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 happen. I have no way of knowing how many steelhead have entertained the idea of eating my swung fly over the course of about 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 to the inside. After a fly change, I failed to replicate the initial reaction. I switched it up again and added a little action to the fly which 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".