Tag Archives: Farmington River guide

Getting better all the time

I tend to look at fly fishing as one big, fun, science project. Figuring things out, making new discoveries, trying a new fly or method that produces good results — these are just a few of the rewards that await the curious angler. As most of you know, I’m a teaching guide, and my guide trips are lesson-based. The guides I use when I fish for pleasure know the marching orders: tell me when I’m doing something wrong, show me how I could do it better, teach me things I don’t know (or have forgotten). No matter how good you think you are, we all have something to learn. That’s how you get better.

Since I’m a put your money where your mouth is kind of guy, on Monday I accepted 2025 Orvis Guide of the Year Antoine Bissieux’s gracious invitation to tag along and participate in his class with French world champion Bertrand Jaquemin. We won the weather lottery with a good flow and gorgeous weather. The class began at Orvis in Avon at 10am, and we were on the river about 12:30pm. It was gratifying to see that other people include off-the-water classroom as part of their lessons.

I can see this method working for pressured or skittish steelhead in low, clear water. Hmmmmmm……

The focus of the class was long-leader upstream presentations to pressured trout. Although the business end of the rig is a small nymph, the presentation and drift management was not unlike an upstream dry or wet fly drift. I’m guessing after the fact — I don’t have the leader with me — that the leader was about 15 feet long. It includes a sighter, which I had trouble seeing — that’s a problem with a sighter — until Bertrand ran it along a knife edge to curly pigtail it. Visual acquired! While I didn’t connect with a fish, I did see the benefits of this style of fishing. More practice time on the water is needed before I can render a better judgement on the method. (I prefer to be lazy and work downstream. This is upstream, and requires stealth and vigilance.) I’m not arguing that it’s not productive; I’m just not sure it’s right for me. And happiness and confidence catches fish.

I was dopey enough not to take pictures, so my bad. Many thanks to Bertrand and Antoine for sharing their knowledge.

The importance of keeping a log

Although I’ve been fishing for over five decades, I didn’t start keeping a fishing log until the summer of 2004. At this point in my life, I was seriously devoted to fly fishing. Being an autodidact, I reckoned that I’d learn more, quicker, and retain more if I could journal and reference my outings. I wasn’t wrong.

Since then, I have logged every fishing trip and every lesson I’ve given. I’ve filled six 192-page books with all kinds of data: place, time, date, water and air conditions, and then a journal-style description of the outing: what worked, what didn’t, what I think I could have done better, etc. What were the hatches/bait, and how strong were they? How were other people doing? What did I do well?

My O.G. log entry about a Farmington River outing with old pal Paul Kingsford. I didn’t even know some of the proper names of the pools; that’s Hawes, aka Bikini Rock, that I called “the big rock boulders/cliffs.” I haven’t changed the format all that much in the last 20+ years.

About 10 years ago, when life seemed to get exponentially busier, I got into a good/bad habit: voice recording my outings, then transcribing them into the journal. It was good because I didn’t have to write it all down immediately; the recording was made minutes after getting off the water, so everything was fresh in my memory. Later, during transcription, I might remember additional details. The bad habit part began when I would get lazy and not fill the pages with reports for weeks. I beg to report that my sloth has gotten so profound that I am now two years — you read that right — behind on my transcriptions. I’ll be getting to that shortly after I post this.

Some of you may wonder why, with today’s e-tech, I even bother handwriting it. Fair point. But I’m an analog guy at heart, and there’s something about my own script that adds humanity to what would otherwise be a cold, antiseptic printed document. Besides, I like my leather-bound hardcover books.

These books are more than a nostalgic preservation of memories. They’re a detailed roadmap to success. I can watch my progression as a fly fisher. I can observe how my best practices evolve. Not everyone’s a writer, but my journals were an invaluable resource when I was writing my Farmington River book. And these journals serve as a bittersweet reminder of what we’ve lost: the epic blitzes on Block Island, the prodigious power of the W/S Caddis hatch, the 50 smallmouth nights on the Housatonic. I still have it all at my fingertips.

I like to say during a lesson or a presentation that I’m not right. But I’ll stand by this statement: if you want to become a better angler — and catch more fish — you should be keeping a log.

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

Sorry, sorry, sorry, or: Book duties keep calling

By now, I’d hoped to be back to my normal routine on these pages. But every time I think I’m in the clear, the book comes a callin’. So that’s why posts have been so spotty. All I can tell you is that when things do return to normal, you’ll be the first to know.

I just finished an article for Surcasters’ Journal. I’ll letcha know when it comes out.

It’s getting steamy out there. Time for the summer under-waders kit.

Fishing in brief: Block Island stunk again this year: slow, slower, slowest. Then there was last week on the Farmington. I gave Andrew a wet fly lesson, and it was likewise a non-action fest. We fished three marks, and it wasn’t until the last one that we found some fish. But Andrew was enthusiastic and persistent, and we ended up with two in the hoop for the win. Great job Andrew! I stayed to fish the evening rise. The location was above the PTMA, and the hatch and rise activity was one of the worst I’ve experienced in a decade. Very little hatching (mostly dorothea) and, almost impossibly, nothing on it except for a few small fish. Highly disappointing. I managed two small wild browns on wet flies and one stocker rainbow on the way out after I could no longer see my fly. Blech!

Of course, we hav the blank canvas of this week, upon which we may paint spectacular fishing images. Yeah. Let’s go with that.

And, we’re back

TGIF! Sorry for the 1-week hiatus, but I was re-called to emergency book duties. I believe — fingers crossed — that I’m all set on that front for a while. I hope. Now I can take some time to do all the things I haven’t done in the last few months, like go fishing. And resume regular posts here. The yard work list is also impressive. And just in time for the heat wave.

This warm weather coupled with cold water should kick-start the hatches on the Farmington, which have generally been lagging. Please be aware of temperature spikes in the afternoon. Carry a thermometer, and if you get 67 degrees or higher, go fish farther upstream. There will be plenty of colder water near the dam –it’s releasing at 52 degrees. You can also fish first light to mid-morning, when water temps will be lowest. Catch ’em up, and have fun.

No. Not this week.

Steve Culton’s Iso Soft Hackle featured in On The Water’s “Guide Flies” column

What’s this? Two posts in one week? Yessir, campers! As promised, we are trying to return to a regular posting schedule on currentseams.com. I want to thank everyone for their patience and loyalty over the past year. Let’s get to it.

The Iso Soft Hackle is a wet fly I prototyped several years ago. Then, I test it on the river for months or years to prove its worthiness before I pass it along to you. This is an outstanding pattern (he said, modestly). The past two summers, it has accounted for some of my biggest trout taken on wet flies. It’s easy to tie, and the materials are readily available. Here’s the fly and the recipe as outlined by Tony Lolli in his outstanding Guide Flies column from On The Water. So what are you waiting for? Get to the vise. It’s Iso time!

A jpeg and pdf for your viewing pleasure.

Ladies and Gentlemen, the Farmington River manuscript has left the building!

Writing a book is all about milestones and deadlines, and the first truly big ones are now in the rear view mirror. Yesterday I sent the complete manuscript to the publisher, along with photos and captions. Next step will be their read and review, and then my edits and re-writes. The target publish date is still next summer. Many of you have asked about orders and pre-orders — that’s exciting to hear! I don’t have any information on that yet, but of course when I do, I’ll let you know here and elsewhere on social media.

Now, I’m going fishing.

Yeah. I’m excited.

We’re in the home stretch! And a word about caddisflies.

Happy Hump Day to all. Sorry about missing a post last week, but I have a really good excuse (besides the book): #2 Son Cam’s graduation from the College of Wooster in Ohio. And now, we’re back. Except I spent the last two days planting over 50 cucumbers, chili peppers, and tomatoes. (Advil, anyone?) Now that those are in the ground, I’m back at the book, fast and furious, as my June 1 deadline approaches rapidly from the east.

That means no fishing for me, but I hope you’re picking up the slack. We’re supposed to get dumped on Thursday, so that will no doubt jack up the rivers. Hopefully the waters will recede somewhat by the weekend. Connecticut needs the rain, and we’ll be grateful for the influx into the reservoirs.

Two years ago, May 30, LaFontaine’s Diving Caddis.

While this has been a crappy, cool month so far, I have been thinking about caddisflies. The warmer days tend to really get them going. May is typically prime time for caddis on the Farmington, and when the book comes out, I hope you’ll pay particular attention to the section devoted to this highly underrated bug. If I were nymphing or swinging wets today, you can be sure I’d have at least one caddis pattern in the mix.

Must go write. And I’m really looking forward to finishing.

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.