The Shoulder Seasons

Scenes from the shoulder seasons...

If I had to break down my fishing exploits over the years, you'll probably find an identifiable pattern of activity that is heavily concentrated in the fall and spring. Building out a van and using it the past few summers has swayed my cycle a little bit, but those two periods that vacillate between too hot and too cold in the Mid-Atlantic region will always produce the most action. The in-between, or shoulder seasons, result in sporadic outings, less results, and are way more unpredictable. Within these shoulder seasons, my least favorite time to fish is during September. Overall, most waters are still way too warm to fly fish for trout. When you combine that with low water and high water temperatures from summer, I find it downright unethical to entertain the idea of trout fishing within that window. It grinds my gears when I see local guides posting about fishing in August and September because a weather window dropped the water temperatures to 66 degrees one morning. Ridiculous! I typically give trout a break during the month of September and will concentrate seasonal outings in the month of October. This gives trout time to recover from a long summer. As November approaches, I shut it down to allow the trout to spawn and do their thing. I won't pick trout fishing back up until the second shoulder season from January-March. That window is overall more productive, more ethical, and slowly ramps up to the peak months of April and May. 

Smalliepalooza

The annual Spring "Smalliepalooza" 

Over this blog's existence, we haven't taken advantage of the mid-Atlantic region's smallmouth bass fishery enough. However, we have begun to partake in this game over the last half decade, but mostly in the spring before the spawn kicks into gear. The summer remains almost entirely untouched. All of this begs the question; what are we waiting for? Is there a more fun fish to catch than a smallmouth bass? Is there a more fun fly fishing experience than smallmouth bass fishing with a group of buddies, good food, copious amounts of beer, and camping? I don't think there is... 

On the Coast

There's a place on the west coast that has quickly become a favorite spot of mine. A perfect concoction of mountains, beaches, rivers, forests, wildlife, and steelhead wrapped up in a relatively quaint package of proximity. Two spring trips have mostly kicked my ass from burning the candles at both ends, but that is the sacrifice to make for this sojourn to happen. I have no way of knowing how many steelhead have entertained the idea of eating my swung fly over the course of a week of fishing. I do know that I've only had one grab, which came from a player we found in a deep tailout. My buddy Austin was on an elevated position and watched the fish come out from a grouping of boulders and chase my fly. After a fly change, I failed to replicate the initial reaction. I switched it up again and added a little action to the fly. This elicited another interesting follow as Austin gave me the verbal play by play. On my fourth attempt, I switched up the angle, gave a slower swing, and added the action. The steelhead came aggressively and seemingly hit my fly hard without grabbing it. I pricked her. Subsequent attempts resulted without any interest. That interaction was probably one of my favorite angling experiences of all of 2024. What follows are images and scenes from two trips, which resulted in three beautiful steelhead for the crew. I am eagerly awaiting my return and any potential shots at redemption...

Into the Mountains

Feeling small with Ben Paull...

After a few days of floating rivers and swinging flies in the Olympic Peninsula, Ben Paull and I hit the road in a desperate attempt to make the last Port Townsend ferry. As a traveling angler spending all daylight hours on the river, I always find it odd that I miss the sights of the open road while driving at night. We made the ferry with a few minutes to spare and I spent a good portion of the crossing staring out into the dark void of the salt. A few hours of driving later, we drove through Concrete, Washington. Having grown up in a town known for concrete, I found it ironic to be passing by the old remnants of a plant with a giant sign saying, "Welcome to Concrete". Around midnight, we arrived at a beautiful steelhead themed AirBnb, that we immediately checked out of the following morning. What followed was a magic carpet ride through the Cascade mountains and the rivers that converge off of their slopes. I felt small surrounded by the snow capped peaks and standing in the fast flows of the river. I didn't have a grab over three days of fishing, which made me reflect heavily on my efforts. Ben hooked and fought a large hen that threw the hook just when all the cards seemed to be in his favor. On the final day, spring time popped. We awoke to green leaves budding in the trees, dense fog, and a fresh coating of snow in the higher altitudes. It was a sight to see...

In the Rainforest

Ben Paull amidst moss, timber, and evergreen...

Ever since I started this fly fishing game as a 13 year old I've been enamored by images of steelhead and the beautiful rivers, mountains, and deserts they call home. Scenes of two handed casting surrounded by the temperate rainforests of the PNW have always captivated my attention. Flanked by moss covered trees anglers appeared to be lost in a Dr. Seuss book as they probed deep emerald green waters in search of a steelhead fresh out of the ocean. These images became engrained in my imagination and persisted in my dreams at night. Over the last several years, I've led a deliberate lifestyle that has prioritized these experiences. This past spring, I took full advantage of an earlier break and booked tickets to Seattle. A few hours after landing, I woke up Ben Paull in a motel in Forks, Washington to head to the river. What followed was an incredible experience in the very environment I day dreamed about for so long...

Guilt Free

A "screamer" of a chrome hen...

I've never felt more guilt fly fishing than swinging for wild steelhead on the hallowed waters of the North Umpqua. The feeling was inescapable and it haunted me everywhere I went on those banks. It was compounded by the number of suicidal wild smolts that would launch themselves at any and all flies moved over their heads. It took all of one day for me to realize why Lee Spencer only fishes a fly without a hook point. I have not had the same feelings on other wild waters from the Rogue to the Sol Duc. I can say with all honesty that I've never felt any guilt at all fly fishing for Great Lakes steelhead. With wild numbers fluctuating, and a downward trend across the board, I can see the Great Lakes increasingly becoming more of a destination, even for the west coast crowd, to swing flies for large lake run "steelhead". 

I'll Go Out Howling at the Moon Tonight

Time and timing are essential elements when fly fishing for musky with any degree of success. For an angler bound to weekend warrior status during peak musky season, timing can be an oxymoron. The best conditions almost always fall on working days leaving scarce opportunities to make it out on the water. When you finally do, shitty conditions create a general lack of confidence and a whole lot of hope dangling on a string. Even the best hunters can turn into hopers, which leads to missed opportunities when that big girl appears out of the gloom. This past year, my opportunities were scarce and I was getting a little antsy. I had not caught a musky on fly for almost an entire year. My worries slowly grew into a desperation and I decided that a mental health day was in order. I checked the week's weather window, flows, and the calendar. My analysis zeroed in on a key day with ripe conditions on a haunt I know well. I decided to call in sick. Sometimes, you just have to make the time when you the know the timing is right...

Walking the Line

My parents took a lot of time, research, and savings, to plan a family vacation in the Bahamas. Due to the pandemic, it was canceled twice. When it was finally rescheduled and the green light was given, I was in the midst of a cross country exploration in the van. I ended up flying out of Boise and convened with my family members in Atlanta for the last leg to the islands. Unlike my prior trip, I decided to pack fishing gear this time. It had been over ten years since I did some legit flats fishing, and with the target species being one of my favorites to pursue, I was stoked. I also couldn't wait to walk a flat with my brother again. This time, I even checked a bag that was filled with fishing gear, cameras, foam rollers, straps, and other equipment to put a kayak on top of the rental vehicle. That's right, the family rental car. In order to bonefish proper, I'd be walking the proverbial line between family time and fly fishing. Lucky for me, my family understands who I am, what I love to do, and willingly embraced some exploration. Despite that, I put some boundaries on myself to avoid crossing the line...

Hallowed Water

After almost a quarter century of fly fishing, you inevitably develop a "bucket" list of rivers that you want to wade into and species that you want to shake hands with. Idaho's Silver Creek has always graced the pages of the catalogs, magazines, and the books I perused as a young teen. It is famous for its brown drake hatch in the early portion of the summer, but the images that captured my attention weren't of storming mayflies. They were of anglers in float tubes fishing a relatively small, meandering meadow stream, with high grassed banks. Held aloft in their hands, arms extended, were the most beautiful, and massive, hook jawed brown trout you'd ever lay eyes on. Before the days of the internet, these types of images etched themselves into my long term memory never to be forgotten. After a lovely day floating a blown out Snake River, I decided to head further west to fish Silver Creek. With a day and a half before catching a flight in Boise, I bypassed the famed Henry's Fork to head to the horseshoe bend...

Yellowstone Teton Territory

A Beautiful Cutthroat From the Upper Teton River

One of America's most majestic views resides just outside Jackson, Wyoming in Grand Teton National Park. Towering over the serene fields, woods, lakes, and rivers are the peaks of Grand Teton, Mount Owen, Middle Teton, Mount Moran, and others. They vault directly upwards off the valley floor producing jaw dropping scenery from the surrounding countryside. This particular area has been fly fishing "meme'd" to death thanks to a variety of accounts making fun of Mark Melnyk's repeated use of the phrase, "Yellowstone Teton Territory," on his show: The New Fly Fisher. All jokes aside, the area is expansive, featuring famed waters and access to almost all trout species in the lower 48. With good reason, some of the most famous names in the fishing business call this, or have called this area, home. The wide variety of waterways to fish is astounding, it is relatively accessible, mostly on the lower end of the difficulty spectrum, and a whole lot of fun. On my end, I was simply passing through...

The Green

Picture Stories From The Flaming Gorge

I'll be honest, I never heard of the Flaming Gorge of the Green River until the day before I fished it during the summer of 21'. I had just departed Oregon and was traveling through Salt Lake City, Utah to check out the famous Provo River. Disappointed in the Provo, I ended up texting my friend Austin for recommendations. When he said, "The Flaming Gorge," I remember chuckling at the name and of the local town: "Dutch John." After a quick internet search, I found that the river has insane numbers of trout that reach upwards of 15,000 per mile. In addition, it has a reputation for growing some very large trout. A few hours later, I was boondocking on some BLM land prepping for the following day of hiking and fishing. Arriving at the "Little Hole," I hiked a ways up into the lower end of the Flaming Gorge. In the early morning light, I swung up a few solid browns before the sun revealed sight fishing opportunities to brown trout up to 22". I caught them on top, on droppers, and on streamers. As I hiked further into the gorge, I was taken aback at the beauty of the canyon walls, the wildlife, and the sheer quality of the fishing experience. The only downside, especially for an angler on foot, was the amount of people floating the river. Starting around noon, an endless procession of guides, rafts, kayaks, and SUPS formed a continuous line down the middle of the river. I didn't have a whole lot of time to spend, but the river planted a seed in my mind to eventually return. In the summer of 22', I came back to Dutch John at a slightly different time and with an entirely different approach. 

It was memorable...

One and Done on the Deschutes

A Story of Highs and Lows Shooting the Deschutes

August 22'

Maupin is a quintessential western river town nestled along the Deschutes River canyon in central Oregon. It is an oasis amongst the surrounding high desert and sage brush, attracting tourists intent on enjoying the river’s bountiful recreational opportunities. The community consists almost entirely of rafting and fishing outfitters, guides, and the small businesses that support tourism. The main drag features bars, a coffee shop, a hardware store, a cafe, the rafting companies, and probably the best fly shop in the United States: Deschutes Angler. I was simply another tourist, of the fish bum variety, intent on catching a wild steelhead on a swung dry line. The ODFW decided on August 15 as the day to reopen steelhead fishing after the brutally low return numbers and high water temperatures of 2021. Stepping out of my van onto Main Street, I could sense that there was a buzz in the air, and that I wasn’t alone in my intended pursuit.

Deckers, Pennsylvania

Larry Legend

I remember my first visit to Deckers, Colorado almost twenty years ago. My Dad, brother, and I were working our way across Colorado fly fishing streams and rivers that came via the old fashioned way: word of mouth, gas station directions, questions at fly shops, and people on the water. There weren't any GPS or smart phones to guide you directly to the parking lot either. I can still remember listening to the directions to find Deckers and what to look for: a fly shop and a general/liquor store. We caught a boat load of rainbow trout, some quite large, and it was a memorable angling experience for an easterner. I can still recall a rainbow slowly rising to eat a hopper at the base of a large cliff and posing for the subsequent hero shot with my father. At that time within my fly fishing journey, I had yet to develop a set of standards with which I measure experiences, locations, and angling situations. Looking back on it, my standards were relatively low as I just wanted to fish all of the time and catch a lot of trout. In the summer of 22' I found myself back near the South Platte and I decided to pay Deckers another visit. The sheer amount of anglers in town was a major turnoff. Parking lots and pull offs were completely filled with Tacomas, rod vaults, and hundreds of fly fishing stickers glimmering in the intense sun. If you have to stop multiple times on a main road to allow anglers to cross, you know it is crowded. My stop became a long detour as I quickly surmised that this wasn't a place I wanted to fish. My standards had changed. I had evolved.

What is the "Deckers," of Pennsylvania? Is it the Upper Delaware? Happy Valley? Harrisburg? Or, just anywhere in southeastern Pennsylvania during trout season? It probably depends on the season, hatch, species, and body of water, but Happy Valley has grown to become quite the fly fishing factory. Growing up, I always believed in the old adage that if you could catch a 20'' wild brown trout in Pennsylvania, you could fly fish well in any trout stream in the world. I believe that. If given the choice of fly fishing for trout anywhere (outside of Alaska) in the United States, I'd hands down choose Pennsylvania. 

A Not So Fleeting Fall

Early Morning Gloom...

Seasonal changes can often be abrupt, or they can linger into the next season. In most years, the fall transition occurs suddenly giving way to winter winds and cold temperatures. The leaves begin to change and a few days later are being blown, raked, and swept off yards across Pennsylvania. In others, the change is gradual, the leaves reach their peak, and a weather event never comes to signal their doom. It can be downright breathtaking to be on the river during this time. The only thing prettier is a colored up brown trout preparing themselves for their yearly procreation. The fall of 2022 will be remembered for a long time...

Four Years

A typical summer sunset from the back of the van...

After three straight days of trout fishing in the Flaming Gorge, I found myself with a signal at a prominent overlook. I reconnected back to the world, caught up with family, cooked a meal, and checked my boondocking apps looking for a place to stay. Rather than drive far, I decided to head down a long dirt road that I'd been watching numerous off-road vehicles, kitted out trucks, and a few RV's turn onto. By the time I decided to follow them, I had no idea if there would be any spots left, or if they'd welcome me alongside them. With the lack of four wheel drive in the van, along with a scant amount of clearance, I always find myself rolling the dice in these types of situations. As the last light faded below the horizon, I turned off the main dirt road down a riveted finger being ultra careful to not bottom out and/or get stuck. It led me to the edge of a cliff overlooking the lake and a clearing where vehicles had previously parked. I set up shop, grabbed a cold one, and checked out the stars before hitting the hay. In the morning, I made some coffee and walked to the edge of the cliff. I immediately spotted a prowling carp in the shallows. The last time I casted at a carp was almost four years ago but the image in front of me was stirring something within my fly fishing soul...