
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