Before First Light

3:30 AM – The alarm goes off.

3:33 AM – The alarm goes off again. You remember that you don’t have to go to work, but that you get to go fishing. This gives you a performance-enhanced level of energy compared to every other morning, and you get up.

3:40 AM – Getting dressed quietly (as was part of the deal), you convince yourself you won’t need that extra layer. You’re always hot in the afternoon, anyway.

3:41 AM – Opening the garage door, you discover that you do need that extra layer. Your foolish indecision has cost you valuable seconds.

3:45 AM – On the road. Mellow music and the heat are on. You’ve already seen 4 deer, and begin to go through a strategy for when you might encounter one. Slam the brakes? Swerve into the other lane? You think someone told you once that you’re supposed to aim with the corner of your front bumper…

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PSA: No Cruddy Shades

This isn’t meant to be a commercial. Think of it more as a public service announcement. Or, if you’re planning on fishing anytime soon and this applies to you, the cacophonous screeching of the emergency broadcast system.

Don’t fish with cruddy sunglasses.

  • Are your fishing sunglasses not polarized? Fix it, now.
  • Do your fishing sunglasses hurt your nose, ears, face, or – I can’t believe it – eyes? Why, oh why?
  • Are the lenses of your fishing sunglasses so scratched and pitted that wearing them makes every hour of the day look like dusk? Get up and remedy it.

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Under Pressure

Particularly on the east coast, popular fly fishing water gets that way because it is productive. Consequently, going to streams or rivers that provide a high probability of catching many and/or large fish also results in the high probability of fishing with company. Water in populated areas or with special regulations will always result in pressured fish. Pressured fish, and trout specifically, have the reputation of being “smart,” “wary,” or “spooky.”

While approaching such fish might require employing different tactics than trying to catch trout that only see one or two fishermen a year, they aren’t geniuses. Fish have to eat, and even the most battle-tested and hook-scarred granddaddy trout doesn’t have the wherewithal to reject every artificial fly every time. Here are some strategies and general principles that can improve your chances when fishing for pressured fish.

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Looking Downstream

For fly fishermen, “sense of place” is defined as much by rivers as it is by any other cultural or personal aspects. A town might be where an aunt lives, but there is also a stretch of special regulation water close by. Your wife’s favorite antiquing may be in a particular region, but it is also streaked with tiny blue lines on a topographic map. On such a trip your stated mission might be to procure a vintage mirror, but your eyes and heart wander because you’ve chased brook trout in the streams you’re crossing.

Living in an area for a time can create a very strong sense of place, where the personal, professional, and (excuse me) piscatorial come together. We develop home waters. These places fluctuate between serving as the backdrop and starring in the succession of life events and milestones. We fish as a reprieve from stress and burdens, and we fish as a celebration of the occasions that warrant it. Often we fish whenever we can, hours put in on the stream serving as the time between the rest of life.

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The Fish Yips

In baseball, a player that suddenly and unexpectedly loses the ability to perform a routine task (making contact with the ball, a catcher throwing back to the pitcher, etc.) is said to have the “yips.” It is a perfectly wonderful part of baseball, a sport filled with bizarre and nostalgic traditions. However, I think that the yips aren’t limited to the diamond, or even sports.

For example, I’ll chalk up a person driving with their blinker on for miles and miles as being subject to the yips. Or, for that matter, a barista that has to line up the hole on the cap with the seam on the cup. That sort of negligence can only be attributed to some supernatural force like the yips. Personally, I’ve been yipped (yippied? yippled?) on setting the hook.

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Steelhead: Same but Different

The Great Lakes tributary system is a pretty remarkable fishery. Sure, the fish aren’t native and they don’t have an opportunity to run to saltwater. But they are big, fight hard, and are discerning. If west coast steelheading is like filet, then the Great Lakes offer up a hearty burger. It isn’t the same thing, but it definitely does the trick. Even if it is a little greasy.

A lot has been said about the Great Lakes / west coast steelhead issue lately. Some have even questioned the validity of calling lake run fish steelhead. I get that. Words mean things. But these big rainbows are something completely different than the 14” stockers you find in ponds and creeks of the Mid-Atlantic. Plus, the majority of the country’s population is within a good day’s drive from the Great Lakes tribs. It all comes together to create a destination fishery that draws in thousands upon thousands of anglers.
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The Ballad of Sheetz

The angler rises early, and has not time to dally

He requires food and fuel from a warm and trusty ally.

Across the Mid Atlantic lay the perfect place for gas and eats

Every fisherman worth his flies knows the Ballad of Sheetz.
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The Fly Fishing Authority

I love fly shops. In fact, the genesis of this website had a lot to do with my love of fly shops. But that story is for another day. The fly shop is the quintessential embodiment of fly fishing culture. Generally they are located near water that is productive enough to warrant a full-time local retail option. The people employed usually are passionate about the sport, and hopefully personable. There is also the stereotypical aesthetic: the huge rod rack, mounted fish from an era when it was appropriate, walls with a dizzying array of tying materials, and probably a dog. It is a form that is recognizable from coast to coast.

The first shop that I fell in love with was a Sports Authority.

Yes, the Sports Authority. In Sterling, Virginia, circa the mid-1990’s. I had just got into fishing with conventional tackle, and this department store supplied me with all the soft plastics, jig heads, and monofilament I needed. I’d hang out in the fishing section every week, looking at crankbaits and handling reels. I got to know the employees that manned the outdoors department.
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My Top Fly Fishing Podcasts

Living in the greater Boston area, most places I have to drive to are relatively close to each other. As the crow flies. Travel time is a different story. The old cow paths and trade routes of the north shore turn a lot of destinations into “you-can’t-get-there-from-here” propositions. Thankfully there are numerous secondary routes to avoid the stop and go routine of the highways.

And although I love music, sports talk, and talking to myself as much as the next guy, I’ve really taken a shine to podcasts. I have a few history podcasts that I love, and also a handful that are work related. Some of the ones that I look forward to the most pertain to fly fishing.

A while ago I Googled “best fly fishing podcasts,” and I didn’t find a single page that gave me the kind of information I was looking for. So, I’m going to share the kind of information I was looking for.
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Putting the ‘Tude in Solitude

There are a lot of tense moments on the stream. Seeing a trout rise, and hoping that it – like most trout – didn’t see you the moment after you saw it. Making a bad cast to a spot you know holds a fish, and gritting your teeth knowing you screwed up. Hearing crunching in the underbrush that sounds very un-squirrel-like behind you in the backcountry. But none of that compares to the utter anxiety that accompanies those moments on the approach to the pull-off for your favorite spot. Will there be a car there? Will there be, heaven forbid, two cars there?

You begin to assume the worst, and then begin to rationalize: Maybe it is a scout troop cleaning the roadside. It could just be some teenagers making out. Hey, I’d be content in skirting some shady drug deal. As long as nobody has fished through my holes.

In fly fishing, there is real community. The fly shop is a social hub. The bar at the lodge is filled with kindred spirits. Message boards are generally pleasant, if not just a bit guarded with the information that you really want. But notice that all of these places are not on the steam. No one can catch my fish whilst leaning on the counter of the local bait and tackle. No one is going to spook my trout by asking questions about chest packs online.
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