Part memoir, part how-to, Ed Van Put’s A Flyfisher’s Revelations: Practical Tips, Strategies, and Wisdom From 50 Years Experience from Skyhorse Publishing. print ISBN: 978-1-5107-8333-1, is absolutely essential reading for any serious trout angler. I loved this book. I’d only heard about Ed after he passed away a year ago, so the name carried no particular weight. That’s a pity, because this is a man I would have like to have sat down with for a chat or an interview — or even better, spent some time together on a river.
If you want to be one of the 10% of the anglers who catch 90% of the fish, Ed’s book is an excellent place to start.
Your permission to believe me comes in the form of a back-cover blurb, where Lee Wulff calls Ed, “one of the best trout fisherman I know.” Once you dive in, you quickly glean that Lee is spot-on. While one of Ed’s claims-to-fame is that he valued presentation over fly selection (he’s known for using very few different patterns on the river, and clams that 70% of his dry fly hookups came from on an Adams), there are plenty of fly patterns pictured, and recipes, in the book. That’s of particular interest to a fly tying nerd like me.
This book works for both beginning and advanced anglers alike. I’m always thrilled when someone who I perceive to be a better angler than me talk about concepts and tactics that I myself teach. Rookie anglers will be able to grasp the over-arching principles without getting bogged down in minutia. I also liked that he starts every chapter with a meaningful quote from another angler. My copy is filled with highlighted sections for future reference.
Now, I’ve gotta go through it all again. There’s more fish to be caught!
I’ve gotten to the point in my steelheading journey where I’m confident that if I get a good hookset, I have a better than 50-50 chance of landing the fish. Of course, steelhead behavior and flows being dynamic X-factors, it doesn’t alway work out that way. But you do your best and take what the river gives you.
In recent years, I’ve felt a sense of something between dread and lingering malaise with my trips up to Pulaski. Maybe it’s because the river isn’t particularly beautiful. (Wait until you’ve seen what they’ve done to the river from Altmar to Pineville. I can’t say that it’s an improvement.) Maybe it’s because the town itself can be a wee bit depressing. Maybe it’s the constant crowds and the resulting pressure. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but whatever. This year felt different. I was very much looking forward to fishing with old guide friend Row Jimmy and tussling with some Lake Ontario brawlers. Let’s do it!
Conditions were just about perfect: dam release of 750cfs, 39 degree water, air temps above freezing with no precipitation. We fished the upper river on the first day, not far from the Altmar launch. There were steelhead in the immediate vicinity, but most of them were in front of other boats. We pecked away with egg patterns, but I dropped the first four I hooked. That had me flummoxed and moderately concerned.
Ta-dah! Fifth time was the charm. I’m continuously mystified by fish that get off vs. fish that get into the hoop, as I’m doing nothing differently between the two. Stick that fish, let them run when they want, keep the rod cork pointed upstream, don’t let ’em breathe…why do some fish become unbuttoned and others not? Mysteries to contemplate over a cigar and single malt.
We finally got to slug it out with a pile of fish after a couple boats left. By this time, I was throwing the old favorite 60-Second Redhead, and the hits just kept on coming. However, the conversion ratio still stunk. I ended up going 2-for-11 on the day with one foul (I don’t count fouled fish as landed). Most of the fish came off well into the fight, and I suspect it was a combination of pressure from me and current…and maybe hook size? To be discussed further at another time…after I get over my terrible .181 batting average.
One that didn’t get away.
Day two was a bit of a curveball. Jim had to cancel due to an appointment that couldn’t be missed, so I did something I’ve never done before: floated the river with a different guide. Jason Julien proved to be most excellent. We returned to the scene of yesterday’s bonanza, but the action across the length of the pool was a shade of what it was a day before. The good news was that I stuck and landed the first two fish I touched. We hooked one more and lost it right as it was about to be netted, so It was hard to get upset about that. (If you’ve never fished from a drift boat, steelhead are far more difficult to land because you can’t get them out of the current and into softer water.) And 2/3 reads a lot better in a box score.
I’ll take two of those. After a couple hours of not-a-touch, I informed Jay that sometimes the key to hooking up is a cigar. Out Lady of Blessed Gispert Churchill came through. For those of you keeping score at home, we’re now at 282 steelhead landed.
Much to talk about today. I’m currently recovering from last weekend’s International Fly Tying Symposium. That is, I’ve unpacked everything, gotten back to my regular sleep and eating (and coffee!) schedule, and here I am, clacking away at my keyboard on currentseams.com.
While this is the largest fly tying show in the world, there’s a sense of intimacy about IFTS that resonates with me. (If Goldilocks tied flies, she’d be all over this show.) I behaved myself wallet-wise, coming away only with a pack of size 14 Ahrex North Country Spider hooks (LE810). My Saturday seminar on Tying and Fishing Wet Flies was very well-attended, and I want to thank everyone for showing up and for asking so many thoughtful questions. I couldn’t have asked for a better tying bench mate than Peter Simonson, who specializes in classic Carrie Stevens-style streamers. I spent the rest of the day tying wet flies and soft hackles and socializing and answering questions about the Farmington River book.
The view from my bench Saturday morning. What a treat to reconnect with so many old and newer friends, and to put faces to names of currentseams subscribers.
After a delicious banquet Saturday evening — complete with a wonderful fly tying swag bag from show sponsor J.Stockard — I was featured fly tier Sunday morning. The subject was Farmington River Favorites, and we managed to get through each of the four food groups (nymph, wet, dry, streamer). Again, many thanks to everyone who attended. I truly appreciate your support.
But the highlight of the show for me was formally becoming a member of the Regal Pro Staff. I’ve been tying on a custom Regal Revolution for years, so this was particularly gratifying. Those of you who know me know that I don’t endorse anything on these pages that I don’t use and love, and I’ll be talking more about my Regal vise in future posts.
And now, me too! There are so many incredibly talented tiers in this group, and I’m honored to be a part of the team.
Finally, I’m back on the book for a bit: page proofs are in! These are basically an e-version of the layout of the book, complete with photos and other visual reference. I go through it, make minor corrections as needed, send it back to the publisher, and the whole shebang goes to press early next year. Exciting times! People stopping by the table showed a lot of interest in the book, and even if you don’t fish the Farmington a lot, I’m comfortable telling you that much of it — fly patterns, how to, hatches — is applicable to southern New England trout streams.
We had a quarter inch of rain overnight, so we decided to roll the dice on some fresh fish entering the system. Sometimes, it doesn’t take much to trigger a migration in steelhead alley. So we headed to a spot in PA about a mile away from the lake. We had to move well upstream to distance ourselves from the crowds, but we were in position at 6:45am, normally a little late but just right for today. We strategically carpet bombed a deeper hole, but that turned up blank. (We saw only one other fish landed the entire time we fished this general section, and it came from this hole.) Undaunted, we moved downstream to a swift run, more of a slot, that bordered a bleached tree trunk which created an enticing current break.
I had just made the comment that, with the climbing sun in my face, it was a wee bit difficult to see the indicator — but not to worry, because with the current moving so fast, the fish would set themselves. On cue, indicator down and fish on! I lost this steelhead to a snapped tippet, another when it ran between a pinch point of two submerged boulders, and two more to the whims of the steelhead gods. But I brought three to net, and, bad luck aside, considered myself ahead in the bargain.
Silver in the gold of the morning light. Clearly, this first pod of fish came in from the lake overnight — newly-minted coin bright, aggressive takes, and spirited runs. Their freshness, the speed of the water, and the rocky bottom made for some challenging landing conditions. They weren’t bashful about leaping out of the water, or peeling off line in a hurry. Each one brought to net was a hard fought victory; each release a moment to savor, coupled with the thought that we might cross paths again this winter.
As the action tapered off, we declared victory, and headed to Ohio. The rains had missed there, and the water was low but fishable. Unfortunately, the low flows meant far fewer fish in the system; Holes, pools, slots, and runs that normally would have at least a few occupants were barren.
This steelhead was part of a pod of a half dozen fish that we rousted from beneath a ledge. We let them resettle, and came back a hour later to fish for them. She was the only one we could get to eat. The Ohio fish were far more dour than the morning group in PA; I had as many fouls as fair eats. We managed four properly hooked fish, and three cigars. That’s a win.
My intention was to get up early and fish a few hours before driving back to Connecticut. But I was dragging. What’s more, I was dreading having to battle crowds and jockey for position. So I made the command decision to head back to PA and fish until dark. At first, it seemed like I’d sent myself on a futile excursion. I couldn’t find fish in any of the usual places. The water is a highly popular mark, but I only encountered three anglers over a 750 yard stretch; as it grew darker, I had the whole place to myself. Being the stubborn sort, I went back a favorite slot hard against a submerged ledge beneath a fly-eating tree. Second cast, the indicator disappeared, and I buried the hook in the steelhead’s jaw. A fine, fresh camera-shy hen who bolted the moment I removed the hook.
I’m not sure what I liked more: catching that fish, or sleeping in the next morning.
In the UK, they celebrate November 5th — Guy Fawkes Day — with fireworks. In western PA, the day wasn’t nearly as explosive. Low, clear water; the approaching cold front lockjaw syndrome; wind and leaves; and the need for highly technical presentations were all formidable obstacles. But I can be the kind of angler who likes a challenge, even more so when I know the fish are there.
We fished Elk Creek, and the good news/bad news was significantly more water than this time last year, but far fewer fish. Places last year where the steelhead were wedged in like sardines were this year distressingly empty. Low, clear flows on these creeks require a certain level of stealth, and technical casts and drifts. To get dour, on-high-alert steelhead to eat, you’ve got to nail a perfect cast, then make all kinds of technical mends to keep the fly on target. Weight and indicator adjustments are a constant dance you perform until the judges tell you that you’ve got it right.
The first fish in the hoop is always a relief. I’ve been known to say that all I need is one steelhead to make me happy, and on most days that’s true. I had seven eats in the first three hours, and sealed the deal on three. Not a great batting average, but I did have some bad luck in the form of a snapped tippet, and another that mysteriously wriggled off after I slammed it with a powerful hookset. Blood Dot eggs, size 14, were the menu item of choice. By late morning, we decided to take a break and seek our pleasures elsewhere.
We did a bit of walking to try to get away from other anglers, but the story on new ground was the same: low, clear flows, leaves, and precious few fish that we could see. We finally located a pod of about a dozen fish, but in addition to the previously mentioned lockjaw, these steelhead seemed more interested in canoodling than eating. Two darker alpha males set the tone in the pool, chasing fish away from their lies, with the pod constantly shifting position after their antics.
Then, the rains came. This was a boon to the bite; the fouler the weather, the more takes. When bite windows open, you’ve got to jump on them, and so we did. I had one epic eat from a fish that was part of pod hiding under a ledge. The presentation was tricky. I had to cast into the main current, then drag the flies toward the ledge in front of me, resume dead drift, and hope the team of two would pass through the strike zone unimpeded by the edge of the shale barrier. As the flies moved into position, I had to switch to a quasi tight-line presentation. Of the dozens of attempts I made throughout the afternoon, one worked. That was my favorite fish of the day.
One of the alpha males that — finally! — made a mistake. Guy’s got some shoulders, and clearly, he’s been in the system for a few weeks. I lost a substantial chrome hen to a hysterical display of leaps and rolls. When I stuck the hookset, she bolted upstream like a dragster coming off the line. One, two, then three spectacular leaps worthy of a tarpon had us cackling with delight. She made a beeline for a shale ledge and rolled, then did it again, and on the second one she spit the hook. What tremendous sport! I finished the day with nine to hand, which I considered a major victory given the conditions. Yup. I love steelheading.
I spent a few hours the last few days restocking my steelhead boxes, mostly egg patterns. But I did whip up a batch of White Death Zonkers as well. (What an appropriate name on Halloween!) I also tied a few new patterns, because I like to occasionally experiment with flies and steelhead and conditions. It’s a never-ending project, and while I’ve made huge strides in the last five years toward mastering that fish, steelhead remain wonderfully enigmatic and fickle and subject to the whims and caprices of nature.
First up this year will be the Erie tribs. On that fishery, I use a different leader system than I use in Ontario tribs. I learned it from steelhead guide extraordinaire Bob Packey. The butt of the leader is a 9-foot stepped down taper: 4′ of 20lb., 3′ of 17lb., then 2′ of 12lb., terminating in a power swivel. I use clear Stren nylon for the butt. From there, it’s tippet, typically 6lb. fluorocarbon, 12″-18″ to the first fly (you can fish two flies in PA and OH), then about 16″ of tippet tied from the bend of the top fly, terminating in the point fly. Steelhead fly fishing is one of the few instances where I’ll use fluorocarbon.
If you don’t have this book, you should.
Your shot goes on the butt section just above the power swivel. In normal-to-higher flows, the top fly is typically a brass bead head. In low-to-trickle flows, I may not use any weight, and both flies will be unweighted and sparse. I like wingless shot. I struggle with seeing white and certain shades of orange, so my indicator must be bright or fluorescent yellow. Missed takes are missed fish! If I can, I like to use my own yarn indicators. In base flows, conditions dictate that I use one of those foam tab indicators.
The vast majority of hookups come on the point fly, so that’s typically my high-confidence pattern of the moment. Blood Dot Eggs in egg with an apricot supreme dot are a favorite, along with White Death Zonkers if the flows are good. You can see more on “Building a more Erie tribs-Appropriate Fly Box.”
Steelhead fly fishing is one of those endeavors where you can do everything right and still have things go wrong. However, the more things you do right, the more you tend to have success. Confidence catches fish, and having a proven leader system takes rigging guesswork out of the equation. Fish on!
The first thing I’d like you to do after reading this opening paragraph is head over the ASGA website and sign their official letter calling for major reductions to the menhaden harvest. It will take you less than five minutes, and it’s an excellent use of your time. Long story short: Atlantic menhaden are a critical bait and ecosystem fish; they’ve been grossly over harvested; that needs to stop now. Please do this, even if you don’t fish for striped bass. We need all the voices we can get.
Galley copy for the Fly Fishing Guide to the Farmington River has been reviewed by yours truly and sent back to the editors. This was simply my review and comments on their edits. I was pleased to discover that the edits weren’t substantial, and book flowed from one subject to another like…a river? There. I’ve made my unfunny joke of the day. Maps were also reviewed, and I really like the artwork. If you don’t know the river, you’ll find them highly useful. Next steps: the whole shebang gets put into page layout, then reviewed. That should happen in November. We’re getting closer!
A successful spawn means more of these. This fish was sampled by DEEP last September during broodstock collection for the Survivor Strain program. If you see a redd and canoodling trout, be like The Beatles and let it be.
Speaking of the Farmington river, the spawn has begun. If you’re fishing, please be on the lookout for redds! They are generally lighter, oval-shaped patches surrounded by dark substrate. Keep a safe distance. And of course, never target spawning fish. That’s just bad form.
A reminder that the International Fly Tying Symposium is November 15-16, now just over two weeks away. I’m doing a wet fly seminar on Saturday and a Farmington River tying demo on Sunday. More on those coming soon.
Right now is a good time to not go fishing for wild trout on small streams.
As you already know, most of the state is abnormally dry, and the northwest hills are officially in drought. Don’t let the recent rainfall kid you — our small streams are running at a CFS fraction of what they should be.
While nature finds a way, the stresses of summer heat and trickle flows no doubt took a toll. That alone would justify giving small streams a break. But right now is pre-spawn and spawn time. I ventured out yesterday and was stunned by the severity of the low water. The spawn is a stressful time for fish, exacerbated by the dire conditions of late summer. With so much of the stream bed exposed, wild fish will be challenged to find spawning gravel. I didn’t see any redds yesterday, and it may be that the fish are so stressed, and have so few gravel options, that on many small streams we won’t see a successful spawn this fall.
Learn how to identify a redd: typically oval in shape, small gravel, lighter in color than surrounding bottom. There may or may not be fish nearby. It goes without saying, never target fish on a redd!
You don’t have to be a fisheries biologist to reckon that if that is in fact the case, it does not bode well for future wild fish populations.
So here’s how you can help: for the time being, don’t fish small streams. Give the trout a break. Once we get back to normal flows, enjoy — but please be on the lookout for redds and spawning gravel (dime and pea-sized substrate). Most of all, stay out of the stream bed — no wading! — until late March. It’s good for fish. And good for everyone who loves fishing small streams.
I did two lessons last week on the Farmington. On Tuesday, I took Joe on a wet fly excursion. We stuck to the lower river; at 140cfs, it had the most water, and the weather was cool enough that the water temp never got higher than 66 (3pm). The fishing was predictably slow; we found success by moving around (we fished three different marks) and targeting the deepest, fastest-moving water we could get into. Joe was a strong wader, and sometimes that’s the difference between fishing and catching. Trout love to hang out in places that are difficult for land animals like humans to navigate. Joe stuck four and we put three in the hoop. In difficult low-water conditions, that was pretty darned good.
Joe having at it. As you can see, the clarity of the water was excellent, and when the flows are low, that usually works in favor of the fish. But Joe kept at it, was enthusiastic, and figured out where he needed to put his flies to catch fish. Great job, Joe!
Friday was a different story. We had rain Thursday night, which had me all fired up because it would mean higher flows and a little color in the water. While those conditions manifested, the fishing stunk out loud, which depressed me no end. I guided Dan and Sean, and we spent the bulk of our time nymphing. We stuck to water just below the PTMA; our reward was not another angler in sight. Although we bounced around — we fished four different marks — we could only manage two touches. Bah-phooey on those trout. The good news was that both Dan and Sean showed tremendous improvement over the course of four hours. When you actually see clients getting it, and making better casts, presentations, and mends, it’s very gratifying. Both deserved better than what the river gave them, but they’ll hit right in the future and reap the rewards of their lesson.
~
I’m back on the book, so this will be my only currentseams post this week. The publisher has sent me the galley copy, which is all of their edits in a document, paged format. My job is to read and review and comment. That’s over 300 pages of reading, so I need to hop to it. I’ve only made it through 20 pages, but it’s a happy feeling when you still like what you’ve written so many months ago, and the edits are generally light. AFAIK, The Fly Fishing Guide to the Farmington River is still on track for a June 1 2026 release. Natch’ , I’ll keep you updated with any news as it comes in.
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?
currentseams.com 