Tag Archives: outdoors

Rain is good — in more ways than one

Let’s clarify: too much rain is harmful, even dangerous. But that’s not what we’re talking about today. We’re talking about a parched state that was experiencing some form of drought for several weeks. Then the rains came. From the July 4th weather brawl through yesterday, the skies were open for a much-needed watering.

At first, even though the rainfall could be measured in inches, there was no visible impact to our two major fly fishing rivers, the Farmington and the Housatonic. Two factors were in play: the ground was a dry sponge, and the trees and vegetation were in full leaf, meaning you had millions of thirsty plants. But eventually, the rivers got their share. The Hous has yet to spike, rising more than double its 350cfs pre-rain mark. The Farmington experience was more of an exercise in moderation. The Unionville gauge merely doubled from 250. The Still River, which meets the Farmington below Riverton, experienced a huge percentile flow boost. However, it was only coming in at a paltry 15cfs, and its spike didn’t even reach 200cfs.

We desperately needed this rain, and I’m thankful for it. But not just from a systemic ecological point-of-view.

Not that dramatic. Nonetheless, much needed and appreciated.

You see, I’m a total weather and stream flow nerd. I watch the River Data app like a hawk. (If you don’t have this app, get it. River Data provides on-demand access to cfs in select rivers throughout the US, and you can bookmark your favorite watersheds for fast reference.) Throughout the season, I eagerly anticipate rain events that will spike rivers — not too high, not too low. I’m looking for elevated river flows that introduce some amount of color to the water — not chocolate milk, but more like tea. This is when you can experience some of the best nymphing, and especially streamer action of the season. What’s more, water spikes shuffle the deck, move fish around, and provide a respite from warmer water temperatures.

You don’t need to wade very far from the shore. (In extreme cases, that may not be possible. Rules of thumb: never wade in water where you can’t see the bottom; never wade in water that you’re not very familiar with; never wade without a staff and spiked boots; never wade alone.) The fish, like you, aren’t interested in battling swift or raging currents. They’re close to shore, in pockets, behind structure, seeking the most moderate flows that will provide cover and food. In particular, I like to fish streamers in these conditions because the news gets even better: cfs and color spikes are when the big boys come out to play. These are often your best periods to up your chances of catching big fish, and sometimes multiple big fish. I like bigger flies, flies that create a commotion, and I will use both bright and dark colors, usually with equal success.

Use common sense. And enjoy!

My bizarro Farmington season continues

This is a late report from last week, but it’s a report that I think is worthy of your attention. I fished the evening (virtually non-existent) rise with surfcaster extraordinaire Toby Lapinski at popular dry fly mark within the PTMA. We fished from 4:30pm-9pm. When we arrived, I was delighted to see that there were no other cars in the small dirt parting area; in hindsight, I wonder if it was because everyone else knew something I didn’t.

Here’s the bottom line: the sulphur hatch stunk like a salt marsh at low tide. I’d give it a 1 out of 10. So, that was disappointing. What was even more disappointing was the lack of fish over 8″ long. What was rising was, by and large, small wild fish, mostly brookies, with a few browns in the mix. Now, this could also be considered good news. In fact, I’ve never run into such a substantial pod of wild brook trout on the Farmington. Between us, we easily landed a dozen of them. Once, at dusk, I hooked one, and as it sped into the shallows in a desperate attempt to get free, a larger brown charged out of its hole in hot pursuit. I could see the bulge in the water as the predator neared its target; unfortunately at the last moment, the hunt was aborted. But that was cool to witness, and I wish you could have been there to see it, too!

We only put one decent fish in the hoop, this some-teen wild brown by Toby. It had three bird wounds; you can see one of them on the midway point of the fish’s flank.

I’ve been so busy in the yard this spring that I haven’t been able to get out to the Farmington as much as I’d like. But the rest of the summer is still ahead, in all its lazy, hazy, crazy glory.

Tuesday tidbits: Farmington River, Hatches, Articles, Book

I had a really weird session on the Farmington last Thursday. Despite a robust sulphur emergence — 8.5/10 — the wet fly bite stunk. Turns out it was due to a lack of fish. By my best estimate, this long time favorite pool was holding about 1/4 of the normal trout biomass. I had duns in the air, on the water, cripples galore, then mats of spinners. Instead of a boiling surface, I had….a rise here….and there… and then nothing…and then a lonely rise. It was incredibly discouraging. The feeding was over by 8:45pm, unheard of in these parts. I’m usually picking my way out of the river well after 9pm, crouched over, casting to trout sipping spinners. Not on this night.

On the plus side, I met some very nice anglers, and we shared the water with a most civil energy. Joe was trying to fool this wild brown, but just wasn’t able to connect. When he left, he offered me his spot. Second cast, bang! About 16″. Taken on a size 14 classic Catskills Light Cahill dry.

We are in prime sulphur time, which means you should have some soft hackles in your box. Here’s why:

Sulfurs take a good, long time to emerge from their shucks — and then sometimes, not at all. The trout get a good, long look at the food source as it drifts near the film. I fished this invaria cripple out of the water, and it was one of hundreds that never made it out of its nymphal case. Wet flies and soft hackles are a perfect match and method for this situation, as are dry fly cripple patterns.

I’m going to be writing an article for an upcoming issue of Surfcasters’ Journal. The subject will be the importance (or unimportance) of color in fly patterns. To the keyboard I go!

Finally, I hope to get on my horse and get some info out to everyone who requested a signed copy of the book. I’d like to do that by the end of the month. So stay tuned!

Farmington River Mini-Report 5/7/26: Wet Fly Woes Continue

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.

Small Stream report (last week): Cold and slow and wonderful

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?

Farmington River Report 4/23/26: One-half of Bob and Andy, Hendricksons galore, but where were the trout?

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.

Fly Fishing the Everglades, Day 2: The thrill of defeat and the agony of… well, nothing

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.

Here I am: book stuff, fishing stuff, schedule stuff…

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.

Farmington River Report 3/9/26: “These two guys walk into a river….and nothing happens.”

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.

Edison 2026 Redux

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 fishing luminaries. 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!