For the love of fly fishing
There’s only one “A River Runs Through It,” the classic fly fishing novella by Norman Maclean. But there’s a host of great outdoor writers who capture the joy and emotion of life in the outdoors. In this episode, Steve and Dave discuss their favorite outdoor authors, including Wallace Stegner, Ivan Doig, and Rick Bass.
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On more than one occasion, I’ve enjoyed watching my podcast partner, Dave, flail as he has started to head downstream at the speed of the river. Okay, I’ve done it too. Fortunately, neither of us has fallen into a deep, rushing section of river.
Several years ago, Duane Dunham, an outstanding fly fisher in Portland, Oregon, shared with me some tips for getting out when you fall into a river:
1. Don’t panic. Easy for me to say while I’m warm and dry. But even if you cannot swim, you can emerge safely from water over your head.
2. Don’t attempt to stand up too quickly. Wait until you are in knee deep water.
3. Never fight the current. Let it take you, but angle toward shore. Otherwise, you’ll get exhausted.
4. If the water is deep, you can take a breath and push off the bottom toward shore. Do this enough times, and you’ll get there.
5. Keep your feet down stream. If you are out of control and headed downstream, this will help you avoid hitting your head on a rock. Stay in a semi-sitting position. This may be the most important tip!
6. Don’t fish dangerous water alone. Okay, that’s not going to help you if you’ve already fallen into a rushing run. But it’s worth the reminder for strong-headed, stubborn fly fishers (which Dave and I can be at times!).
7. Let go of your fly rod. This allows you to use both hands to stroke towards shore. Obviously, this is not the first step you take. It’s for emergency situations. Better to lose your Sage rod than your life.
8. Learn to swim. Remember, though, cold water is extremely shocking to your body. An excellent swimmer will quickly tire, so don’t get cocky and take unnecessary risks. It doesn’t matter than you are an expert in a warm pool or lake.
Here’s one more that I didn’t learn from Duane Dunham:
Don’t laugh at your fly fishing partner when he’s floating down the river. I’m sure Dave would appreciate it if I worked on that one. Seriously, falling into a river is no laughing matter.
Stay safe, my friends!
You haven’t fly fished if you haven’t slipped while waist high in a swift current. Who hasn’t felt the adrenaline surge as the icy water poured over the top of your waders? In this episode Steve and Dave discuss The Basics of Safe Wading, offering several principles for making sure you make it to your favorite restaurant after a day on the river.
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Friends don’t small talk, friends talk fantasy. A recent NFL Fantasy Football commercial asked the question that, uh, was on everyone’s mind:
“Without NFL.com fantasy football, what would friends talk about?”
I can’t speak for the other gender, but at least for guys, the answer is, really, not much. We cheerily sit in silence like my 16-year-old, who is at complete peace not saying a word (other than “I’m hungry. Can we stop for Jimmy John’s?”) during our 15-hour trip from Chicago to North Dakota for our yearly hunting tradition.
As an irrational teenager with a reptilian brain, I had no imagination for what our relationship is today. During those years, when we (er, I) struggled to talk without anger or overstatement, my father and I always had our yearly hunting tradition. We always had fishing, something that drew us together even in the sullen years when we had little to say.
When I was in my early twenties, I convinced my parents to let me drag my younger brother along on a week-long fly fishing trip to Montana. Just him and me. A week of fly fishing helped me see him as more than just an annoying younger brother. Today I would call him one of my friends. And he has now begun taking his children on fishing trips.
With my children (two sons and two daughters), fishing helped us transcend their (and my) snarky behavior. Just recently I took my youngest son on a fly fishing trip to the Driftless in southeast Minnesota. Before the trip, he was laconic and uncommunicative. During the trip, we had some of the best conversations yet as father and son.
After the trip, he returned to his laconic self, ostensibly with no memory of our time on the river.
A common passion created a common language. Fly fishing became a way for Steve and me to small talk and “large talk” – to discuss the deeper things of life – our dreams and fears for our children, the hardships of our lives, and our hope for the years ahead.
I realize that many folks would rather fly fish alone. I can appreciate that. But for me, fly fishing is a team sport.
In contrast to the NFL Fantasy Football commercial, friends actually small talk. While they fly fish. And they create a lifetime of laughter, great conversation, and apocryphal stories of 27-inch rainbow trout.
Fly fishing is a solitary act. Yet for us, it has also been the means for a long friendship. In this episode we tell how fly fishing has contributed to many years of laughter and conversation. Listen to Episode 17: Fly Fishing and Friendship here.
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The worst days for fly fishers turn out to be the best days for fly fishing. The moisture in the air — whether in the form of rain or snow — triggers the insect hatches that often trout into a feeding frenzy. A few weeks ago, I witnessed a stretch of river come to life with leaping trout during a brief rain shower. I saw nothing feeding on the surface and caught nothing until the rain seemed to coax bugs and trout from their lairs.
But how do you cope with the various kinds of weather you’re going to face on the river? Here is my list:
STEVE’S GO-TO GEAR
Rain jacket. A few years ago, I bought a lightweight Simms rain jacket. Typically, my budget doesn’t let me splurge for the highest-end stuff (although somehow I ended up with a Winston fly rod!). But it was a purchase I don’t regret. Despite the obvious protection from the rain, the jacket also provides warmth on cool spring mornings and cool fall evenings even when the weather is dry. The jacket is small and light enough that I can roll it up and keep it in my fly vest.
Waders. This seem obvious. But waders also provide their share of warmth in cool weather. When we’re fishing the Driftless in Wisconsin, Dave and I rarely wade in water above our calves. Yet in the spring, we’ll wear our chest waders. It’s not because we’re worried about falling in the little spring creeks we fish. It’s just that the waders provide some warmth.
In the summer, though, you may prepare to wet-wade. I still shake my head when I think about the guy Dave and I saw wearing waders on a little creek in the Driftless on a sunny, eighty degree day!
Wool or waterproof gloves. I’m a wimp when it comes to keeping my hands warm. It’s been that way since I started deer hunting at age 10. So I’ve found that either wool or waterproof gloves work best. The gloves which expose one’s finger tips just don’t work for me. They make about as much sense for me as a screen door on a submarine. But whatever kind of gloves work for you, you’ll be thankful you’ve stashed a pair in your fly vest in the spring and fall. Snow happens. And early mornings and late afternoons can get cool.
Gore-Tex or wool hat. For years, I’ve worn a Woolrich hunting cap because it keeps the moisture off of my head whether it’s raining or snowing. A cotton baseball cap just doesn’t cut it. Recently, I bought a Simms Gore-text hat that I love (whoops, so much for my claim about not buying high end gear!). It’s lightweight, and it’s terrific for keeping my head dry on drizzly days.
Neck gator. This is the newest “gadget” I’ve been enjoying. I thought this would drive me crazy, because I don’t like stuff around my neck. But besides providing warmth, it’s great for protection from the sun. Dave took the above photo of me using the neck gator for sun protection when it was over eighty degrees on the Madison River. Even though I look like a threat to homeland security, the neck gator really works. The fabric is light enough that I never started sweating.
Layers with micro fiber. I’ve become a bit of a micro fiber fanatic. My kids think I must have a deal with Under Armour. But I wear Nike’s Dri-FIT too. This stuff keeps my either warm or cool, depending on the need of the day. Most importantly, it doesn’t soak up moisture. Having several layers of shirts or pants allows for easy adjustments. Besides, it means that you don’t have to bring a bulky coat.
At the end of the day, the goal is not to look like a model in a Simms or Cabela’s catalog. It’s to stay warm or cool, and always dry. Yes, the right gear can make or break your day on the river. Believe me, even a Winston doesn’t cast well when your hand is numb with cold or your body is shivering because you’re soaked with rain water.
Weather on the river can be unpredictable. Now that’s a patently obvious statement. But it needs to be said. Some of the best days fly fishing are miserable (in terms of weather) for fly fishers. Listen to Episode 16: Weathering the Weather on the River.
At the end of each episode, we have a feature called “Great Stuff from Our Listeners.” We read a few of the comments from this blog or from our Facebook page. We enjoying hearing from our readers and listeners, and appreciate your advice, wisdom, and fly fishing experience.
What unpredictable weather have you encounter through the years? Tell us about your worst weather on the river but best fishing day ever?
Be sure to subscribe to our podcast feed. You can do that on your smartphone or tablet by downloading a podcast app. The most common app used by 2 Guys feed subscribers is “Podcasts.”
Or you can simply subscribe to the RSS feed here:
Subscribe to 2 Guys and A River2 Guys and A River
View some of our most recent podcast episodes on iTunes or on Stitcher, if you have an Android.
We’d love for you to rate our podcast on iTunes.
That helps fellow fly fishers decide whether the podcast is a good fit for them.
You can subscribe to our podcast on iTunes or Stitcher for Android.
You fly fished for salmon where?” That’s a question an acquaintance asked me when I described my introduction to fly fishing for salmon in Wisconsin. A few months after moving from Montana to Illinois, my friend, Leon, took me to the Milwaukee River. It was a cool, damp day in October, and the King Salmon were moving into the river from Lake Michigan.
I brought a nine-foot, eight-weight Orvis rod, and I managed to land a couple of salmon which attacked my purple and pink woolly bugger. I also foul-hooked a couple of others. That was inevitable given the number of salmon moving up the river.
What struck me about the stretch of river we fished was its proximity to civilization.
We were fly fishing the Milwaukee River in Estabrook Park, a half mile east of a McDonald’s on East Capitol Drive in Milwaukee, just four miles north of downtown Milwaukee. It seemed odd to fly fish just minutes from the Bradley Center, home of the NBA’s Milwaukee Bucks. On a more macabre note, we were only five miles from the apartment complex where serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer murdered most of his victims. Then again, I’ve fly fished in Montana within sight of the spot where another serial killer murdered one of his victims. But that’s a story for another time.
Surprisingly, when I walked down the path from one of the parking lots in Estabrook Park to the Milwaukee River, it was if I had been transported to another world. Hardwood and softwood trees lined the river, their orange and yellow leaves fluttering in the breeze. When the morning fog lifted, the sun seemed to set them on fire. Other than an occasional siren, all I could hear was the sound of the river and the chirping of birds. Once I heard a dog bark. A few times, I heard Leon whoop when he hooked into a feisty salmon a few yards to my right. To be sure, the river did not run as clear as the Yellowstone in Montana. But I could easily see the pods of salmon darting their way up the river.
I’ve caught fish miles away from anywhere. But on this day, I caught fish blocks away from anything you might want — restaurants, a major university, a hospital, and even a professional sports venue and concert arena. No, it wasn’t the Yellowstone. But it didn’t need to be. Those urban salmon didn’t realize they were “city slickers.” They didn’t fight any more or less than the “rural” salmon I’ve hooked on the Wilson River in Alaska. Nor did they have more metropolitan tastes than the big browns on the Madison when it came to the flies I was using to catch them.
It was a good day on the river, and I had plenty of time to reflect on it as the rush-hour traffic slowed to a crawl when we drove out of downtown Milwaukee.
Fly fishing spring creeks is not like fly fishing the big freestone rivers of the American West. In this episode, we interview fly fishing legend Gary Borger on fishing in the Upper Midwest and, specifically, how to fish spring creeks.
At the end of each episode, we often include a feature called “Great Stuff from Our Listeners.” We read a few of the comments from this blog or from our Facebook page. We enjoying hearing from our readers and listeners, and appreciate your advice, wisdom, and fly fishing experience.
What adjustments have you made when fly fishing spring creeks?
Be sure to subscribe to our podcast feed. You can do that on your smartphone or tablet by downloading a podcast app. The most common app used by 2 Guys feed subscribers is “Podcasts.”
Or you can simply subscribe to the RSS feed here:
Subscribe to 2 Guys and A River2 Guys and A River
View some of our most recent podcast episodes on iTunes or on Stitcher, if you have an Android.
We’d love for you to rate our podcast on iTunes.
That helps fellow fly fishers decide whether the podcast is a good fit for them.
A lot of my fly fishing memories have more to do with the people I’ve met than the trout I’ve caught. One fly fisher I remember well is Nolan, a heli-logger from Plains, Montana. His job was to fell a tree and hook onto it a cable, which dangled from a helicopter. Then the helicopter would whisk away the tree. It’s an effective method for logging in remote areas, and it lessens the environmental impact. Nolan, the heli-logger, took me on a float and it changed how I approached the sport.
One September in the early 1990s, Nolan was working with a heli-logging crew up the Mill Creek drainage in Paradise Valley, just south of Livingston, Montana. At the time, my parents lived within sight of the Mill Creek Bridge which crossed the Yellowstone River. One day, Nolan showed up at my folks’ house and asked if he could park his travel trailer on the edge of their property.
It would be a lot closer to where he was logging than if he stayed at a campground further down the road.
Meanwhile, my brother, Dave, and I showed up at my folks to spend three days bow-hunting elk in the Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness area several miles up the Mill Creek drainage. It’s rugged country, and we were exhausted after two days with warm temperatures and few elk encounters. My dad suggested that we might float the Yellowstone with Nolan on the afternoon of day three. Hel-logger Nolan had brought an inflatable raft with him, and had caught quite a few trout when he floated a stretch of the Yellowstone a couple days before we arrived.
Dave and I thought floating the Yellowstone would be a nice break from traversing steep terrain. Besides, we would be doing Nolan a favor. We could share our insights with this newbie to our river, and it might help him catch more fish.
It turned out that Nolan did us a favor by taking us on the float. Nolan was a predator — and I mean that in the best sense of the word. He stalked and hunted trout. The guy had an eagle eye. Every few minutes of floating, he would say, “There! Do you see those heads popping up about fifty yards to the right?”
“Uh, no. Where are they?”
I thought Nolan was imagining things. But when we closed to within twenty yards, I could see trout heads breaking through the film to sip bugs off the surface. What struck me, too, was Nolan’s sense of anticipation. He seemed to know where we would see rising fish. The guy could read water. He had fished this stretch only once, and I had fished it a dozen times. Yet he knew the river like it was his backyard.
Nolan had done more than spend his entire life outdoors, whether working or fly fishing or hunting. He had learned to observe and see patterns and draw conclusions. One afternoon spent with him challenged me to work harder on reading the water I fished and to be more alert for rising trout. As skilled as Nolan was, he didn’t have a smidgen of arrogance. He was curious about bow-hunting. He hunted elk with a rifle, but he had never tried calling them in with a cow call or bugle to get a thirty-yard shot with a bow. But I still had a hunch that if I could take Nolan bow-hunting, he would teach me a thing or two.
I know that we caught some trout that day. But I don’t remember how big they were or how many we caught. What I remember is Nolan. I think that’s the way it should be. Fly fishing is not just about the fish. It’s also about the people you meet along the way.