Outside of permit, the salt species that I get most excited about are bonefish due to the sight fishing opportunities they provide and how they truly test ones gear on the flats. On this particular trip, I had multiple shots at some mega-sized bones. When I say "shots," I actually mean glimmers. The moments were fleeting due to where I encountered them, which was typically in the surf. The geographic features of these volcanic islands do not produce the traditional flats that one would find in the Bahamas or The Keys. They are smaller, rocky, and full of dead coral that make landing a fish incredibly difficult. A lot of these micro flats have waves rolling across them. When combined with wind and glare it is very difficult to spot a bonefish and get an accurate cast off before they vanish. Here, it is rare to see a grouping of bones with more than 2-3 fish. More often than not, they are solitary prowlers. Another area where a lot of these larger fish are encountered are directly on the beaches where the unpredictability of the waves, and the backwash they produce, give you such a short window to make a presentation to sighted fish. On top of that, the presentation of the fly becomes difficult due to the sheer power of the current moving in and out along with the changing turbidity. The task is an exercise in patience as you have to wait for a viewing window that is only open for a precious few seconds before it closes again. More often than not, you don't see anything. Sometimes, you see the image of solitary giant bonefish that will haunt your dreams at night...
Monday, July 21, 2025
Surf Bones
Monday, July 14, 2025
"Sun"
The sun sets in the Caribbean...
I fondly remember a story from my childhood of an image my mother took well before I was born. She was into photography in those days and had a Pentax film camera that she used to document college, marriage, and building a family. She took a photograph of my Dad walking my young brother down the road we grew up on. The sun was setting in the background between the trees and casted beams of light down onto my father as he held his first born's hand. I only saw the image a few times, but I distinctly remember the story behind it. My mom entered it into a local photography contest. In its entry, it simply had a one word description, "Son". That story was on my mind during my first night back in the Caribbean on a chain of islands I hadn't seen in over a decade. I was watching my brother play with his son in the pool as the sun began to set on the horizon. As I framed the shot, the image my mother took a long time ago came back into my memory as I realized I was recreating it for my brother and his son. I was glad to capture the precious moment for Matt and preserve a memory for Isaac, who will most likely not remember it. Maybe one day, he'll capture his own version of my Mom's image and add it to the family line...
Thursday, July 3, 2025
The Old Man
Friday, April 25, 2025
Palooza
8th Annual...
The trophy was conceived well after the fact. After multiple years of jokingly contesting the largest "chub," during our annual "Smalliepalooza" pre-spawn extravaganza, my buddy Dan Dow decided to create a trophy. The basis of the trophy was formed out of various gear found during a day on the water. In this case, a chatter-bait and the classic red/white bobber. A few blocks of spare wood and a black sharpie rounded out its overall vibe. It was also renamed to the "Bass of the Year," or simply of the weekend's palooza. The trophy added some extra incentive to our 8th annual gathering. What started as a spring trip with my brother has slowly morphed into a planned multi-day event, a non-stop group chat, and a guest list of almost 20 names. As usual, that guest list gets smaller and smaller as the actual date of fishing approaches. Middle aged men with families don't fare well with actually showing up. For those that do, it can be some of the best, most fun, and exhausting fishing of the year. This year we had three new people join the fray with my brother's long time friend Travis marking his first time fly fishing with several nice bass. Dan's brother in law Chris also came for the first time as did Ryan's friend Collin. Overall, I think we're still working on balancing sun up to sun down fishing with leisure, food, and drinks thrown into the mix. We are also looking on expanding to multiple waterways despite thoroughly enjoying what this creek has to offer. If you know, you already know...
Sunday, April 13, 2025
Pride and Prejudice
Tuesday, March 4, 2025
Through the Desert
Wednesday, February 19, 2025
A New Year and a New River
In the winter of 1781-1782 Mt. Hood erupted sending hot pyroclastic flows and a lahar down the Sandy River basin radically altering the landscape. The lahar filled the river’s channel and covered an old growth forest with 26 ft. of volcanic ash, mud, sand, and debris. When Lewis and Clark arrived at the river’s delta entering the Columbia, the river was still recovering from the immediate aftermath of the eruption and devastation of the lahar. Therefore, the name they gave this system reflected what they saw and learned from indigenous tribes. The river has since reclaimed its bed but the remnants of the Old Maid eruption period are still highly visible when floating down the lower sections of the river as it carves its way towards the Columbia. The river’s native steelhead populations, like they have for eons, adapted to this changing environment because the eruption is a naturally occurring process. On the other hand human industrialization, clearcutting, hatcheries, and the damming of the river had a much larger negative impact on the system and the entire PNW. Nonetheless, the steelhead persisted. Over the years, I heard a lot about the Sandy River and was always looking forward to one day fishing it.
Over the new year, I was fortunate to spend the first few mornings gearing up in the dark surrounded by moss covered trees and the sounds of a high Sandy River. With each passing minute, new light illuminated the day’s playground and conditions. Having never been on the Sandy, each bend revealed rapids, runs, and buckets to swing through with the ever present hope that my fly would intercept with a steelhead’s journey. It was a constant state of optimism and anticipation. As John Buchan once said, “a perpetual series of occasions of hope”. Looking back on it, the river, and the hunt, are all just one big metaphor for life and the new year ahead.
Wednesday, February 12, 2025
Someday
Saturday, January 11, 2025
Skunkings and Outliers
Monday, October 28, 2024
All My Favorite Colors
Monday, September 30, 2024
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.
Sunday, April 28, 2024
Smalliepalooza
Saturday, April 6, 2024
On the Coast
Sunday, March 31, 2024
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...