Usually, by this time of year, I’ve given you at least one report headlined with words like “spectacular wet fly action.” But not in 2026. It continues to be cooler than normal and windy and blech. When hatch activity has been strong, the fish seem content to feed on the bottom. This, of course, will change. I feel like we’ll go instantly from early spring to mid-summer weather, the surface bite will pick up, and you’ll get your enthusiastic, superlative-laden wet fly report. But for now, it’s keep on-keeping on.
I gave Jason a wet fly lesson from 11am-3pm on Thursday, and he deserved way, way better than what he got, which was two hits in four hours. To be fair, one of them was a very good fish, although it was camera shy. Jason did an excellent job of casting and getting his team of three where it needed to be, then mending and presenting. Some time later this month or in June, he’s going to hit it right, and people are going to be following him off the water, asking him, “What fly were you fishing?!?”
It’s way too early for me to be thinking about grasshoppers, but I did see one on my driveway yesterday. This is my Hopper Hammerdown.
We had 310cfs in the PTMA and points south. Water temp was in the high 50s. When it’s windy, the seed pods that blow into the water (which look very much like soft-hackled flies) do us no good, and that was yet another factor. Oh, did I mention the cold front that came through the night before? We got into our fish because we moved aggressively through pools, looking for biters. Do likewise when the fishing is slow, and you’ll up your odds significantly.
And a reminder: May is caddis month on the Farmington.
I visited a Class 1 last week — there are so many of them now! — and what the outing lacked in action was made up for in sentimentality. I’ve been fishing these waters for a long time. Walking down its banks is like opening the restaurant door when you’re meeting a friend for lunch. Like many of the newly minted Class1s, this stream has fallen on hard times in the last decade-plus. Gone are the days when I’d pricks multiple dozens of brookies and browns, some of them a fairly impressive length for such small stream in the middle of nowhere. On this day, I managed only handful of swipes and one to net.
The water was an ideal height, probably about the same temperature as the air on this chilly day, in the mid-40s.
This is typically the time of year when I’ll wade through an unproductive pool after blanking in it. My gait is rather haphazard, as I’m hoping to spook some fish and suss out their lies. I rousted virtually no one; one languid stretch had about a half dozen fish, but they were all small yearling size. I did get to enjoy a cigar, and even when I stumbled and sat in the river, soaking my hindquarters, all was right with the world. I fished a dry-dropper system for most of the outing, but what was interested showed a clear preference for the dry. But, funny thing! The only one I landed came on a micro streamer.
Skunk cabbage leafing out near the banks of a trout stream in Connecticut in April takes me back to my youth, Opening Day, Salmon River. They kinda look like tobacco plants, don’t they?
I fished the lower end of PTMA yesterday from noon to 3:30pm. Once got to the river, I ran into a group of wonderfully chill gentlemanly anglers, and we had a short gab-fest before I decided to head into the river for some pre-hatch prospecting. Bob, of Bob-and-Andy fame, was also there. I’d met Bob-and-Andy at this mark many years ago, and since then, it’s really not April unless we cross paths on the river.
The wind made it an unfavorable day for casting a team of three wets, but I managed to go almost the entire session without a fouled-up leader. After an hour that produced one lonely bump, I declared to the group that one or more of three things was true: there are not a lot of fish here; the hatch is going to be underwhelming; the trout are content to feed on the bottom. It turns out that options A and C were likely in play. When the hatch finally got going, around 2:15pm, there were bugs everywhere: in the air, on the surface — and precious few trout rising to them. I’d give this hatch volume an 8 out of 10; when you can count the rises per minute on a few fingers (instead of dozens) that’s not going to make for epic fishing. Normally, with this Hendrickson hatch volume, I’d bang up a good dozen fish or more fishing wets pre-hatch and during the emergence. Not today.
Hello, old friend. This would be a male Hendrickson; three tails, darker cast, large eyes.
What did follow script was the place in the water column where the fish were feeding. Pre- and during emergence, they took the wet, until the point where they didn’t, and then it was dry flies on the surface. This is a good time to talk about shadow hatches, which I do in the Farmington River book. In addition to Hendricksons, there were also caddis and BWOs in the mix. The savvy wet fly angler will want to have at least one of those other food groups represented. What do you know? Of the three trout I took on wet flies, two came on the caddis middle dropper (Hare’s Lug and Plover).
I managed two more on the surface, bringing my total to five. At the risk of sounding ungrateful, I was not impressed. Of course, I could have gone elsewhere. But with three anglers below me and five above me, real estate was scarce. So I stayed.
Today, writing about it, I have to scold myself for being so dour. It was a sunny, April day. The Hendricksons were out. There were some rising fish who wanted to eat. I got to reconnect with old friends and make some new ones. I didn’t put two dozen in the hoop or land a 20″ wild brown. But, yeah. That’s still a really good day of fishing.
I’d come to the Everglades with a single purpose: land my first tarpon. Oh, sure, I’d take all the snook I could get — I love snook — but tarpon was the prize.
There were only two problems. First, the weather. It had been been a colder than normal spring and the water temp wasn’t quite where the tarpon like it. But, nothing can be done about that. The second problem was of my own doing. I’d already had one shot at a tarpon on day one, but completely blew the hookset. I’d have to do better on this day.
We arrived at the scene of yesterday’s rolling tarpon to find only 1/3 the number of visible fish. That was discouraging, but we nonetheless had at it. I was really feeling like I was going to get my first tarpon, so much that I said it aloud. And that’s where problem two reared its ugly head. For some reason, even though I knew otherwise, my brain was telling me to wait to feel the weight of the fish before setting the hook. Eventually, a tarpon roared out of the shaded mangroves, struck the fly, and once again, I missed it. The lesson was driven home by an inspection of the leader; the first six inches above the fly bore the marks of the edges of the tarpon’s mouth. It was proof that fly was inhaled deep enough to get a hook set. As Charlie Brown would say: “Rats.”
I tried not to let it bother me. Really, I did. But I was mad at myself for missing yet another opportunity, especially since the winds tomorrow were likely going to be strong enough to make the Everglades a non-starter. Plus, who knew if we’d even seen another tarpon? I decided to not let it wreck my day. After all, I was fishing in the Everglades with my oldest son, and smoking cigars. That’s a win.
Since the snook bite generally stunk, we decided to lightning raid as many creeks and lagoons as we could in hopes of finding our target. Finally, after silent electric motoring up a mangrove-covered creek entrance not much wider than the boat, we found a roller. As I set up to cast, I reconned the surroundings and reinforced the procedure: on a hit, I’m not waiting on my strike. I’m setting low and hard to my left. I was repeating it like a mantra while imagining the movement.
First cast. No love.
Second cast, same result.
Third cast. Here he comes! It all happens so quickly that your conscious mind really can’t separate the greenish flash of the sun off flank, the water bulge and then boil around your fly, the sudden tension on the line, and the sound of violent water displacement. It’s almost simultaneous. This time, I was ready. “Down hard and to the left.” It all went down in one exhilarating moment, and I made the move and stuck the set.
The tarpon thrashed on the surface, then sped away from the boat like a perp in a getaway vehicle. “Let him run!” shouted Capt. Mark, but I needed no coaxing as this fish immediately put itself on the reel. The first jump was a spectacle of power and fury, the spray shimmering in the morning sun like a thousand tiny LEDs. The tarpon made a sudden 180 and swam back to the boat. “Keep that line tight!” Reel fast!” were the captain’s instructions, but I was already doing it. I cranked furiously, still tight to the fish. It was at this moment that I knew I was going to land this fish. But I didn’t plan for the mangrove wild card.
The fish moved to the left, just ahead of the boat, toward a treacherous-looking mangrove root system. (There are also multiple dead roots/branches/tree remnants in any given space along the shoreline). I thought I steered the fish out of harm’s way, but when he made his second leap, the leader hung up on a submerged root and the fly popped off. I was left with the temporary illusion that the fish was still on — the hook was stuck below the waterline — but I knew in my heart the tarpon was gone.
The last blast, the moment the tarpon escaped the bond of the hook and line. You can see the fly, stuck on the tiny branch peeking out of the water on the lower left. The fish landed with a thunderous splash. Then it was gone.Photo by Mark Giacobba.
Now, you might think at this moment that I would be in a state of shock and despair. But no. Just the opposite. I was giddy, almost chortling. Amazed and full of wonder. That was terrific! I wasn’t about to let a little bit of bad luck ruin my day. For I had quietly, patiently stalked my quarry, waited for that moment — and then, finally, fully prepared, was ready. I’d done my best. And that’s all anyone can ever do.
You know, I’m thinking that I’m going to land the next one.
A little random potpourri day on currentseams. I had written a post similar to this one, which was supposed to go live on Tuesday, but somehow WordPress ate my draft (don’t you just love when technology fails?). So here we are.
I received about two dozen requests for personalized copies of the book through me, and that’s enough for me to proceed. My next steps are to figure out how much all this will cost me (mailers, postage — probably media mail) so I can then pass the cost along to you. (How’s that for transparent business practice?) I’m hoping to have that information out by the end of the month, and if you want a signed copy from me, you still have plenty of time to let me know. I won’t ask for money until I get all those ducks in a row, and hopefully I can get books out to you before the official release day of August 4.
Fishing time has been scarce for me this spring, especially on the striper front. I didn’t go once from January through March. Normally, I’d go at least once a month in January and February. But every time I had a time and tide window, it was either sub-freezing cold front misery or a disgustingly high water. I’m really looking forward to being able to swing some flatwings in April. If the elements allow!
March can be a productive big-bass-on-the-fly-from-shore window. Not this year. At least, not for me.
On our local trout waters, it’s a tricky time of year. You basically have two options: targeting stocked trout or targeting wild and holdover trout. I must confess that playing the stocker game is fun for a while; however, I have a limited interest for that. Wild or stocked, the trout will tend to remain stacked up this time of year, even though it’s beginning to warm up and we’re seeing more bug activity. They’ll begin to spread out sometime in April. Bug-wise, think little dark stone flies and midges and caddis, which are plentiful food supplies. Of course, the Hendricksons will be the first big glamour hatch of the year, starting on the lower Farmington in about two weeks. But after last year‘s disappointing showing, that hatch remains a big question mark. We shall see.
Mrs. H, missing the middle fork of her tail.
I did get out to a small stream last week after the rains, but the water was high and cold. There were no bugs and the air temp in the 30s didn’t help. I went out this week in much warmer temperatures and a little bit lower water, and what a difference a week made. But I’ll give you more on that in a post next week.
As a newly minted member of the Regal Vise Pro-Staff, I’m working on a wet fly piece for their website (which is currently under reconstruction). I have no idea when it will post but I’ll let you know. Also look for a future blog post for me on the J. Stockard website, where I’m also a Pro Tyer.
Finally, many thanks to the Yale Fishing Club for hosting me on Tuesday night. It’s always a good time, and I’m a sucker for New Haven style pizza — well done, group! They’re going to fish the Salmon River in New York in a couple weeks, so we tied up some Blood Dot eggs which will serve them well.
It seems ridiculous to say — especially since I wrote the book — but yesterday was my first day in 2026 fishing the Farmington River. I was going to go last Friday, but I deemed it too cold, and decided to wait for more clement conditions. Turns out, the giddy sun and warmth had zero impact on the catching.
We (Farmington River guide Steve Hogan and I) decided to fish above Riverton based on two factors: the water would be warmest there (we took two readings and got 38.5 and 44(!) degrees), and it would be lowest and clearest due to it being above the Still River. As you can imagine, the false late spring weather drew crowds of anglers; I can’t remember the last time the Riverton town lot next to the bridge was jammed so full of vehicles. Nymphing was the game, and we hit multiple pockets and runs between the dam and the town. Parking wasn’t easy as there was still a substantial amount of snow lining Hogback Road.
I told Hogan that I grade myself when I’m fishing and not catching, and I gave me a B+/A-. I do this because If I’m not catching, I want to make sure that it’s not because I’m committing some fundamental error or missing strikes. Folks, I was on the bottom all day and I no longer have the flies to prove it. I dredged up several nice sticks. We saw midges and olives and couple other un-IDed bugs. What we didn’t see was a fish caught. Not us. Not anyone. But, better fishing is coming. A lot happens this month. We’re just three weeks away from April!
Early March is one of the toughest windows to fish on the Farmington. We gave it about 3 hours, then called it a day, which, given the sunshine and warmth and cigars, was not bad at all despite not having even a courtesy tap.
If it weren’t for the weather, this might have been the best show ever. But you don’t get to decide on such things, and when a once-in-a-decade snowstorm is thrown at you, you deal as best you can. But I come not to bury this year’s show (certainly not under 18″ of snow!) but rather, to praise it.
The Edison show is the largest fly fishing show on the east coast, and, perhaps, in the world. It has it all: vendors from rods and reels and gear and fly tying and books to guides and shops and lodges and fishing/destination travel. It’s got dozens of some of the best fly tyers in the world. If you want education, you’re in the right place: you can partake in presentations and seminars and demos and classes put on by some of the best anglers in the world. (If you want to be a rock star, you can’t hang out with Aerosmith for a few hours. If you want to become a better angler or tier, you can take a small class with George Daniel or Tim Flagler.)
Seminars! Getcher seminars here! What an honor to be included on a list with such fly fishingluminaries. All seminars are included in the price of your admission ticket. That’s a win for everyone. Classes require an additional fee, but it’s money very well spent — I get people telling me years after they’ve taken a class how much it improved their fishing. Thank you to everyone who took a class with me this year.
As a presenter, the Edison show is, for me, a multi-faceted journey into fun. I get to speak to (hopefully) large groups of people; that’s something I love to do. I get to reconnect with old and distant friends, and make new ones. I get to wander the show floor and discover all the fly fishing and tying items I didn’t know that I needed. I get to be a fanboy. And, I get to teach classes and turn other anglers on to new concepts that will help them catch more fish.
I did multiple talks on the Farmington River and was delighted by the size and enthusiasm of the crowds. The book is generating a lot of excitement, which seems to be growing exponentially. The Fly Fishing Guide to the Farmington River is at the printer, with a projected release date of June 2026. Stay tuned here for release details as they come in.Fly fishing is serious business. Or not. A little pre-seminar festivity with Landon Mayer, Jason Randall, and Chuck Furimsky.My annual pilgrimage to Wu’s Shanghai Dumpling in Edison. This is THE place for authentic Chinese dumplings and udon. I always make sure I get enough to take home. Not exactly low-cal dining, but oh-so-scrumptious. My buddies Chris Steinbeck and Pat Dorsey from the Blue Quill Angler. The BQA booth is my safe haven in Edison; I can hang out between gigs, take a load off, and socialize with passers-by. If you’re going fishing in the Denver area, these are the people to see! I managed a little bit of shopping, coming away with four wet fly capes at a bargain price, and another pair of Renomed scissors. You’ll be hearing more about Renomed on this site soon, these scissors are, by far, the best I’ve ever used.
And then on Sunday, the snows came. But the show went on, as it always does. This year, I’m doing the Lancaster show, which is March 14-15. I’ll have a tying station. See you there!
Today’s question comes from Charly F, and it’s a good one. Q: What might you fish on the Farmington during January to March with no real hatches going on?
A: Let’s start with the hatches. There are times during the winter when there’s plenty going on hatch-wise. We don’t have the glamour mayfly hatches, but midges hatch year-round, and are a primary food source. You won’t see trout splashing on the surface like you will during a June Sulphur emergence, bit it is possible to find trout sipping midges or W/S Caddis (a hatch that is sadly on a downward slope) or early stones on the surface or in the film. It should be also noted that March is very different from January and February. But that’s an entirely different article!
If the question is, what does Steve Culton fish on the Farmington in the winter, I can be more specific. I used to do some winter dry fly fishing on the Farmington, but for various reasons I’ve cut back on that. (If I saw fish actively feeding on the surface, I would not hesitate to go the dry fly route.) Most of my winter fishing is nymphing or streamers. The method I choose depends on conditions and what I feel like doing on that day or hour. Much of what is hatching or available to trout in the winter is small. So if I’m nymphing, we’re talking a point fly no bigger than a #14 (like this Frenchie variant) and a dropper above it that’s a #18 or smaller, like a Starling and Herl. That gives me a mayfly/caddis nymph and a something midgey to show the trout. I’m less hung up on patterns than I am presentation: the best winter nymphs are often the ones that are presented at a dead-drift along the bottom in a trout’s feeding lane.
The book will be a tremendous resource for anglers who want to fish 12 months a year. I’ve divided the year into three-month quadrants, and list fly patterns of all types. You’ll also find seasonal strategies to help you determine fly selection, and when and where to fish.
Streamers are a different animal. You’ve got to be willing to accept blanks in the winter. But if the streamer bite is on, you’re going to have fun. I tend to favor core patterns like Coffey’s Sparkle Minnow or my Deep Threat. I don’t go bonkers trying to find a magic color. As with nymphing, presentation matters. I may simply do mended swings. I may go for depth with an integrated sink tip line, weighted fly, and then a slow retrieve. I may do both. What is paramount is that I cover water. I’m looking for that one trout that has a protein payoff in mind.
What’s important to note is that the winter bite can be notoriously fickle. Some days, it doesn’t exist. Other days, it’s 30-45 minute window. Some days (however rare) the feed bag is on from 11am-3pm. Hope that helps!
It’s been unusually cold this December in western PA. So much so that many of the steelhead tribs have been locked with ice. But mid-last week, there was a warming trend that offered both remedy and disaster. We (Number 3 Son Gordo) were scheduled to fish both Thursday and Friday. When we arrived on Elk Creek Thursday morning, conditions were as good as they’d been in a while: some ice, some color in the water, but very fishable lanes. As the temperature soared into the 50s, conditions deteriorated rapidly. First came the ice chunks — hundreds of them, in a seemingly endless string — floating down the cafeteria line, destroying any chance to make a drift. Next was the color: a light stain that morphed into a heavier stain, and finally an opaque mess the color of tea and milk. And of course, all this runoff was cold, making the water temp a feeding-unfriendly 32.5 degrees. Oh. I forgot the wind. 10-20mph, with 30+mph gusts. Sound like fun? This was about as challenging as winter steelheading gets.
Gordo’s first steelhead on the fly! Gordo’s been steelheading for ten years, but it’s all been float fishing with a spinning rod on Ontario tribs. The wind made casting a challenge — even I struggled mightily at times — but Gordo was able to get his fly where the fish were feeding. This buck came in some faster water at the head of a dump-in. As the water colored up, the fish began to move into softer water farther down in the pool.While I was amusing myself with a pod of fish downstream, Gordo was getting the hang of fly fishing Erie tribs in sub-optimal conditions. He ended up with five on the day, which is excellent given the wind and water, and a pretty good day, period. You can see the infernal ice chunks we were dealing with. They would suddenly materialize, and you had to wait for them to pass before you could resume fishing.Can’t let Gordo have all the fun, can we? By noon, conditions were bad enough to make the bite non-existent. So we made the command decision to head way upstream in search of cleaner water. We found it, but it only lasted an hour. Before it turned, I managed a spirited buck in a swift, undulating slot hard against a shale wall. I dropped one more, then fouled one, which I don’t count as a landed fish. If you’re keeping score at home, six in the hoop brings my grand total to 288 steelhead landed. So close! Continued warming and heavy overnight rains turned the creeks into raging torrents of chocolate milk, so we had to cancel Friday. It was frustrating to miss a day’s fishing, but I’m grateful that we got a day in.
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!
currentseams.com 