Last Trip in Virginia

An era has come to an end I guess you could say. Four years in Virginia fishing all over the state and many others. The rolling hills here are beautiful and possess a Southern state of mind that takes you back to the good 'ol days. Virginia is truly a beautiful place. Although compared with trout fishing elsewhere, Virginia does not top any lists but I should say that it can hold its own in all categories of tailwaters (Jackson River), spring creeks (Mossy Creek), and freestones (any mountain stream in SNP).

My last trip I decided to go to the first place I ever fished in Virginia, if memory serves correctly. The North Fork of the Moormans River. There is a pay to play stocked section below the Charlottesville Reservoir, but above it is purely wild brookies and the higher you hike, the more rewards you receive. A truly beautiful river with beautiful fish. Wet wading for the first time was amazing and I caught fish on top of it. A great day, although I left with a nasty sunburn. It only reminds me every time I take a shower or put a shirt on that I had a great day fishing, my last day fishing here in VA. My friend, Casey, accompanied me and we did not have a 50-fish day but it didn't matter. The bugs were everywhere and the sun was shining and the water was flowing. What else can a guy ask for?

The gypsy moth's have cocooned up and are ready to explode into beautiful moths. Their nests are truly a sight to see. These were everywhere along the river. It's been a great four years, the best of which were when I was with my friends on the river. It never matters which one you're on.

It's time for me to move on, and I'm headed to Wyoming for the summer. I can't wait for this new experience in my life. After that, who knows. Oregon? New Zealand? Somewhere else? That's the most exciting part. I'm at the wind's mercy to blow me wherever it sees fit.

Burn One Down

It's 4/20. 'Nuff said.

See ya'll tomorrow. I'm gonna hang out with Bob Marley and Cheech for a while. Peace.

The City Skunk

Where I am is probably the most important part of fly fishing for me. There is something about being in the middle of a river in the middle of nowhere surrounded by mountains. My mother called me on Easter and asked if I was going to church. I responded, "Yeah, I'm going fishing." She knows that the rivers are my church and the flow of the streams are my sermons, and in a bit of reverse fortune the river makes its offerings to me in the forms of beautiful trout, although the offering plate often reveals nothing in its bowl. Flyfishing is spiritual, it's pure. I don't have to meet my neighbor unless I want to and I can wear whatever I want.The hymns I choose to sing are generally by Bob (Marley, Dylan or Seger) with a little Creedence thrown in the mix. Instead of going to Macaroni Grill or Luby's, I can sit on a rock and eat a sandwich in silence.

Certain days when you don't have the time to drive three hours to get your spiritual fix, you find the closest thing possible. For me, if it's not a small bluegill pond it is the river that runs right through the city. The shad are running right now and all the rednecks are out trolling and chucking bait from the banks. I decide I really need to go, and I've never caught a shad before so I might as well give it a try.

When I get to the river, I see almost 50 boats and twice as many anglers on the shore with lines in the water. I figured this would be the case so I was not disappointed. The wind was whipping and the air felt arctic. The bank was at a steep decline going down to the river meaning a steep incline looking back. I had to cast at about a 45 degree angle vertically to avoid the rocks behind me, not to mention dodging my shad dart as it whipped by my head being coerced by the wind to take me out.

As I look out at the boats I notice one guy with a flyrod. All the idiots around him are sitting in their boats watching as the lone wand waver hooks up with one silver, shining shad after another. He probably pulled in around eight or nine fish in the 30 minutes I watched him in jealousy and admiration. I needed a boat, no question about it.

I knew my efforts were for not, but was still happy to give it a shot. After a couple hours of fishing and then searching the river for better spots and fishing some more, my friend and I call it a day and realize we can still catch the tail-end of the 4-7 happy hour at a local bar where PBR pints are $1. Into my third tasty Pabst I am assured I made the right decision, and my day was fulfilled. The skunk and the river, the beer and the bar, telling stories with a friend. It was a good day.

Something out of Nothing

I haven't been in the tying game very long and so when you don't have a lot of money you have to slowly build up your supplies. I had a decent amount of materials starting to get built up when my tying world came crashing down. Someone threw away all of my materials. Stupidly I had them in a big paper grocery bag, and so it's not surprising, but I'm still pissed. I had to go get a few things to start all over again.

When I sit down I usually have no idea what I'm going to tie. I just grab some stuff and think about it right then. I think that is a great way to be creative and learn how to use things differently. Anyway, I wanted to tie a couple streamers and all I have to work with is black and white zonker strips, a couple packs of dubbing, thread, and white and yellow marabou. That's it.

So here are three flies I tied with just this material. The first one is called the Heidi Fleiss because it's really easy. One white zonker strip wrapped around the hook and 7-10 1" pieces of peacock tail. That's it. It can be a little rainbow or any kind of fingerling or tiny baitfish.

The next fly is called the Gator. It's nasty looking, has a long tail, and is deadly. The side shot is a yellow gator. It is just yellow marabou tied at the hook shank, then a black zonker strip tied in front of that and then more yellow marabou tied in front of that. I then dubbed some white rabbit fur on right before the bead.

The shot from the back is a white gator with some yellow in it. Same technique, just different color marabou planted. The black zonker strip give is great lateral action and the marabou provides great body and color. Both of these patterns are great for post-rain, off-color water.

More important, I tied these with no materials other than zonker strips and marabou and thread.

A Day in the Park

Saturday Cy and I went to Shenandoah National Park and fished one of the many Brook Trout streams in the park. It was in the mid 50s and overcast; not ideal brookie conditions. We hiked in (a hike that was longer than we anticipated) and headed to the stream. It was a beautiful, small typical mountain stream.

First cast and I was hooked up. A nice, but very small native brookie. Third cast, same result. Cy caught fish as well, but all of our fish combined were caught on nymphs. The water was still a little cold to get the fish to come to the surface. I saw a few insects (Epeorus Pleuralis, I think) but not much was coming off. It was great to get out in the park and fish for brookies again. We each caught a handful and were satisfied. The hike out was brutal in our waders and wading boots. It was not even 60 degrees and were were sweating, and both of us are in good shape.

All in all it was a great day as most any fishing day is. We headed out of the park and went to another stream and caught the evening caddis hatch. It was great to see bugs again. Spring is here!

Bring on the Rain

It has been almost three weeks since I have fished, and I'm getting anxious again. This weekend I am free to go fishing, but only because we lost our rugby playoff game last week. I'm really bummed out about that and I'm the most competitive person I know, so I hate losing at anything. Also, it is supposed to rain almost everywhere in Virginia for a couple days this week, so the rivers might be blown out. I am going either way just to get in the water and do something. I don't care if it's pouring down rain and the river looks like a septic tank, if you are looking for me on Saturday, don't hold your breath. I'm fishing.

A lot of rain brings either amazing conditions or unfishable conditions. The difference is usually a day or two. If you have a river that is rising and is getting muddied up, the conditions will be terrible. However, right after the rains start to lighten up, or stop altogether and the flow goes down, a lot of rivers turn into feeding troughs.

When a river is high and moving fast, the fish move to the banks and hide out in slow moving water, and wait for the storm to pass. When the river goes down something turns on in the fish, especially Browns, and they go nuts for anything looking meaty and swimming by them. Whether you are in a boat or wading, if you have a chance to fish a river that is slightly off-color and receding, you are going to be in streamer heaven. All you have to do is pound the banks, and hit as much water as you can. I learned this summer from the guides I worked with that streamer fishing, at least where we were doing it, is not relaxing. Cast, strip,strip,strip,strip, pick up and cast again. We would probably hit our streamers twice in the water for every 12 inches of water we passed. After about 45 minutes, if you are not sweating (for the fat guys it's about 10 minutes) you aren't doing it right. Sinking line makes the difference because when you are covering as much water as we are, you don't have time to wait for the fly to sink. It has to be down there in a hurry and moving the second it hits the water. If you hit the river at just the right time, it is sure to be a day of casting and blasting you soon won't forget. Jointed hooks are preferable (if the fish are big) and after 20 minutes or so of no follows, switch colors. Zoo Cougars are my favorite, along with sculpin and zonker patterns. White, Yellow, and Black are my favorite colors. Most of the time, if it is in front of their face, a big territorial Brown is going to at least chase it for a while to get your fly out of its area.

Part 3

After heading back from camping, I was still not satisfied for the week and wanted to get one more day in before I flew to Dallas and Austin for the weekend. The weather was cooperating so I headed out for a day trip.

The river I went to has a great stretch that runs right through a town. The urban setting is not the most aesthetic background scene, but the fishing is very good, and I was there for the fish. After setting up my rig, I went down to a stretch just below a bridge with some nice riffles and fast water. After my 3rd or 4th cast I was into a nice little Rainbow. I caught a couple others and other fishermen were catching fish as well.

Besides catching fish, the best sight to see were caddis flying all around. It was the first real hatch I had seen since November, and was a welcome sight. I knew it had been a very long winter when I saw a fish rise and actually said out loud, "Holy shit."

I can't wait for consistent warm weather which is right around the corner, I think. Wyoming is creeping up, and I am just trying to get out when I can to tide me over until the real fun begins this summer. A weekend camping trip should be coming up in a few weeks, so looks like it's just writing and tying flies until then.

Spring Break Part 2

After a day off I was back at it on Tuesday. This time I headed to the George Washington National Forest. I knew there had been rain and the last of the snow was in the process of melting, but I wanted to take a chance and go to my favorite river in Virginia.

When I pulled onto the dirt road and saw the river across the bridge, I knew the water was a lot higher than normal, but not completely blown out. I drove through the mud and ice and came to my campsite which I knew no one else would be dumb enough to go to. It was cold, but the sun was out and provided a few more degrees of warmth to keep my hands from freezing the whole time.

After setting up camp, I rigged up my nymph and streamer rods and headed down the river for the usual 30-minute hike into less visited water because the rednecks tend to gaff all the fish at the start of the trail. I went to a spot my friends and I call the "honey hole" because we always catch fish there. Not this time. I saw one fish move under the water one time and that was it. I know the river pretty well, so I decided to fish the normally shallow portions of the river because I knew they would be good holding spots for the fish looking to get out of the strong current. Sure enough my first cast moved a nice Rainbow. He didn't take, but it was a promising sight. I worked further down with my nymph rod with nothing else happening, so I switched to the heavy artillery. First cast and a fish chases it all the way to my feet. Next cast same thing, and then on the third cast he nips at the tail and realizes he just ate a rabbit strip instead of a little fish, so he was done. After working another quarter mile or so casting and blasting I had a couple bumps and one hook-up before calling it a day. I had fished 5 hours and had to hike back about an hour to start the campfire before dark.

With conditions not ideal, things could have been worse, but certainly could have been better. That river has some beautiful fish, and it's sad to say, but I don't think I will be back there again after I graduate and move to Wyoming.

Day 2

The next morning is brutally cold. Our water outside the tent is frozen, along with my toes. After taking our time getting up and breaking camp we decide to head back down the stream. Walking across the mountains hoping to run into the trail does not seem like the best plan of action.

We make our way back and fish along the way. The water was low, and I was teaching my friends how to fish for the first time, but we pulled out a couple pretty natives. One of my friends caught the first one, his first ever on a fly rod, and was pretty stoked about it. I was showing my other friend how to cast and put it in a certain spot, and right as I laid it down my hare's ear disappeared in the mouth of a Brookie.

"And that's how it's done," I said in a teacher/student way trying to hide the 'did that just happen' look on my face. "Someday you will learn grasshopper."

As we finally hit the gravel trail and make it to the end, we see another trail crossing the stream. Upon further inspection we see a cement pole right in front of us that says, "Furnace Mountain Trail" in little letters. It was literally 50 yards from where I parked my truck. We couldn't believe it, but we kind of could. In my life I have learned that one word describes things that happen to me on a regular basis; typical. That's all I could say as we headed back to my truck feeling satisfied that we blazed our own trail for a day, and only a little embarassed that we never set foot on our intended path. But hey, that's how life goes sometimes.

Spring Break Pt. 1

As most of the kids at my school were heading to the airport for the Bahamas and Jamaica, myself and two buddies from the rugby team were double-checking all of our gear for the hiking trip into Shenandoah National Park. After a fair amount of research we decided on doing a 20-mile loop called Furnace Mt. Trail. That was the plan, originally.

We meet at my house at 8 the next morning, load up everything in my truck and hit the road. We're excited to finally be doing it instead of talking about it. About an hour into the two and a half hour drive I realize I forgot my jacket. When you are hiking in the winter in the mountains, that is one of the worst things to forget. Somehow, I did it.

I wasn't about to turn back, I'll figure something out I said. We pull onto the trailhead running alongside Madison Run, a beautiful Virginia brookie stream. I could tell the water was a little low, but that was no big deal. The real fishing was supposed to start when we got to Paine Run on the second day. We head up the gravel trail and look for our 'pull off'. We see a cut trail and decide to take it. Five hours later after bushwacking through thorns and crossing Madison about 8 times, we decide to call it a night. We'll just head due South and hit the trail tomorrow.

Spring Break

Those two wonderful words elicit feelings of relaxation, vacation, and usually drunken debauchery. However, this Spring Break will be my last in the college world. And I'm not doing what everyone else is.

Daytona Beach, Cancun, South Padre Island, and the Bahamas are the destinations I have been hearing most from my friends. It would be awesome to go down there and drink my kidneys into failure, but not this year. This year, I'm blazing a trail on my own in a direction I won't know until I'm there. It begins on Friday when myself and a friend are going to hike the Appalachian Trail until Monday, and fish whenever we run into a stream that looks worthy. But which ones don't?

Then I'm out on my own. The rest of the week I will camp and fish by myself whenever I want, and wherever I want. There are a few choice rivers in Virginia I will look to make it to, but nothing is set in stone. I've got my Virginia Atlas, my truck, and my peace of mind to lead me down the road. I know March is not the most ideal month for fishing, but fishing is more ideal than doing anything else in any other month. I want to get into some Brookies in a mountain stream, and if I get to a tailwater with willing Rainbows and Browns then all the better. I'll be satisfied wherever I am, and the best thing is my expectations will be low because conditions are less than ideal. With Jim Beam in my flask, I will never be lonely, so I'm off in a week to do something different. I won't be following the pack like a group of lemmings heading for the cliff.

My pack is a group of two at the beginning, and then becomes one. Anything can happen, and I hope surprises come about. It's time for me to be by myself in the places that revive my spirit. Just me and the fish (and Jim Beam). It's go time.

Rugby and Flyfishing

Yesterday I got a private message on The Drake from a guy who saw my profile which lists rugby as one of my interests. He said he was a rugger as well. I was surprised to hear of another rugby player who also flyfishes. Anyone else out there?

It's a bit of a different sport. Actually, it's completely different. Are there any similarities? They are both dominated by men for certain. I know one difference. I played a rugby match today, and now I am all cut up and sore as shit. Unless I went hiking 5 miles and fell down a ravine, I don't think I've ever felt like that while flyfishing. Rugby allows me to get out my aggression and flyfishing allows me to relax. Two things I desperately need, and I know I'm not the only one. Saturday is a rugby day, and I try my best to kill people on the pitch as best I can. Sunday is a flyfishing day and I try my best to forget everything else in the world. I'm glad I have both because without either I think I would go insane. It's a great balance. Think about finding something to balance you out other than flyfishing. Perhaps your job does that for you because you hate it so much and maybe even get to yell at people. Sweet.

I will always need to flyfish, because it's my life, and I will always need to play rugby because if I didn't, I would probably be in jail or anger management.

What's Your Style?

Sometimes you just have to choose.

It often depends on what mood you're in. Do you want to fish elbow to elbow next to two guys and hope for a 10lb. Brown running out of a reservoir, or do you want solitude and a few tiny natives? I think deep down the pure spirit of fly fishing says to go for the little natives. And if asked on the record, the majority of flyfishermen would say that. Why would you want to sound like a combat loving bait chucker?

I've never been involved in combat fishing, and hope I never will be, but if that's the only game in town, and it's big game, would you do it? Everyone wants to land huge fish at a good rate, but does part of the spirituality get lost in the struggle to find a parking spot?

Some of my favorite memories are fishing the Shenandoah National Park in Virginia for native Brookies. I've had amazing days of relentless dry fly fishing on these tiny streams. The best part of the experience is being in the mountains really doing it the right way. And when I release the first native of the day I always think to myself, "You've got relatives that were here in this creek a hundred years ago, and you're still here now." It really connects you to way back when.

But releasing that 10lb. fish that perhaps spent its first two years swimming around in a hatchery tank doesn't look that bad either. The screaming reel and pounding forearms asking you to just pop the fish off for some relief is a pretty sweet feeling too. So when is it okay to walk down to the river and park your ass right between two other guys just waiting for the tug? I don't know if it is, but the fish in the river are pretty damn appealing. Most true anglers want to be just that, true to the sport. Combat fishing is not that. Those days where you can find solitude and big fish are the best, and some are fortunate enough to have a lot of those days. If you are, don't take it for granted because there's probably some poor slob across the country dodging flies all day just hoping for that one big hook-up, or that other guy in the mountains totally loving it for the 10th straight day, but in the back of his mind is saying, "Damn, I love this, but couldn't they be just a little bigger?"

Jointed Streamers

Using streamers with a joint and second body and hook has enormous advantages to fishing streamers. First, the second hook doubles your chances of catching a fish. If you are throwing a jointed streamer, it's probably going to be at least three inches long if not double that size. Often the streamer will be so big and such a good baitfish imitation that if the fish doesn't want to eat the pattern it will chase it out of its territory. Big Brown Trout often nip at the back of the fish to make sure they clear their territory. With a second hook in back that nip could turn into a sore lip and much worse for that trout.

The joint adds amazing movement to the pattern. The joint that connects the two body parts wiggles and the back end swings back and forth as the fly darts through the water. I love just watching the streamers move in the water. They really look like baitfish swimming around. The movement really helps to seal the deal on that fish that is still unsure of what it's looking at.

Tying a jointed streamer is difficult at first, and then not hard at all when you get the hang of it. Tie the first part of the fly the same way as a regular streamer with the exception of extending the pattern to a second part. Also, when tying on the first thread to the bare hook wrap it to the bend and then take a thick piece of tippet, I use 1x, some use tiny wire, and tie it into the bend of the hook where two pieces are hanging off the bend of the hook about 1 inch long. You want to tie the back section first. When the front section is complete you want to make sure the thread is wrapped to the back. Take the tippet and put it through the eye of the back hook. Then, wrap it back onto the bend of the front hook and wrap that down tightly with the thread. Using head cement on this part helps strengthen the bond. Also, for added weight it helps to put several beads that you would normally put on small nymphs on the tippet that makes the joint.

Jointed Streamers are probably my favorite fly pattern to fish when I'm looking for a day of exciting non-stop action. I cover every piece of water I can and usually churn up some pretty big fish. Cast and blast, baby.

Fly Adaptations

A smart angler is well-versed on the insects that are found in the stream he/she is fishing. I've seen guys with vests that are popping with fly boxes filled with all sorts of flies. That's good, I guess, if you want to carry around all that stuff. I usually carry three boxes with me on the water, unless I know what I'm specifically doing all day. I have a streamer box, small fly box, and big fly box, which both include dries and nymphs.

Sometimes, however, out of all the possible selections we have to offer, the fish don't want what we've got. I learned an important lesson one day while fishing in North Carolina. I was on a stream getting my ass handed to me. Fish were everywhere except on the end of my line. Upstream of me was a guy who in a period of 20-30 minutes hooked into at least 10 nice fish. I was stumped. I looked in the trees, I looked in the water, I picked up rocks to look on the bottom to see what nymphs were scooting around. Nothing. And this guy was Lefty Kreh for the day.

I decided to take a break and sit on my tailgate and have a beer.

"Pretty nice day out there, huh?" It was cloudy, raining and about 40 degrees so naturally I gave an interesting glance to the guy talking to me. It was the guy who had been upstream of me. I was taking a break from getting skunked, he was taking a break because he was tired of catching so many. Go figure.

"Yeah, you were doing pretty well out there," I said. He walked over and showed me his set-up. It was an egg pattern, a split-shot, and another fly with essentially just red thread. He said he was catching them all on the red fly. "Blood midge," he says. "They're all in the grass on the stream-bed."

When I get back on the water I look into my fly box and know that I don't have any 'blood midges'. I do, however, see a few Rusty Spinners. I take one out, clip off the wings and split-tail, and what do you know, I've got a blood midge. Pretty simple.

I didn't catch anything but at least I adapted to the situation. My guess is he was catching them on the egg pattern and didn't want to say anything, but hey, whatever. Just because you only have certain flies in your box at any given time, doesn't mean you don't have the potential to 'create' a couple more with some minor tweaking of a different pattern. So next time you're on the water and don't have exactly what's working, take a closer look, use your imagination and adapt the flies you have to become flies 'they' want. It may just be the fly of the day that originally was a Rusty Spinner or Isonychia or anything else. The worst that can happen is you keep not catching fish. Give it a shot.

Are YOU A Wet Booter?

Welllll?

You can be a Wet Booter even if you don't get to fish every day. Few of us are that lucky. Flyfishing doesn't pay the bills for the majority of anglers. Just because your boots are usually dry when you put them on doesn't mean you want them to be. People are sometimes classified into self-satifying categories like 'hardcore' or 'trout bum'. And many people are called 'weekend warriors'. This term has a negative connotation. Weekend warriors are supposed to be people who really don't know much about flyfishing, don't read magazines, don't even know how to change their tippet or fly. These guys are generally nice people (I guess), but they just book a guide on a Saturday to take them around and basically catch the fish for them just so they can get a hero shot.

There are plenty of true anglers out there who can only fish on the weekends. It's called a nine-to-fiver that keeps them in check during the week. This doesn't make you a 'weekend warrior'. If the weekend is the only time you have to fish, then you are gonna take it. Just don't walk into the local fly shop with the price tags still on your gear, and I think you can avoid that stereotype.

If you are reading this, then chances are you are a Wet Booter. If you had it your way, you would quit your job and travel the country and world fishing your brains out. Wouldn't that be sweet? It ain't happenin' buddy.

If you're afraid you lost your touch, or perhaps a little skill, don't worry about it. Everybody goes through periods when they don't have the chance to fish. You'll knock the rust off. You're still pure at heart.

I'm a Wet Booter. And I hope you are too.

The Itch

No, not the one you get after a drunken weekend in Tijuana. This is the often talked about Winter Itch.

The dark, sun-deprived time of year when people go about their daily routines with even less enthusiasm than usual. If you live in the mountains and ski, snow-mobile, or snowboard then winter is awesome. I can handle the winter if I have opportunities to be outdoors. In other areas where winter provides no such opportunities (sitting on the side of a road and watching cars slide into each other does not count) it is quick for an angler to go insane.

Winter fishing is a must for me, and I do it as much as possible. Still, winter fishing is winter fishing and the days when the weather cooperates are far fewer than any other season so the number of times on the water is less than normal. Those times you are on the water, with exception of the occasional gift of sunlight, you are freezing your ass off, can't feel your toes, and let's be honest, your gloves are covered in your own runny-nose mess. And you're probably fishing midges if you really want to catch fish, or throwing streamers with less success if you are really out there just to say you're out there and re-establish the fact that you are 'hardcore'. So, how do we get rid of the itch? Gold Bond. I wish it were that simple.

The only answer is this: Spring

Driving back and forth over the bridge of your home water repeatedly does not bring Spring any faster. Everyone knows tying flies is efficient and necessary, but the only thing you're going to hook while sitting at the vise is your finger, if you don't stab yourself in the eye with your scissors first. Hospital visits are always fun, and just happen to be a great way to get your mind off of fishing. Note: This method to get rid of the Itch is extreme and not recommended.

So, have I helped you? Hell no. You're probably mad at me for reminding you how Itchy you are right now. Go watch flyfishing videos on YouTube or if you're really bored wait for OLN to actually show something involving the outdoors. I think they are still showing the Little League World Series from this Fall. If you are 'lucky' you'll get Mark Sosin's (or whatever his name is) Saltwater Adventures. Ok, stick to YouTube or DVD's you already have.

Itch Checklist:

Fill fly box ( )

Buy Johnny Cash CD's-all ( )

Watch DVD's twice a week ( )

Go to hospital for eye stab ( )

Now there's only one thing left to do- Go to Tijuana for the real thing.

Why Fishing Is Good For You

Since the day I first picked up a fly rod when I was 16, I knew there was something special about that nine foot piece of graphite. What it was, I was not sure. Now, six years later, I have a slight idea why I felt that way.

I was an idiot.

Before learning to fly-fish I basically had no direction in life besides playing football, making good grades, and hoping to make it to college, eventually. What kind of goals are those??

Obviously I needed my priorities straightened out. One cast of that rod, and I was straight as an arrow. Fly-fishing for life. Hooked. Landed. Released into a new life.

In my high school years the only thing that mattered besides football was drinking and girls. Ok, so not much has changed except that I traded football for fishing. But that was a big change. Fly-fishing has given me direction like I never thought possible. When people ask you, "What do you want to be when you grow up?", a common answer is, "I don't know yet, I just want to make money." Tisk, tisk, tisk. What narrow minds we use. Clearly my first non-sensical answer is, "A professional flyfisherman." That is still a dream, is it even a possible reality? I'm not sure, but flyfishing has given me a direction to be certain. West.

Before, I never knew what I wanted to be or where I wanted to be, and at least now I know the answer to the second question. The what is not as important now. As long as I am somewhere in the West, I know that what I will be doing will just be to support me in my true lifes work. Fishing my brains out. It would be cool to work for a newspaper as the outdoor/environmental writer, that would actually be extremely cool. I would love to write consistently for flyfishing and outdoor magazines. The point is that now, thanks to flyfishing, I have a direction and a home base, eventually.

Only on those nights when you are intoxicated in your room and browsing the web do you really realize how certain things fit into your life. Flyfishing is my compass. Plain and simple. It directs me to where I want to be, where I need to be, and where I will be. That is all that matters at this point. The next bend of the river is what I look forward to. How about you?

Generation Z

Now more than ever there is a growing number of young flyfishermen. It is time that magazines and clothing/equipment companies take notice. Seeing pictures of Grandpa Joe casting his cane rod in his new Orvis waders doesn't exactly get my generation amped to go fishing. Documentaries such as Trout Bum Diaries and The Hatch and magazines such as The Drake have been important in the flyfishing market to show that there are young guys out there who don't want our sport to be labeled as old, white and rich. Clearly that is still the major market and majority, which is why the market is directed at them. They have the numbers and the money, so it's understandable.

I love seeing old guys out there hitting the water all day, hard. That's how I want to be when I'm old and decrepit. But right now I'm young and full of energy and just happen to be obsessed with an old-timers sport. And I'm not alone. All over the country young guys (and girls) are being seen on rivers. That's awesome, it's a sign that this great sport will continue to grow for a long time.

Generation Z is here. It's time we are recognized and accepted. We are the young bucks of this thing, and we will pretty much do anything to catch a fish, anywhere. I know my friends and I aren't the only ones who wake up early, fish for twelve hours non-stop on the river hunting down anything with fins, then head to the bar (in our waders still) smelling like "cheap cigars, B.O., and fish" (RG). And yes, we still hit on chicks. You booze your face off all night and drag yourself onto anything resembling a bed, then wake up and do it all over again the next day the exact same way. I just don't think the cane-walkers can keep up with that. I'm sure they have stories just like that when they were my age, and I enjoy hearing those stories thoroughly. There is nothing better than meeting an old guy by himself on the river, and listening to his stories. Flyfishing could be a great fraternity. Is it now? I'm on the fence.

Not only do we have our grievances with bait fishermen, old guys and young guys seem to be separating. Yeah, we pound water harder for longer than other people. Sure, we use crazy techniques with huge, new patterns. If we catch a fish, we're gonna get some funny pics with it and scream about it. That's exciting. I didn't read anywhere in the rule book that silence, solitude and proper English was required to be considered a flyfisherman. Be loud, be excited, and be happy you're on the river. We just have to make sure we are respectful of the other anglers on the water. When different generations pass each other on the river 'hello's' should be exchanged. There's nothing wrong with saying how your day went and what you were using if you caught a few. Make a new friend, no matter what his age.

The bottom line is the rookies of this sport need a voice to express our opinions. Even though we may act like it, we don't know everything, and some advice or even a funny anecdote from an older guy is appreciated. You never know, we most likely have some information that will help you out also.

How to Play a Fish Like Two Girls at the Same Time; Smooth, Reel Smooth

Putting a fish on the reel is a phrase that some don't quite understand. A major difference between landing or losing a fish often has to do with the drag setting, and the excess line laying at your feet.

Checking the strength of your drag is simple, and seems pointless when you first hit the water; until a 15" fish breaks itself off of your tippet because you forgot to re-adjust it from the night before when the last fish you fought was considerably larger and required you to tighten the drag to really horse it in. Adjust your drag according to the type of fishing you are doing. If you are making long casts with a dry-fly have your drag somewhat relaxed so that you can strip line quickly during a long cast, and if a fish is hooked the initial jerk of the drag doesn't break off the fish running quickly to the bottom. If you are fishing sinking line with big streamers, go ahead and tighten the drag because bigger fish are generally going to be caught on the bottom with big flies.

Always be aware of your excess line while fishing, especially from a boat. If you are making a dump cast and are expecting your fly to drift about 30 feet further downstream when suddenly a fish comes from out of nowhere and engulfs your dry-fly you are going to have a lot of excess line flying through your guides. If you are not careful, the line is going to wrap around your reel and break the fish off. Stripping baskets help, but are usually just used for salt-water.

Many people who are just starting out, generally catch smaller fish and are used to squeezing the line in one hand and pulling it in with the other. This technique is perfectly suitable for those small fish. However, when you head to a bigger river and actually hook into a decent fish, squeezing that line is the last thing to do. Be aware of your excess line and slowly let the fish run to take the line out, while still maintaining pressure on the fish. Then let the drag do its job. Let it tire the fish out, and don't be afraid to tighten the drag while fighting a fish if it is not working at the setting you have it on. Having a smooth transition from hook set to letting the fish run to reeling the playing it in is the difference in losing it or netting it, most of the time. Crazy things happen all the time and losing a fish for an unknown reason is one of them. Things happen. If you want to improve your odd's of landing that pig however, make sure you check the drag setting, know how to control your excess line, and of course play the fish according to how hard it is still fighting and the tippet size you are using. Good things will usually happen.