DUN Spring 2019 by Fly Squared Media

Embrace the Suck Basque In Glory Just Like Dad Diane Pallot

What lasts a lifetime?

Foot Tractor Wading Boots To build the highest-performing and most durable wading boots possible, we paired our expertise in fly fishing and product innovation with Danner’s proud tradition of quality and craftsmanship. Engineered for the most demanding wading and built by hand in Portland, Oregon, our new boots are resoleable and can also be completely recrafted as they wear over time. They’re the best boots we’ve ever made— and we believe they’re the last ones you’ll ever need to buy.

Spring 2019

Features ON THE COVER

60 Embrace The Suck A gamble with the weather leads Captain Sarah Gardner and crew into a once in a lifetime billfish experience in Costa Rica.

46 I Packed Lingerie

for my Trip to the Amazon Every year Kristi and her son embark on an adventure to the Brazilian Amazon to join her husband on a liveaboard for fishing and family fun.

78 Basque In Glory Basque Country is known for their Michelin Star restaurants and wine, but Miren shows us that fly fishing is also a way of life.

Splendor of the West Exploring the west in one of Montana's most beautiful lodges brings Rachael back to her roots to ponder what if she had bought that driftboat many eons ago.

photo Brian Horsley

departments

From Every Angle MEMORIES

Just Like Dad To spend time with Dad, a young angler falls in love with a sport that quickly becomes her life.

Kit and Kaboodle

GEAR

Jen's Spring Must-Haves Hats and Skirts, and bags, oh my!

100

LUXURY

COMMUNITY

Why It's Worth It

Reminder

It may cost more than your budget allows, but here's why.

Remembering why we return to the river is many times more important than catching fish.

108

EQUIPMENT

ADVENTURE

Getting You Out There

Breathe In

Introducing you to what you need to get to your destinatnion.

Trout Adventure Camp and a fashion statement leads to life skills and a future lifetime love of the outdoors.

118

Tuck In

GENEROSITY

HOMEMADE

Chica de Mayo

A women’s annual fly fishing event in Bozeman has become the place to be for 11 years and counting

Pizza Crust

Making your own pizza crust doesn’t have to be difficult. Try our gluten-free recipe.

121

CONQUER

The Farm Pizza This quick and easy pizza is not only healthy, it’s amazingly delicious.

Fish Camp

Three different women’s communities come together to become one big tribe.

122

Mushroom Madness Pizza Mycophagists near and far will love this tasty pizza.

FAMILY

124

Where the World Ends A trip to Patagonia brings a brother and sister together in a way dad would have loved.

Travel Bars

Raw is all the rage. Bring these bars with you on the river to stave off any cravings.

126

Discover

REFRESHMENT Pisco Sour

PERSON

112

Diane Pallot They say behind every successful man is a great woman. Diane proves this to be true.

102

124

Conservation ALASKA

Bristol Bay All it takes is a trip to Bristol Bay to realize why this wild place needs all the help it can get.

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7 Letter From The Editor 8 DUNmagazine.com 11 We Hear You

12 Contributors

13 Janell's Five Tips

112

In Every Edition

130 At The End of The Day

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Spring 2019

This fresh cocktail takes a front seat after a day on the water or a rough day at the office.

128

Foundation BASICS

Hook Anatomy Firming your foundation one hook at a time.

14 An Introduction to Fly Tying Hooks Helping you understand the difference behind the hooks our flies are tied on.

106

MOTIVATION

NEW W A D I N G

B O O T S

When the ﬁsh of a lifetime presents herself, the diﬀerence in success or failure is measured in inches. To the angler faced with a cast that will forever inspire or haunt them, it’s the eye of a needle. At that moment, only one thing matters.

HELIOS 3—ERASE THE DOUBT

43% Better Wet Rubber Traction

Orvis Innovation with the Sole of a Michelin

INSPIRED BY MICHELIN® WET RUBBER TRACTION TECHNOLOGY

The future of the wading boot is now.

AHEAD OF OUR TIME SINCE THE BEGINNING

DUN Sp

rin

M A G A Z I N E

JEN RIPPLE Founder & Editor-In-Chief Jen@DUNmagazine.com Janell Fannin Managing Editor Grace Erin Associate Editor Hope Halla Copy Editor

ADVERTISING ads@DUNmagazine.com 224.532.9160

T. Daniel Frost Associate Editor Becca K. Powell Associate Editor

Meg Humphries Editorial Assistant

Mēgan Berns Editor at Large

Brandon Miller Staff Photographer

Rachael McClendon Special Assignment Editor

SUBSCRIPTION INQUIRIES editor@DUNmagazine.com 224.532.9160

GENERAL INQUIRIES editor@DUNmagazine.com 224.532.9160

SUBMISSIONS submissions@DUNmagazine.com 224.532.9160

CONTRIBUTORS Ugaitz Aguilar Phyllis Bairrington Brandon Miller Photography Sarah Clark Miren Elosegui Paige Fletcher Iñaki Garabieta Jagoba Garabieta Captain Sarah Gardner Brian Grossenbacher Captain Brian Horsley Paul Jablon Laurie Lane George Lewis Rachael McClendon Ben Mellon Judy Muller Paul Nicoletti

Nissan USA Nomadic Waters Oliver Rogers Photography Diane Pallot Flip Pallot Becca K. Powell Jordyn Powell Justin Powell Captain Chris Sheeder Chris Sheridan Bryson Stalnaker Three Forks Ranch Trout Adventure Camp Umpqua Feather Merchants Charles Warren Jenny Weis Kristi Williams

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On The Cover Captain Sarah Gardner tries to 'Embrace the Suck' while she fights a beautiful pacific sailfish — photographed by Captain Brian Horsley

EDITORIAL AND ADVERTISING OFFICE

100% RECYCLABLE

DUN Magazine 316 Hidden Valley Road Dover, TN 37058 DUNmagazine.com editor@DUNmagazine.com

Letter from the Editor Jen Ripple fishing the glacial waters of Patagonia as guide Horacio Maida looks on with trepidation — photographed by Paul Jablon

i Green-Zine

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Spring 2019

PUBLISHER Fly Squared Media 316 Hidden Valley Road Dover, TN 37058 p.224.532.9160

DUN Magazine ISSN #2573-3184 is published by Fly Squared Media, LLC, 316 Hidden Valley Road, Dover, TN 37058. The cover and contents of DUN Magazine are fully protected by copyright and cannot be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission. All rights reserved in all countries. DUN Magazine assumes no responsibility for unsolicited photographs and manuscripts. Submissions cannot be returned without a self-addressed envelope. ©2019 Fly Squared Media. Printed in the United States of America.

MOTIVATION

Letter from the

Every spring

EDITOR

I find myself both exhausted and renewed. Exhausted because show season has finally ended; that grueling period from the first week of January to March, when I traipse from one fishing show to the next, put thousands of miles on my car, and earn Premier Platinum status on United Airlines. Renewed because I’ve had the privilege of meeting so many wonderful anglers, and it is finally time to fish instead of just talk about fishing. Every spring as the earth gives birth to new life, I find myself giving birth to the next edition. As the land here in Middle Tennessee comes alive again, I am excited to celebrate with you the stories that our talented authors have gifted to us. In this edition, you will find a budding love for our sport through the eyes of a young girl who wants to spend time with her father. You will be awakened by the beauty of Basque Country, where wine and Michelin star restaurants aren’t the only way of life. You will discover why lingerie absolutely belongs in the Brazilian Amazon. You will Breathe In along with an asthmatic camper at a TU Adventure Camp. And, you will emerge as a better angler if you learn to Embrace the Suck along with our featured author while she fishes for pacific billfish in Costa Rica. It is my hope that this edition reenergizes you for the season ahead. This is your year. This is your year to dust off the gear that never gets used. This is your year to fish the water you’ve driven by 100 times. This is your year to reinvent yourself as an angler. This is your year to thrive. This is your year to get healthy, get in shape, and get yourself outdoors. So, open the windows of your adventurous spirit. Find a friend and bring them along with us as we embark on our spring journey. This spring, we want you to fly.

Jen@DUNmagazine.com @Jen_Ripple

Spring 2019

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online

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Visit our website to join the DUN community and learn more.

Finland

Gender

Get The Net

Finland is a small country of 5.2 million residents and thousands of lakes, located next to Sweden in Scandinavia. Our beautiful country has a lot of potential for fly fishing across the country, since the waters are easily reached. No matter where you live, there is always a lake or two next to you. Even though we have four amazing seasons for fly fishing, Finland still isn’t as familiar a fishing ...

Actual Survey Question: Why aren’t there more women in fly-fishing? Actual Answers to this Question: Because they are home making sandwiches. Cause men drool at them. No mirrors to check their make-up. Because there are no toilets. ...

A cloud of fine dust billowed up behind my Subie, leaving a hazy trail behind me as I bounced down the dirt road leading to Tom’s house. From his neighbor’s yard, a longhorn steer threw me a half-interested glance as I pulled up the drive. It was a bright morning in May, and I was on my way to build a landing net with the Shasta Trinity Fly Fishers. ...

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By - Hanna Huhtala, Noora Lindholm, Pieta Piiroinen, Veera Viitanen

photo by Pieta Piiroinen

By - Kaitlin Glines-Barnhart

photo by Kyla Kulp

By - Jami Witherspoon

photo by Tom Taylor

Bissell Insurance Agency

Contact Art Hoffart, CIC 800.815.6230 Ahoffart@BissellAgency.com Insurance specific to guides, outfitters and lodges. In most cases we can save you money on your state-required insurance.

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Spring 2019

Outfitter/Guide Insurance

$400 per year

$1,000,000 / $2,000,000 General Liability *Some restrictions apply

Learn more at bissellinsuranceagency.com

MOTIVATION

We Hear You "I was thumbing through the Summer, 2018 issue of TROUT magazine. I stopped on page 22 and read the article about your magazine. I was intrigued by your efforts to bring more women into fly fishing plus getting them involved in the conservation aspects of the sport." JT - Tennessee

Hi Jen, I really like the magazine and shared it at our women’s book club for the Kiap-Tu-Wish chapter of Trout Unlimited. I have encouraged others to join. Look forward to the spring issue. The magazine is exceptional. SC - Wisconsin

"I have to say I read three articles, Life Choices, Bear Spray, and Get the Net. All three were very good reads. I really enjoy your articles. If I could write worth a darn, I would. And, maybe you would publish them." RK - Kentucky

WO M

NITE

We love to hear from our readers. Contact us at editor@DUNmagazine.com

ON T

DUN magazine

Roadtrip p

ers O ct 2 0 - No v 7 2019

Got kids? Know some kids? Just a kid yourself? Get hooked on Olive the Woolly Bugger! Ask for ALL 3 books at your local fly shop or find them online!

Join The Fun @RipAndHoppersAdventure

olivethewoollybugger.com

Contributors

Captain Sarah Gardner Cover Story Writer

A lifelong angler originally from Delaware, Sarah started her fly fishing career 30 years ago in the Chesapeake Bay watershed, but now calls coastal North Carolina home. She is Co-founder of the Chesapeake Women Anglers and Co-instructor at The Black Fly Women’s Bonefish School on Abaco Island, Bahamas. Most days you can find her on “Fly Girl,” her 23’ Jones Brothers Cape Fisherman boat, or hosting international trips to Baja, The Bahamas, and Guatemala with her husband, Capt. Brian Horsley. @CaptSarah

Kristi Williams

Miren Elosegui

Rachael McClendon

Affectionately called the “kid wrangler” by her brother-in-law, Kristi administrates extracurricular programs for children as a profession, while assuming a fly fishing alter-ego as often as possible. She currently lives in the Atlanta area where she enjoys fly fishing with her husband in the North Georgia mountains. Each fall, she travels with her son to join her husband on an Amazonian adventure travel trip to Brazil.

Born in Basque Country, a little region situated in the north of Spain, Miren began fly fishing when she became completely hypnotized by the loops. Fly fishing matches all of her greatest passions: outdoor activities, adventure, and being in touch with nature. She considers herself a fanatic of dry fly fishing using ultralight equipment, seeking out wild trout in well-preserved river sections, and supporting catch-and-release.

Hailing from Nashville, Tennessee, and DUN’s Special Assignment Editor, Rachael is a quintessential wanderlust and adventure junkie. Her passion for fly fishing has taken her to more beautiful places than she could ever imagine. As a busy mom, she excels at juggling multiple projects. She is a true southerner at heart with a down-toearth sense of humor, ability to find good in every circumstance, and love of a good piece of pie.

@NomadicWaters

@MirenLoops

@RachaelOmohundroMcClendon

Writer

Special Assignment Editor

MOTIVATION

Janell's Five qualities of A Great Guide by Janell Fannin

Patience - Regardless of where you are on the spectrum from newbie to virtuoso, you have hired a guide not only to have someone hauling you around the water, but to impart some knowledge about their fishery, and work to give you a memorable day on the water. There is nothing worse than feeling like you’re on a boat for 6-11 hours with your angry dad, who is barking at you with frustration and disappointment, as you bumble a cast with a sink tip line. As Arnold Glasow smartly stated, “The key to everything is patience. You get the chicken by hatching the egg, not by smashing it.” Active Listener - Personally, I’m pretty willing to try new things, and receptive to critique and suggestion. I trust my guide knows the holes and appetite in their water. When they say “let’s try a chartreuse” ... no push back from me. When she points to a hole that I hope I can reach and tells me to strip fast ... fast I’ll strip. With that said, some anglers have their recipes, gear, and technique which they live and die by. The guide’s job is to give you a good day on the water and hopefully get you on some fish, but has to know when to concede if a client isn’t willing to switch rods, flies, technique, or attitude. Being on a boat with a stubborn guide and unwavering client for a day is like being the third wheel on a tragic blind date ... in the middle of the water ... all day ... with no escape, except to swim to shore and hike to the take out. Oh, and when your client asks you to bring a net, for the love of God, bring a net. Humor - I am not a crude person, until I’ve been out all day, skunked a dozen times, and the only thing left is to continue to cast with a glimmer of hope, and a pocket full of blue jokes and commentary. Don’t take the day, the fishing, or each other too seriously. One of my greatest days on the water was in Virginia musky fishing on the New River once the ice had broken. We had a few follows, and it was a long day of constantly casting an 11 weight with sink tip, throwing 9-12 inch articulated flies. But, I’ve not cherished time with two strangers more than my guide and my fishing buddy, whom I had just met.

Steve Dally, from Dally's Ozark Fly Fisher, continues to work hard to find a monster White River brown trout for the DUN crew, despite the tough conditions, with a smile on his face and a fly in his teeth.

5 THINGS TO KNOW

Passion (for the fishery) - Every water I’ve been on with a guide is “the absolute best water.” It’s like getting the hometown date on The Bachelor. They want to show you the ice cream shop they worked in through high school, where they had their first kiss, and hope you see how wonderful their family is; only the ice cream shop is a little tributary, their first kiss is the monster they caught and released, and their family is their home water they’ve invited you to. Having passion for their fishery makes your day memorable. It makes your presence and experience special. Be a good and considerate guest. Tell them how beautiful their home is and be appreciative that they’ve invited you in. Alcohol - Two words. Bring. Booze. I’m not talking about getting riproaring wasted, but a White Russian on the go is a great way to clean up two mini liquor bottles and a shot of coffee creamer. Even if you didn’t take a trophy, you’re alive and doing something you love with like-minded people, and that’s cause to celebrate.

Fall 2018

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Foundation

Ho o k An a t o my by The DUN Team

The hook is an integral part of fly fishing. It is what makes us anglers instead of fishermen, keeps us attached to the fish, and provides a pallet to tie our flies.

DUNmagazine.com

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Spring 2019

photo by Brandon Miller Photography

MOTIVATION

Eye: The eye of the hook is where the tippet is tied. The eye can be upturned, down-turned, or straight. In general, Spey style and salmon hooks have up-turned eyes, dry fly and wet fly hooks have down-turned eyes, and streamer, bass and saltwater hooks have straight eyes. The orientation of the hook eye is largely aesthetic and only comes into play when a knot used to attach the fly to the tippet is affixed to the shank and not the hook eye. Shank: The shank is where the fly is tied and can be thought of as the backbone of the hook. The shank of the hook is usually straight, but can also be curved for Spey and Salmon style hooks, as well as living nymph hooks. The shank length is measured in hook eyes. If a hook is 1XL, that means the hook’s shank is one hook eye longer than the standard hook shank. In like, 1XS means the hook’s shank is one hook eye shorter than the standard size. Shank

Eye

Bend Barb Point

Bend: The bend is the most important part of the hook. This is the part of the hook that helps keep the fish attached to the hook after it has eaten the fly. There are many different types of bends. Some of the more common bends include: Model Perfect bend, Scud/Shrimp bend, and the Stinger bend. The bend style is based on the style of fly you want to tie. If you want to tie a streamer pattern, for instance, you would want to choose a stinger bend over a scud bend. Point and Barb: The point is obviously the pointy part of the hook. Most modern hooks are chemically sharpened making them exceptionally sharp. For larger sized hooks, it is always good practice to sharpen the hooks with a file on a regular basis. The barb, traditionally used to keep bait on the hook, can also help keep the fish on the hook during the fight. One thing to remember about barbs is that many watersheds require barbless hooks. It is up to you to educate yourself on the rules where you fish. Size: Hooks are generally sized in even numbers. The larger the number, the smaller the hook. That all changes once you get into large hook sizes. They are sized in “aught notation” starting at 1/0 (one-aught) and going up from there. There is no uniform standard for hook sizing. It is set by each manufacturer and can vary based on the hook style. As an example, a #2 dry fly hook and a #2 scud hook may not be remotely close to the same size.

BASICS

from every

angle

Stories from extraordinary anglers like you

Just Like

Dad

I don’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t know how to throw a fly line. Fly fishing isn’t in my blood, but my father is. And as a young child I quickly learned that if I wanted to spend time with Dad, getting out with him on the water was the answer to my wish.

story by Jordyn Powell written by Becca K. Powell

photo Bryson Stalnaker

Spring 2019

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DUNmagazine.com

photo Chris Sheridan

from every angle

rowing up in a separated family wasn’t always the easiest. Dad left mom and our hometown of Destin when I was two to pursue his music career in Atlanta. I caught my first trout on the Chattahoochee River when I was three. Mom, my brother, and I had gone up to Georgia to visit Dad. I don’t remember that day, but the photo of me lying next to that rainbow trout is proof. And the stories he loves to tell about teaching me to cast a fly rod at two years old in the driveway back that up.

so I went. It made him happy. And because we didn’t see each other all the time, I wanted to soak up every moment with Dad that I could.

The years I do remember visiting Dad, he had moved to North Carolina. If we weren’t playing music with his bandmates and friends, we were doing something outdoors. Camping was a favorite, but then there was the fly fishing.

I caught my first double on a trip to N.C. when I was seven. We were fishing one of the beautiful blue lines of the Pisgah National Forest near Asheville. Dad had parked the car and we were working sections of the stream—fishing our way up the watershed. We had come to this gorgeous little rock where you could hunker down and the fish couldn’t see you. Dad had rigged up a dry dropper for me and told me to creep down to hide behind the rock and let out the perfect little close cast. I followed his direction and felt the first fish take the nymph.

The best part of my fly fishing adventures with Dad were all of the firsts I got to experience with him as I learned the sport. He would be so proud of me, and that kept me coming back for more. I wanted to be just like him. I guess you could say I was a Daddy’s girl.

I guess you could say I was a daddy’s girl.

photo Bryson Stalnaker

I didn’t really like fishing at first. It required so much patience! Instead, I would swim in the rivers and play in waterfalls. I fondly remember the giant rocks that we would slide down. It was so much fun! But still, I knew I would be able to spend more time with Dad if I joined him on his fishing trips—and

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Spring 2019

MOTIVATION

As I set the hook, I felt the second fish take the dry fly—and off they went. As the two little wild rainbow trout took my line, I remember the mixed emotions. I was scared that I wasn’t going to land them, but so excited at the same time. It takes many fly anglers years to land their first double, and, in Dad’s words, here I was “pro-ing it up at seven years old.” When he scooped them up in the landing net, I was thrilled. They still had the parr marks on them and were absolutely beautiful. We snapped some pictures and then I released them back into the wild. Dad made sure to teach me the importance of catch and release, and being a good steward of the environment early in life. We fished barbless hooks for the most part, and always made sure we handled the fish we caught with care. “Keep them wet” was etched into my brain. I remember the first time Dad told me we were going to take the speckled trout home that had been gill hooked during one of his visits to Destin. I was horrified! But he taught me to only harvest the fish that I would eat that night. I would not be a “stack them and stock them in the freezer” fly angler! Dad taught me right, and it was a lesson I would continue to carry with me into my teen years.

MEMORIES

photo Bryson Stalnaker

Dad taught me right

Spring 2019

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from every angle

photo Bryson Stalnaker

from every angle

photo Justin P0well

But my time as a budding fly angler with my Dad was more than just on the water. He introduced me to fly tying at eight years old. I loved the artistic side of the sport. He had set up a tying station for us in his living room that summer and showed me how to tie a black woolly bugger. I wore that fly out that trip, catching trout and bass all summer long. When I was nine, Dad started to get into kayak fly fishing. Mom had these yellow and green ocean kayaks that my grandparents had given her. Dad and I rigged them up to go fishing at night under the dock lights when he’d come visit. I caught my very first speckled trout off that kayak. Soon my uncle and brother started fishing with us on the kayaks when Dad came to visit. It became a family sport, and brought us all together—which, of course, I loved. But I was still a little girl, and sometimes my time on the water wasn’t always the best (no matter how much I wanted to “stick it out” to make Dad happy). I remember the time he came to visit right after my birthday and invited me to go night fishing. It was an unusually cold spring and I didn’t want to go, but of course I agreed. It was quality time with Dad after all, which was the birthday present I had really wanted most. It was midnight when we finally got out on the water. I remember kayaking for hours in that cold wind, absolutely miserable. We only caught one fish that night, a four-pound blue fish. When I pulled it into the kayak, it immediately threw up shrimp all over me. That’s when the tears started flowing and Dad knew it was time to go home.

You can’t win them all.

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Spring 2019

MOTIVATION

photo Justin P0well

Remember that patience I mentioned earlier? Well, I finally gained it when I turned 12. Later that summer, Dad invited me to join him at ICAST. It was there where I started to find my place in the fly fishing community. Dad had just released his short film Stonefly: The Spiritual Journey of a Fly Fisherman, and was on the lookout for sponsors to get more involved in the industry. We had visited a number of newer companies and soon found ourselves at the Jackson Kayak booth. Dad started sharing pictures of us fishing, when the man with Jackson asked if I was interested in joining their Junior Pro-Staff. ME! I couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t believe it. This was supposed to be about Dad finding sponsors, but they had asked ME. I was beyond excited! Dad, who now works full-time in the fly fishing industry, jokes about me being the first Powell on the Jackson Kayak pro-team and how I set the standard for him to follow in my footsteps. Had the student become the teacher? Definitely not. But I did know that I had the best teacher a girl could ask for, and his love, guidance, and support was paying off.

photo Bryson Stalnaker

MEMORIES

When we got back to North Carolina from ICAST, Dad and I got to working on my bio for the Jackson Kayak website. I also started to beef up my Instagram page. After all, Dad had taught me that social media was the way to engage more people in the sport and to gain recognition for future sponsorships. The more involved I got on Instagram, the more my fishing adventures would get reposted. I started to meet other young fly anglers. I was finding my own voice in the fly fishing community.

Spring 2019

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from every angle

I named him Leroy!

photo Justin P0well

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Spring 2019

MOTIVATION

photo Charles Warren

Now, at 14, I still treasure my time on the water with Dad. He has since left N.C. and moved to Atlanta where he works for The Orvis Company (I’m now the proud owner of my very own 8-wt, waders, and boots that actually fit, and Fishewear pack). I always look forward to the opportunity to get out on the river with Dad and my step-mom, Becca, when I come to visit. Last Thanksgiving holiday I caught my first big brown trout on the Soque River. I thought I had gotten my line snagged on a log when the fish took the fly. Much to my surprise, it was a 22” beautiful brown. I named him Leroy. This year I hooked some football-sized rainbows up at Dad and Becca’s favorite fishing spot in Helen, Ga., And fingers crossed, I’m looking forward to going tarpon fishing in Islamorada for spring break. It’ll be my first time fishing the flats. I can’t wait. I still have a lot to learn about fly fishing. Dad always tells me that it is a lifelong journey, and I can’t wait to experience every part of it. What started off as a way to spend quality time with my father, turned into something I’m actually quite good at! And I am forever grateful for the experiences I’ve had along the way—even the tearful ones.

photo Charles Warren

MEMORIES

So, for the young girls out there looking to spend quality time with their Dad (or mom) on the water, I say GO FOR IT! It may be frustrating at first, but once you get the hang of it, you’ll start to enjoy it. And then it becomes really fun. It just takes time. And if your Dad frustrates you trying to teach you like mine does, keep at it. And one day, if you’re lucky, you’ll get to out fish him, too.⚘ ⚘ 

Spring 2019

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from every angle

Reminder by Paige Wallace

photo DUN Magazine

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Spring 2019

MOTIVATION

I’m

standing in the middle of a river. The water flows indigo blue, with a gentle current. It bends and twists through ancient fir trees and wild grasses. The air smells of tree sap and a wisp of campfire smoke.

Instead of taking in the beauty of this place, I’m focused on the tiny fly I’m trying to attach to my fishing line. The eye of the hook is so small I have to squint to see it. I’m annoyed because even once I manage to tie it on, I’m pretty sure it won’t catch any of the fish in this river. This is the fifth fly I’ve tried in this hole, all of which look exactly like the bugs the trout are eating, in my opinion. The fish seem to have a different opinion. They are rising, of course. They are all over the place, near my fly and even near me. They are damn near pissing me off. This river flows out of an underground spring just upstream, which means the water is so cold I can’t feel my toes. I can, however, feel my growing frustration. I can’t tie a decent knot today, but my stomach is bound up like one. I can’t escape my own impatience, even though I carry no devices to beep, or tweet, or buzz me. I drove four long hours to get here. I find my mind drifting back to my daily office job with its relentless tasks, meaningless meetings, and faded and outdated tan fabric of cubicle walls. The window that taunts me with its freedom. Facing deadlines while dreaming of fly lines. Wait. Why am I thinking about the things I hate, while doing this thing I love? Remember why you came here, I tell myself. New thoughts rise over me like a hatch of fluttering mayflies. I came here to relax. To enjoy myself. To listen to the sounds of wildlife, breathe in the earthy scents, devour the stunning scenery. To soak up some sun. To laugh with my fishing buddies. I also came here to catch fish. But this, I realize, is mostly an afterthought. So I climb out of the river, rest my rod against the trunk of a fallen tree, and sit down next to it on the bank. I watch a pair of wood ducks float by on the current. I listen to trout rising for caddis flies, that gentle popping sound they make when their mouths just lightly break the water’s surface. I warm my feet in the sun. I watch a friend cast for a while, skillfully and elegantly, then hook and land a gorgeous rainbow trout. Something inside me releases as she gently unhooks the fish and lowers it below the surface. It darts swiftly back into the rocky depths, to safety. That night I sit around the campfire listening to my friends’ stories. We talk about the catches of the day. About trout we landed today, and those we lost. About how we fell in love with fly fishing, with our partners, with this magical place. About survival skills in the woods, and coping skills for everyday life back home in the city. About the time our friend bought a tent at a garage sale only to get here and discover the poles were too short—but he slept in it all weekend, even though it was only three feet tall. All evening the whiskey keeps flowing, and so does the laughter. We pause only briefly, to listen to the yips and yowls of a lone coyote, just over the hill. Later, snuggled in my sleeping bag, I’m drifting off to sleep to these soothing sounds. For a moment my emotions bubble up again, like hundreds of trout rising to the surface to feast on an evening hatch. In my mind I am standing in the water, watching the setting sunlight flicker on the current, feeling the river wrap itself around my legs like a gentle hug. I didn’t catch a single fish today, but I don’t care. I’m no longer frustrated or annoyed. I’m relaxed and comfy, and I can feel my feet again. Even more importantly, I can feel my heart again. 

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Breathe in by Willow Rutter

breathes

My family lives and fly fishing. When it comes to breathing fly fishing, you might say I have asthma.

hen my parents mentioned going to Trout Adventure Camp in Tremont’s Great Smoky Mountains National Park, I was not convinced it was what I wanted to do for a week over my precious summer break. Here’s the kicker though—I went and I had a blast! Trout Adventure Camp is a five-day summer camp where you spend the week learning all about fly fishing and everything that comes with it. The camp is run by Trout Unlimited, an organization that focuses on trout, nature, and keeping it protected and just as beautiful as it is now for generations to come. During the camp you learn everything you could ever need to know about the water you’re fishing and everything around it. There are multiple camps around the country, but the one I stayed at was in the Great Smoky Mountain National Park. We stayed in a “tent village” with a small group of kids our age. Obviously, the same gender kids stayed in each tent. There were between 5 and 10 tents that each had four sets of bunk beds in them, and our camp only took up three of them. There were 14 campers between the ages of 12 and 15. There were 10 boys and, well, you can do the math, four girls including me. It was a great

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group, and the other girls and I became like one single unit. The only bad thing about it was that us girls had cameras in our faces all week because we were the largest group of girls ever to be at our local trout camp. So, if you’re a teenage girl and you are interested in this camp, you need to look up Trout Adventure Camp and see if there is one near you, or you can come to mine! If you’re a teenage girl and you’re a little hesitant about camp, you should keep reading. Maybe you’ll change your mind. I mean, come on, we can’t let the boys completely take over the river! The Great Smoky Mountains Institute at Tremont was where the camp took place, and I’m not sure there could be a better spot for Trout Adventure Camp. The food was great, the people were great, and the location couldn’t be better. Everything there taught us about what our awesome National Park holds. There was a classroom we used to compare our flies with the bugs we were mimicking. There were a few streams out behind the main building where we caught fish, bugs, crawdads, and salamanders. You name it! The staff was also really cool! After the first night of camp, the overnight counselor for the girls got sick and had to leave. Fortunately, one of the Tremont Staff girls stayed with us instead.

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photo courtesy of Trout Adventure Camp

Everyday there were one or two main events throughout the day, and trust me when I say, all of them were very exciting! On our first full day of camp, we had a fly casting demonstration. We immediately tried out our new casting skills in the stream right behind where we were practicing. After that, we tried to cast our fly in a soup bowl or a large frisbee. On my favorite day of camp, we got to snorkel in what everyone calls “The Y”. This is a spot where two major forks of the river join into one larger stream. A “Y”, get it? To be clear, I have spent most of my 13 years on Earth in the river, messing with the creatures in it, but I have never seen crawdads as big as I did that day. There were an abundance of tangerine darters, salamanders, crawdads, and many other little fish. That morning, we spent time monitoring the river with the Great Smoky Mountains National Park Fisheries Biologists. Later that afternoon, after all the excitement, the weather gave up on us. Rain was coming down in sheets and wouldn’t stop. What we ended up doing was playing this game that was a cross between “Trivial Pursuit” and “Monopoly,” but all the questions had to do with bugs and aquatic life. Another thing we got to do was learn how to tie flies every night. During the week we also got two days with a volunteer/ guide on the water. Our first day with a guide was on Norton Creek, which is on private property and is dotted with original art from one of the owners. On our last full day of camp, we spent the day in the National Park with a guide. That day I got one fish and my fellow camper that went with me got four, but that wasn’t because my fishing was bad. It was because of my fishing asthma.

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Almost every night we had a different guest speaker before or after tying flies. One night we had a man come in who talked about all the different types of bugs! His presentation was really cool. He compared actual bugs to the flies we were making because, of course, we were learning how to tie the flies. Up to that point, we hadn’t considered what we were trying to mimic. After the presentation, he took us outside where he had a white curtain over a bright light. He showed us how he took pictures of the bugs, and how we could do the same thing at home. The funniest part of the whole thing was seeing the boys’ reactions when they tried to mess with our small group of girls. All the guys at camp were really into all the insects, while all the girls, except me, were really not. They would throw a bug at us and the other girls would flip out, while I would just chuckle and watch it crawl and be like, “Hey there, little buddy!” Bugs have never really phased me. Except spiders. I do not like spiders. Anyway, after that, I had a few allies that helped me get rid of the overabundance of bug spray. That night is what became for the rest of the week as “The Spider Holocaust”. The girls sprayed so much bug spray there was no way it was safe to breathe in our tent. We ended up leaving the bug net closed on our tent, but left the doors and windows open. It was so bad we had to leave the tent, and go to the main building to take a shower, and play cards with the other campers.

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photo Ben Mellon

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photo Ben Mellon

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photo courtesy of Trout Adventure Camp

One day, after a long day of fishing, I had a long conversation about my favorite Vines with Emma, a 15-year-old camper. No, not a long crawling plant, but seven-second viral videos. In the mix of the conversation, a vine that involves a Shakira impression was brought up. That was when I realized that not everyone can make a noise in the back of their throat, that sounds a lot like Shakira, but I can.

I know I wasn’t the only one who enjoyed camp, because I asked a few other campers what their favorite part of camp was, and these were their responses.

Now, I promise I didn’t just tell you some weird random talent I discovered, and a bug killing spree at my camp to take up space in a magazine. I wrote this to promote that Trout Adventure Camp isn’t just Trout Adventure Camp. Yes, you learn about fishing and the nature that surrounds you, but you also make some awesome friends and memories you will never forget. And when I say that, I’m not just saying that so you can imagine some picture-perfect summer camp right out of a Disney movie. I’m saying that because I truly mean it. For example, I forgot to bring my neoprene booties to camp for wet wading and one other girl had too, so what the other two girls did was wear their waders so we wouldn’t have to struggle in the heat by ourselves. When we were first asked why we were wearing our waders instead of wet wading when it was 80 degrees outside, the other two girls brushed it off and said, “It’s a fashion statement!” It was a joke at first, and we eventually got booties to wear instead of the heavy waders, but it was really helpful for me and the other girl, and really showed us that we didn’t need to worry about getting along!

I liked getting to fish with my guide on Friday!” —Ivan Whitus

ADVENTURE

“I liked getting to know different people while learning something completely new!” —Renee Wilson

“I made friends that live in other states than me, and learned about a new type of fishing than what I am used to.” —Emma Clegg What this really shows is that it doesn’t take a person to be constantly outside to appreciate the outdoors. Yes, I’ve been raised outside, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything, but I’m not the only kid out there who loves the outdoors. Camps like this really help keep kids in nature and teach them to keep it clean. This is a long-term goal for Trout Unlimited. They want to make sure that in 20 years, or so, kids that go to Trout Adventure Camp will take their kids to rivers and streams, and continue this legacy. So, go to TnTroutAdventure.org to discover your Shakira impressions, insectophobia, and of course, to get a fly rod in your hand! 

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by Sarah Clark

Chica de Mayo An annual event celebrating women in fly fishing for 11 years photos Laurie Lane

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ach year in early May, The River’s Edge and SIMMS Fishing Products host a women’s fly-fishing event in Bozeman – Chica de Mayo, an annual gathering that has evolved into the largest women’s fly-fishing event in Montana, the United States, and well, probably in the world! This event celebrates women in fly-fishing and offers educational clinics, phenomenal speakers, prizes, a cocktail party and networking, and much more. The upcoming 2019 event will mark the 11th Annual Chica de Mayo – a labor of love and cause to celebrate.

Above: Networking, socializing, and silent auctions in the lobby of SIMMS Fishing Products world headquarters in Bozeman, MT

When we first held this event in 2009, we hoped for maybe 20 to 30 women to attend … 60 women showed up! In the early years, Chica de Mayo was held on a Thursday night for a two-hour timeframe at the fly shop. However, as more and more women continued to show up and bring their friends, we realized we needed to change the event format. In 2016, we shifted Chica de Mayo to a

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Above left: Participants engaged in program portion of event. Keynote speakers include women anglers with vast knowledge and experience in fishing and conservation Above right: The 2018 marketing and signature cocktails created by Bozeman Spirits Distillery

Saturday afternoon four-hour format, and moved it out to the larger River’s Edge – West location. This format has accommodated our participants and allowed us to amp up our education component. I honestly think we could turn Chica de Mayo into a weekend event - with a lot more space and funding of course (insert hinting laugh). Speaking of funding, 2018 was the first year we were able to secure outside sponsorships from two amazing Bozeman organizations - Madison-Gallatin Trout Unlimited and Yellow Dog Community and Conservation Foundation. Their generous support, along with our 50+ industry and community donors, helped offset event expenses, which allowed us to make the 10th Annual Chica de Mayo the best one yet. I am hopeful for continued support this year to allow us to keep improving the overall experience for ladies. Survey feedback from last year’s event revealed that most participants are interested in Friday night pre-events and more education on conservation and casting. Oh, and they would also like to see more beverages! In summary, they’re educationally and literally thirsty for more (#beer). From this information received, we are currently planning a Friday night pre-event and making plans for special, early sign-up morning clinics for our 11th annual event. Wait, what? Is that nearly a full weekend event I smell? The number and diversity of women that want to connect with other female anglers, and learn about this lifetime

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sport is simply astounding. We’ve reached maximum capacity at around 200+ women who have consistently showed up the past several years. How cool is it that there are even a handful of ladies that have attended every Chica de Mayo event? The expansion of Chica de Mayo has led to more discussion and action around conservation. It’s only natural that an event that seeks to educate women about fly fishing also includes this crucial piece. Guest speakers have presented on Kick Plastic, Aquatic Invasive Species, and other topics, and have shared their personal work journey in conservation. Several local conservation organizations have recently joined in to educate and invite women to their boots-on-the-ground projects. It’s exciting to grow this passion in women anglers towards preserving the health of our fish, rivers, and habitat. Throughout the day, merchandise sales, and pink bucket raffles also raise funds for Casting for Recovery — a non-profit organization offering breast cancer survivors a unique retreat program that combines breast cancer education and peer support with the therapeutic sport of fly fishing. “From the 2018 event fundraising, a check for $10,000 was presented to Casting for Recovery — double the amount raised in 2017,” said Diane Bristol, SIMMS Sr. Director, Employee & Community Engagement. “Between this and

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Above: Drift boat and bowing techniques Opposite top: Entomology for fly fishing Opposite bottom: Bidding on silent auction items

the continued growth in participation, it indicates that women are not only excited to potentially win an amazing prize, but also really want to support other women and get out fly fishing.” "We're so pumped to be the charity partner of Chica de Mayo," said Whitney Milhoan, Executive Director of Casting for Recovery. "The outpouring of love and support from SIMMS, The River's Edge, and the women's' fly fishing community at this event is so incredible. All of the money raised will be applied directly toward providing healing fly fishing experiences for women with breast cancer. We're so grateful!" Last year’s dollar amount raised at Chica de Mayo provided the River’s Edge the opportunity to join SIMMS as a Casting for Recovery National Sponsor. This kind of support from participants is incredible, especially when I

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look back on our early years of fundraising to give back to our community. We have come a long way! Chica de Mayo is pulled off on a small budget, a testimony to what creative planning, industry support, and generous community donors can build. Call it fortuitous or call it random, but the 11th Annual Chica de Mayo falls on May 11th this year! The River’s Edge and SIMMS Fishing Products would like to invite all women anglers, near and far, to attend this year’s Chica de Mayo. As the date draws closer, a team of incredible lady anglers are highly motivated to make this year an epic celebration of women who fly fish. Watch The River’s Edge and SIMMS Fishing Products Instagram and Facebook feeds for updates and to plan your trip to Bozeman to help us celebrate 11 years! 

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Fish Camp My Tribe, My Invisible Net

Running. That was the original connection. I am a fortunate woman to have lived in two, now three, different communities and developed an amazing tribe of women in both. by Paige Fletcher photos by Phyllis Bairrington

The

cherry on top is that they are now integrated into one big tribe supporting each other across three states. We all met pursuing a common interest, running. From there, coffee, and our affinity for donuts, grew into running and breakfast, which soon turned into happy hours and shenanigans. It did not take long to form bonds with these women that have withstood time and distance. We are stronger because of each other, and imagining life without them brings me to my knees. Of course, it was inevitable that we would extend our adventures to fishing. We had already taken on knitting (friends, if you like to fish you will like to knit; very similar zen moments and ridiculous results). My eastern tribe and I developed the Greater Chattanooga Area Co-Ed Knitting Tequila Club

CONQUER

(GCCKTC). Because what isn’t more fun with a little tequila thrown in there? And some of our men were actually interested in learning to knit. Turns out, it was a scam to drink tequila, so we dropped them and kept the tequila. My husband and I moved to Colorado last year. The first few months after moving were consumed with all the things a new location brings. Nesting, learning your community, and because it's Colorado, camping, hiking, biking, running, snowshoeing, and skiing took up a good bit of summer, fall, and early winter. I missed my tribal connections and began to look for ways to meet new people to weave into my tapestry of friends. Like most grand fishing adventures, mine was hatched on a snowy winter day. I was reading DUN Magazine and dreaming of warmer fishing days when I discovered women-only fishing trips/classes. I know, I’m late to the game here, but I’m catching on quickly. The thought of women buddies heading out to the water to do what we do best, have fun, support each other, and love each other, filled me with excitement. One more venue to share life, test our limits, and restore our balance. I found women’s fishing clinics and trips in various states that all sounded like the dream vacation. My challenge was geography, time, and accessibility. My two tribes are in Austin, TX and Chattanooga, TN. I live in Woodland Park, CO. Getting people from Texas and Tennessee to places like Montana, Idaho, or Alaska was asking a bit much for the first adventure. Woodland Park is in the Pikes Peak region with the South Platte and Arkansas waters closely accessible. I’m a big proponent of shopping local, so my next call was to our local fly shop.

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from every angle Jeremy Hyatt, owner of Flies & Lies in Deckers, CO was enthusiastically supportive. I asked him if he would be willing to put on a two to three day women’s fishing clinic for us, and he didn’t hesitate to say, you bet! My adventure was shaping up nicely on that winter morning! Next, of course, we needed some adventurees. Marketing is everything, so I composed a tantalizing, with a little bit of guilt, text message, and shot it out to the tribe. I was turning 50 and I dubbed this my “Year of 50”. I can’t recall the specifics, but the text definitely had the words, “epic adventure” and “you can’t miss a Year of 50 Celebration” in it. I immediately began getting responses. This is why these women are my tribe. Our adventure morphed into “Women’s Week” culminating in the two day fishing clinic with Flies & Lies. I received such an overwhelming response to the “Year of 50 Celebration” hook, I kept adding days and activities to gather as many people as possible. My new marketing pitch was, “Whether you can make the fishing days or not, c’mon out and spend some time hiking, drinking tequila/knitting, and just sharing life with each other.” The first night around the dinner table, holding hands and saying what we were grateful for had not a dry eye in the house. The power of women sharing and caring is unmatched. It never ceases to amaze me, and heal me in ways I don't know I need.

FINALLY, it’s was here!

Day one of our fishing adventure. My mom and my aunt were among the participants, two women who have taught me strength and perseverance, let alone how to fish! My mom is the best angler in our family and still holds this title!

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We started out in “class” where we learned some knots, and how to set up our own rigs. We moved quickly to casting practice, which could not have been more fun, and led to internet searches for hula hoops! We finished the first day thoroughly exhausted. Around the dinner table that night was excitement and energy that comes with learning something new, and eagerness to do more of it. And tequila. Always tequila. The next day was fueled with coffee and biscuits. Most of this group is from Tennessee, and Tennesseans know how to make biscuits. Off we went to get some fish!

And fish we did! The whoops and hollers made us feel like kids again. The magic of standing in the river absorbing all the beauty around you, trying to outwit a fish whose very survival depends on outwitting you, is unrivaled in my book. I imagine it’s like the gamblers in Vegas who keep feeding the coins into the slot machine. The next cast will be it! Jackpot! We ended the trip with a few more angling friends, and another experience shared that binds us together. The energy is exciting for our friendships and for fishing. Our social media posts generated excitement and surprise from our followers. As a result, one of the ladies was invited onto a radio show to talk about her experience fishing. Another bought her own outfit, and now goes fishing after work. All of us have already started planning the next Fish Camp, and the folks who could not make it are putting it on the calendar now. We are including our daughters in our next Women’s Week to encourage the next generation. I can’t think of a better result from this Year of 50 Fish Camp than to have ignited the fire in more women with the intent to share it with our daughters. The invisible net grows stronger with each fiber.◈ 

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Where the World Ends by Judy Muller photos by George Lewis

ome time ago, when I first started toying with the idea of a trip to Patagonia to fish for trout, a good non-angling friend asked me an interesting question. “Why,” she wondered, “would someone spend thousands of dollars to travel thousands of miles to catch the same kind of fish that could be caught in rivers much closer to home, and then, after all that effort and expense, release those fish back into the water?” What seemed absurd to her seemed entirely sensible to me. “Because,” I replied, “that ‘someone’ is about to turn 70, because life is short and knees are weak, and the chance to wade in beautiful rivers in faraway places and connect even briefly with wild creatures is finite.” Actually, my answer was not nearly as polished as that, but one of the benefits of writing a fish story is the right to take some editorial liberties.

read about in a fly-fishing catalogue, the lodge at "El Saltamontes," which means “the grasshopper.” It promised miles and miles of private water, from rivers to spring creeks to lakes, where huge trout were waiting for the grasshoppers that regularly blow into the water, providing a feast that is easily replicated by an artificial dry fly. The lodge only takes 10 guests at a time, providing fishing guides, fine cuisine, and spectacular scenery. I booked it for two, figuring I had a whole year to find someone who might like to go with me, or, as my brother John put it, “to get lucky.” I didn’t, so my brother volunteered to go with me, which turned out to be a perfect choice. We grew up in a family of anglers, and have shared many fish stories over the years. “Dad would have loved this!” became our mantra on this trip, uttered at least once a day, accompanied by the kind of reminiscing that could only have been appreciated by someone who shares your life history. At this age, in fact, we are the only ones left who share that common history, a point that was not lost on either of us. Fly fishing for trout is a pleasure that stretches back to my childhood, which is probably why it has the power to make me feel like a child. When I wade into a river, peer below the surface of the clear mountain water, see the quick glint of sun reflecting off the back of a rainbow trout or the gold streak of a brown trout darting out from behind a rock or from under the riverbank, my heart quickens just a bit, and in a good way. I become absorbed in that place and that moment. And just for that moment, I forget about all the grown-up stuff I’ve left behind — demands and deadlines, taxes, and teaching. And if I’m lucky enough to fool that fish with an artificial grasshopper tied to the end of my line, I will have the thrill of seeing it charge up from a pool or riffle. And if, in that moment, I can summon the requisite skill, I will set the hook and keep the line tight enough to bring him to the net, where a quick meet-and-greet ends with slipping the hook out and releasing him unharmed back to the river. None of those steps — the cast, the strike, the landing, the release — is guaranteed, no matter how many fish have connected with my line over the years. Each encounter is brand new, an adrenaline rush that never grows old, even as I do.

As for the part about putting the fish back in the river, I realize that catch and release fishing is a mystery to non-anglers, and I have given up trying to explain why conserving a fishery is so important, and why, as a famous angler once said, a trout is too beautiful to be caught just once. For the sake of the larger point here, let’s just move along.

Starting with my family, then with various friends and lovers, I have fished in some magical places, from Yellowstone to New Zealand, from the Catskills to Canada, from the Sierras to the Rockies, and in places with exotic names like the River of No Return Wilderness. Patagonia was the Shangri-La of them all, and while expectations are often “disappointments under construction,” as they say, my expectations in this case were not just realized, but surpassed.

The larger point has to do with time’s winged chariot hurrying near, as the poem goes, “hurrying” being the operative term. About a year before I was to turn 70, it occurred to me that I probably had about 15 good years left, if the family’s average life expectancy means anything, and that I should do those things that might not be doable for too much longer. Fishing in the Patagonia region of Chile was one of those things. Chile, in the language of the indigenous peoples, means “where the world ends,” which has a nice ring to it, bucket-list-wise. So I impulsively booked a trip to a place I had

Getting there involved a 12-hour flight from Los Angeles to Santiago, a three-day layover in that capital city, and a 3-hour flight to southern Chile’s Aisen region, to a little airport in Balmaceda, followed by a 2-hour drive to the ranch. Our host, Jose Gorrono, met us at the airport. In the fly fishing catalogue that first drew my attention to El Saltamontes Lodge, Gorrono is described as a “modern Renaissance man,” the real-life version of the “most interesting man in the world” from the Dos Equis ad. The skeptic in my journalist brain scoffed, chalking it up to typical tourist brochure hyperbole.

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Then I met the guy.

During our week with Jose on his massive estancia, we learned that Jose had designed and built his own electrical generator back in the 80’s, and shared the excess electricity with the local community. He designed and built the beautiful lodge and cabins out of local river stone and rough-hewn logs from the ranch property, where he raises prize horses and alpacas. He had sailed the Pacific Ocean by himself from Chile to Australia many times, and once had to repair his own boat at sea to survive. He had searched for, and succeeded in finding, sunken treasure. And, he had pulled off a self-rescue after a skiing fall during an avalanche, managing to do so with a compound fracture of his arm. What Jose does not do, apparently, is fly fish. It took a visiting angler (an American) to clue him in to the spectacular fishing conditions on his estancia, which prompted him to set up the fishing lodge some years ago. Also, it should be noted, he is a quite dashing 60-something, with a head of dazzling white hair and a smile to match. So when Jose flashed those pearly-whites my way, it took me a moment to digest his first words to us. “I do have some news,” he said, adding, “You two are the only guests at the lodge this week.” For some couples this might have been received as a great windfall: the whole place to ourselves, complete with a master fishing guide and a chef, not to mention a genial host with amazing stories to tell, and miles and miles of great trout-fishing water. My sister-in-law, Susie, would no doubt have been delighted at the prospect of a week to explore a strange land, with exotic birds and plants (she doesn’t really like to fish). But as brother and sister, the prospect of having to spend the next six days talking mostly to each other was something of a daunting prospect. To file under “watch out what you ask for,” we had been dreading the prospect of sharing our vacation time with, say, Americans who wanted to bring up politics at the dinner table. In fact, we were sure that the six very loud Americans aboard our flight from Santiago might be headed for the same lodge, and we were preparing ourselves for a lot of “letting it go” moments. When those guys headed off with another fishing outfit, and Jose told us the news that we would be alone at the estancia, we had to shift our expectations dramatically. This was not one of those moments where we thought, “Dad would have loved this!” Our parents were extremely gregarious people, collecting other people’s life stories like so many souvenirs of each trip. Could we really go a whole week without devolving into sibling rivalry, snarky remarks, and suggestions for self-improvement aimed, of course, at the other person?

FAMILY

The fact that we did so says a lot about a) the power of meditation, and b) the power of nostalgia and shared stories, the kind of stories that would bore other people, but not us, because we were the stars of these stories. There was the time, for example, on a family fishing trip to Yellowstone, when my brother abruptly interrupted his evening bath, stopping his ablutions midstream, because he suddenly saw trout rising to a hatch of insects. I have a lovely rear-view photo of him, wearing nothing but his boots and a hat, hooking a very nice fish. For his part, he regrets that someone (can’t imagine who) lost the video he once took of me false-casting a very, very small trout on my line, back and forth, back and forth, totally unaware that I had caught a fish. In my defense, and because I am the one writing this story, I want to point out that it was a very, very, very small fish. Anyone could have missed it. And then there was the time we had just come back from a week long trip in Montana, when my father almost died from the rupture of an aortic aneurysm. When he was later recovering from emergency open-heart surgery in Billings, I asked him, “Dad, what would we have done if your aneurysm had ruptured just days earlier, when we were still in the back country?” And he responded, without even a pause, “I would hope you would have had the good sense to prop me up against a tree and keep on fishing. The trip was paid for, after all.” With a lifetime of such memories to sustain us, and a full week of fishing to create even more of them, we soon settled into a daily rhythm on the estancia. Our cabin had two enormous bedrooms, each with a private bath, and a magnificent view of the river valley. Huge trout in the pond below our porch provided a spectacular air show every morning and evening, leaping for insects and plunging back down with a satisfying splash, producing overlapping rings backlit by some of the most astonishing sunrises, and lovely sunsets, I have ever seen. Each morning at 7:30 am, one of the ranch hands would show up to build a fire in our wood stove, and bring us coffee. By 9:00 am, we had walked to the lodge to have breakfast with Jose and Brett Just, the chief fishing guide for the ranch who would be heading home for Alaska after we departed. We were there in March, which is late summer/early fall in Chile, and we learned that not only were we the only two guests that week, but we would be the last guests of their season. Over breakfast each day, Brett would help us choose that day’s fishing location from the many miles of private water on the ranch, which amounted to pretty much anywhere we wanted to go, given that we didn’t have to share the water with others.

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from every angle At 10:00 am or so, Brett would show up at our cabin with a four-wheel drive vehicle, equipped with a picnic lunch for a streamside repast. All dressed up in our waders and layers of clothing, to be removed as rising temperatures demanded, we would head out for new stretches of the river or creek, or on one spectacular day, a lake with a view of snow-capped mountain peaks that mark the border with Argentina. The Patagonia region is spread across both countries, and the fishing is worldclass in both. Somewhere around 1:00 pm, we’d stop fishing as Bret spread out the lunch for us next to the river, usually delicious soup or stew prepared that morning by the chef, with fresh fruit and chocolate. Somehow, having a small bar of chocolate every day began to seem not only normal, but necessary. When you are wearing waders, the insanity of this is not readily apparent. And then there was the fishing. One visitor, who later wrote about this place for a fishing magazine, called it “possibly the best trout-fishing water in the world.” I don’t have the credentials to make a statement like that, but I certainly can concur that the fishing was extraordinary. Every time I waded out into the Nireguao River, Brett at my side (my brother preferred to fish alone, a short distance away), and cast my line into a pool next to a rock, or some other stretch of liquid perfection, and watched a fish suddenly rush up from the depths and lunge for my fly, I was immersed in a moment of wonder, crystallized around my connection with what was at the other end of my line. I missed a lot of fish, which would normally be a bummer, but not here, because the opportunities to adjust your cast, your approach, your landing, were always there. So was Brett, who gave excellent advice on how to make those slight adjustments. More important, perhaps, he was there to lend his arm for support. Once upon a (less-arthritic) time, I used to wade into the current with little fear, but I was due for a double knee replacement soon, and my shoulder had just undergone rotator cuff surgery several months before this trip.

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I was understandably much more cautious wading into deeper water than I used to be, but was surprised to realize that this did not make me feel old. It made me feel profoundly grateful that I could still find a way to do this thing I love so much, even if it meant hanging on to someone’s arm in tricky current, and relying on his steady stride. My brother, who is a few years older, has already had both knees replaced, and both shoulders repaired. He is in great physical condition, and a master fly angler, but even he relied on a wading staff much of the time. No matter. Slowing down has a lot of benefits, not the least of which is being more mindful of everything around you. Some of the best visual memories from this trip, now packed away in my overstuffed brain, had nothing to do with catching fish but with catching a glimpse of something brand new – an ibis staring back from the bank, a Kingfisher in the bough over the pool I was fishing, an alpaca staring through the trees, his fuzzy head framing enormous eyes. At the end of these days, we would head back to the cabin for a warm shower before another wonderful dinner at the main lodge, preceded by homemade empanadas and local wines if you desire. There is no WiFi at the lodge or in the cabin, making it necessary to walk down the road a bit to Jose’s house if you want to connect to the outside world. Each afternoon, we would spend about a half hour in Jose’s kitchen reading our e-mail and catching up on news, but I was astonished to find that I needed no more than that. After a few days of internet detox, in fact, I debated whether it was really worth the walk. The first step to recovery, as they say, is admitting you have a problem. This was one of the biggest “catches” of the week for me, this realization that my life might be more expansive if my digital connections were more limited. But this is a fish story, after all, so I should end with something more substantial and less metaphorical. Although, in this case, it may be impossible to separate the two.

MOTIVATION

Everyone always wants to know about the biggest fish you caught, but I have found, over the years, that the best stories are about the biggest fish you didn’t catch. This was true when I fished with an all-woman’s team in the New Zealand One-Fly Contest (you are allowed one fly on your line for the whole day) and hooked a brown trout so enormous that I thought I had snagged a log. Then the log moved. I fought that fish for what seemed an eternity (probably five minutes), finally getting him to the net, but not quite into the net. At that moment, he took off for another run, headed for fast water and broke off. I sat down on a rock, my arm aching from the effort, and said something to the effect of, “Well, I guess I’m out of the contest now so might as well just fish for fun.” The guide looked at me in horror. “How can you go on after that?” “Easy,” I responded. “That’s the biggest fish I have ever had on my line. I will be dreaming about that fish for a long time, with endless chances to get it right.” It is humbling to be defeated by a creature with an instinct for survival that outmatches your desire for a “win,” whether that’s an actual score in a contest or a photo you share with friends. And it happened again, in a memorable way, on this Patagonia fishing adventure. One morning, Brett guided us up a small creek off the main river, a creek with lots of great places for trout to hide. The fishing here required some finesse, with fairly long, accurate casts. One bad cast could “spook” a hole and put down the fish. And it was in one of those moments where you just know you have done everything right, when the fly lands lightly in just the right place, so that it floats a few feet downstream to the deeper water where a fish might be hiding, when a huge brown trout, its gold color flashing in the sun,

comes roaring up from below and bites that “grasshopper” with a force that almost throws you off-balance. “Yes, yes, yes!” Brett was screaming, more excited than I had heard him before, all the while urging me to keep the line taut: “Strip, strip, strip!” “He’s huge!” I cried. “I have to get a picture of this one!” And in that nanosecond of hubris, while trying to get my camera out of my pocket, I let the line go just a bit slack, and the fish got off. Brett had that same look as the guide in New Zealand. “Despair” does not really do it justice. But I had to laugh, knowing that the golden creature I had connected with ever-so-briefly had no interest in being in my “selfie” shot, and that, once again, something with a brain the size of a pea had reminded me of the importance of staying in the moment, rather than following the ego as it races ahead to the finish line. The land known as “where the world ends” had been re-christened for me as “where the ego ends,” and where catch and release becomes more about release than catch. Release of expectations, release of vanity, release of anything that is out of the frame of “right here, right now.” My brother had watched this epic failure from the bank, and I consider it a great gift (happy 70th!) and remarkable restraint that he did not laugh. Loudly, anyway. This took a Herculean effort, I am sure, as he fought against a deeply ingrained family talent for well-timed zingers. But we both agreed on one thing.

Dad would have loved this.

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I Packed Lingerie for My Trip to the Amazon

Each autumn I lose my husband to an overseas work assignment, fishing in the Brazilian Amazon as owner and fishing manager for a mothership-based operation. It’s probably natural for people to raise an eyebrow at this. If given the choice, I might not have chosen a work assignment that took him away from family for so long. However, we’ve set our minds and hearts toward his success. I look forward each year to joining him on my week in the jungle, with our son in tow. The stories along the way fuel us both, and I only wish I was there to share all of them with him. by Kristi Williams photos by Nomadic Waters & Oliver Rogers Photography

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I did

pack lingerie, but not a full suitcase. It was one of my male counterparts, Rock, who opened his suitcase upon arrival in Brazil to find he not only had the wrong suitcase, but a suitcase full to the brim of lingerie. It took him about five seconds to contemplate how his week of fishing in the Amazon region would go if all he had to wear was lingerie. It was Campos, who, like a soldier, called an Uber and high-tailed it back to the airport for the correct luggage. Having worked on the security staff there years ago, he knew how to negotiate through the bare-bones midnight shift staff, and make things happen. He’d already proven many times that he was the most trusted and competent man for the role of greeting guests in Manaus upon their arrival in Brazil. It was 2 p.m. on Thursday at the end of the first week of this year’s season that proved his worth tenfold. A message through Instagram connected Campos in Manaus to myself in Atlanta. “Have you talked to the guys on the boat through the satellite phone? I need to talk with Matt urgently. If he calls you … would you please tell him to call me?” That evening was a scheduled satellite call, pre-set as an emergency protocol. The call came through as scheduled, and I immediately asked, “Has Matthew talked with Campos? Hang up and make that call before you call me back to talk. It’s urgent.” Campos had just found out that the airport we had contracted with, paid for, and planned to use for all 10 weeks of client transfers suddenly closed without notice. Yet, there was a "fix" before another 12 hours evaporated. Thanks to the team, we had a totally "out of thin air" solution to a closed airport. With just 12 hours until new guests flew in, and the guests from the completed week few back to civilization, an urgent problem was resolved. I wasn’t made privy to the details, but was told the solution would be seamless for guests. Indeed, it was. By the mid-season break I heard more of the saga. Our fall fishing season aligns with the fall political cycle in Brazil. A stumping politician had flown into the regional airport we planned to use, and upon his departure, he cut his opponents out of the deal by shutting down the airport behind him.

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I flew into the newly arranged airstrip, part of the group trading places with a guest list packed with VIPs and Bonefish Tarpon and Trust board members. A friend, Jeff, stepped in at the 11th hour as a substitute trip host for the departing group. Not knowing how much of the in-country travel had to be adjusted after the regional airport closure, I did my best to calm him down and cheer him up the Saturday prior when he called me frantic. "Kristi! Hey ... um, so Campos took us to the airport and got our bags taken care of, and pointed us through security. Then the airline employee who was taking us to the next waiting room kinda signaled for us to wait there. Then she disappeared. So, we are just wondering, are we in the right place? We aren’t quite sure how we’ll know when we are supposed to get on a plane ... and which one that will be?”

With more confidence than I really felt, I replied, “You are in good hands. You’ll know!” Google Translate was a safety net in that final WiFi zone. Indeed, the group did figure it out. They all made it to the mothership, and now were reluctantly saying good-bye to the luxury of a week of fishing, and slapping us all on the back, wishing us tight lines. We commented how our adventure had already gotten well underway. With feet firmly planted after our in-country transit flight, it totally looked like we had landed on a road in a one-horse-town, rather than on an airstrip. Nothing like that is a common sight in my work-a-day world. As if on cue from unspoken words, a horse on a nearby farm broke loose of his tether and ran down the road.

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We were now well beyond the comfort of an internet connection. I wiped my face from the aftermath of a hot, stuffy cabin, and a slightly bumpy ride, and gladly accepted the pack of wet-wipes from a friend. It was a small gesture, but greatly appreciated. Michael was visibly perplexed that I wouldn’t kiss him when I saw him, but accepted my whisper of embarrassment. There was plenty of greeting and storytelling to fill up our initial meeting. Introductions were happening in all directions, and the our 3-year-old, Jackson, was bouncing around, hugging his father. There were so many stories being swapped. I noticed immediately that all the departing guests were in great spirits—hoping for all new arrivals to have as much success as they had discovered. The diversity of the group was visible even to the naked eye: the wiry framed sportsman, the jolly life of the party, the tall angler-come-lately. I knew that each was leaving with a suitcase full of stories, and I couldn’t wait for Michael to fill me in on everything. Guests arrive with expectations which are typically far exceeded, but just as often the impact is much different than what they originally expected. Having not yet heard the stories from the current year, my memories flashed to a guest from the previous year. Fishing was almost done, the guests were back on board the mothership, and everyone was resting up when a local community canoe arrived at the yacht. As one of our boats had passed a village, a young girl had run down the shoreline waving a greeting. In the midst of

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the excitement, her foot slipped, gashing her forehead against a mahogany stump, leaving a deep gash just below the hairline. The canoe was coming for help—a medical kit with a butterfly bandage—anything to ease the child’s pain. Not only did we have a medical kit, and a trained nurse, we had a surgeon as a guest that exact week. I’ll never forget his reply as he came back on board after sewing up the wound, “Well, the fishing has been great, but now I think I know why I really came.” It’s never the same, but there is always an impact. We load "Week 3" onto the charter flight, and load "Week 4" onto the bus for travel down to port. Quickly, the yacht is underway making an overnight passage up river to the fishing preserve. Jackson scampers from top to bottom of the tri-decked boat with me close behind. I have no doubt he is going to love the boat, and be safe, but I want to see the risks through his eyes. He immediately leads me to all of the high risk zones, like the section of railing that can be removed for loading cargo, and the vertical ladder for accessing the top deck. I keep my lurching sense of caution at bay, never revealing angst to cause him to doubt his own confidence, all the while making a mental list of the dangers. Nothing really to worry about unless the motors are running, and I can’t hear a splash overboard into the water. It’s a relief for me to be on board and underway with this portion of the travel. My husband is here, my family is complete, and I can rest for a few days.

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The next morning we are up before dawn, sampling a full menu of breakfast cuisine which will fortify us for five hours of morning fishing. I love fishing in the Amazon. My skills tighten up after just a few short hours back on the river. With constant casting ahead of me for six full days of fishing, I’ve mentally prepared myself to overcome the shoulder fatigue of the first day, and ready myself to push past it and not break down physically. Dreams of constant catching prance through my mind. By noon, I feel like I’ve already fished for a full day, but exhaustion is at bay, and I’m really feeling good. My boat partner and I have already landed 20 fish. What’s not to feel good about with that? Lunchtime on Day 2 I’m reminded to keep my mouth shut. Michael is the co-owner of this endeavor and on the water in Brazil, he’s the acting fishing manager, doing the yeoman’s job of keeping everyone happy. After suffering two fishless days, Kevin, one of the guests whose father has been overtaken by heatstroke, starts to complain. “What do I have to do to catch fish in the Amazon?” I don’t worry. Michael and the crew have got this. Our amazing guides take

the challenge personally. After a short siesta, Rodrigo won’t let Kevin out of his boat until he catches something. The drought endures just another five minutes, and soon we lose track of the tally in their boat. For a mere six days I get a piece of Michael. And just a piece! The season seems long, but I remind myself it’s just a season. My little guy is learning that Daddy has a big job to do, and he’ll be home soon. I take vacation days when Michael is stateside, and thoroughly relish telling co-workers that we’ve got several fishing meetings to attend together. It makes no sense to them, but it’s not really strange if you live in my world. Whether we are here together, in Brazil together, or on different continents for the duration of a fishing season, I am absolutely smitten with my mate. Sure, I miss him terribly, but there is a lot that really stays the same. So, pardon me, but Michael is home for 12 days, and we just started a do-it-ourselves plumbing project to fix a bathroom sink. From the sounds I hear coming from that direction, I think it’s my time to go take a turn at the wrench. 

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Ethe Suck mbrace by Captain Sarah Gardner photos by Captain Brian Horsley

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art of running a charter boat is knowing when to cancel trips because of weather, but last summer the tables were turned on us just hours before the trip of a lifetime. Sometimes Mother Nature makes it easy to cancel with vivid reds, yellows, and even purples showing on the radar map for everyone to see and understand. Other times, my smart phone radar app feels like a magic 8-ball that I’ve already shaken three times and gotten three different answers before the 4:30 am pot has finished brewing. It’s a balance of radar interpretation and people reading, followed by a tactful phone call placed at 6:00 am. Some of my repeaters are so well-trained that they answer the phone with “I can move.” It’s about balancing expectation, experience, and safety while being flexible. Often my clients can move to another day, because they are on vacation and, for a rare week in their lives, are not locked into the frantic work-family schedule. Brian and I were just hours from jumping on a jet bound for a dream fishing trip to Costa Rica when we got that call. It came from Captain Sheeder. He had been chased in early from a multi-day FAD Marlin trip off Costa Rica’s pacific coast. (FADs are man-made Fish Attracting Devices.) We are used to rough seas as North Carolina’s coast is notoriously rough, but we were supposed to fish almost 150 miles off shore. We would be beyond reliable offshore weather reports, radio range, cellular coverage, and help.

How flexible are you?

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photo by Sarah Gardner

After hourly weather updates and dozens of texts, we all agreed that we would fly down. Tickets were paid for, housing was set, and we had shifted charters in the height of our summer season to make this trip possible. Costa Rica has plenty to do without fishing, we kept telling ourselves as we got closer to Quepos. The look we got from Chris when we met at the marina restaurant did not instill confidence. We’ve known him for a decade. We have fished with Chris and his first mate Nico Melendrez for a decade in Guatemala. They are part of world-renowned Casa Vieja Lodge, and have become members of our extended fishing family. We all might be captains, but this is Chris’s world. We totally trusted him to keep us safe. MOTIVATION

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Over dinner, a plan was formulated. The three of us are avid photographers, so we did a monkey safari on the first day and explored Manuel Antonio National Park on the second, with almost hourly weather checks by Chris. After the park hike, lunch, and another weather check, Chris felt that we had a window between low-pressure systems. If we were willing to make the run out in remaining rough seas, we would have two fishable days, possibly three. Within two hours, the “Finest Kind” was running towards the sunset with Quepos at her stern. The further off shore we ran, the bumpier it got, but it was tolerable. After dusk, Chris took her off plane and we continued the overnight journey at a slow 10 knot pace. Brian and I settled into the V birth, Chris took the salon, and Nico and his son and second mate Genry stood by on the bridge. At dawn, we were still 20 miles from the first FAD we wanted to fish, so Chris put her on plane while Genry made breakfast and Nico began to move tackle into the cockpit. We weren’t alone when we reached the FAD. Another boat was already working the area, which felt comforting being so far from safety. We were also greeted by birds and baitfish schools shimmering on top. Our baits went out and we ate breakfast. “Marlin” boomed down from the bridge, instantly stopping my heart. Within a half hour of arriving, we got our first Marlin in the teasers. The travel and worries came down to this moment. I eased the reel from its gunnel-mounted rack, tossed the fly overboard, and allowed it to slip in the boat’s wake. I let it hide about 30 feet back in the froth and whitewater coming off the port-side stern. I kept the rod low and angled, so that the fly would stay hidden, skating in the turbulence, but easily pulled from the surface for a cast. I stood at the stern, waiting for the call, and scanning the water for a bill, tail, dorsal, flash of color, or shadow. I heard the boat come out of gear then “Cast!” With two hands, I powered the phone pole with attached pigeon high and back to a stop, then launched it forward. It landed on the blue hole between streaks of white just as Nico daftly led the Marlin to the blue hole with his hookless teaser, almost to my fly. Nico ripped it off the water and the fish disappeared while my fly innocently swayed in the remaining currents of the sliding boat.

Pop! Spring 2019

Pop! POW! 

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A pacific sailfish puts on an aerial display. Marine biologists theorize the 'sail' may serve as the cooling and heating system for sailfish.

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The fly was sucker punched with an uppercut! Instantly I made a low and straight back sailfish strike. This is like a batter trying to anticipate a pitch, or returning a tennis serve -- almost a defensive move. It’s the go-to set when you can’t tell if the fish is moving right, left, or straight back. The fish greyhounded straight back from the boat then went for a shallow run. After several seconds I could feel the line part. Done. I wound in the slack, turned on wobbly legs, and looked up at Chris. “It wasn’t you. I think the tail hit the leader on that shallow run. We’ll see more.” Chasing blue marlin on the fly is like chasing unicorns. You rarely get a shot, and it usually ends badly, so it was hard to embrace Chris’s calm. To regain composure, I relied on routine by checking the broken class tippet for telltale scuffs (none), replacing it, checking drag, putting the outfit back in its ready position, and finally returning to my teaser watching perch. A short time later with no more bites, Chris decided to move further out to his favorite FAD area called Cervesa. Within the hour we pulled up on an area that had pods of bait and wheeling birds. This place looked fishy! Almost as soon as the last hookless teaser went out we heard “left flat!” I stepped up to the plate. Chris shouted “cast”! The fly hit the water, and a black fin and bill silhouette grabbed the fly going from left to right. My rod moved to the left, and in two seconds my reel’s normal sailfish run screaming sound turned into a screech! As the fish shot straight away, Chris black smoked the boat, and I got hit with a wall of blue water. My right hand was doing wind sprints around the reel while my left arm was doing hill repeats. I did the shuffle back and forth across the stern. Finally, the orange wind-on connection between fly line and leader made it to the rod tip. “Release!” After a few short surges at the boat I backed up and muscled the leader towards Nico’s hands. Getting the leader to Nico was not the end. This is when his knowledge and patience was crucial, as well as our shared experience at landing sailfish together. Several times he had to transfer the leader and fight smoothly to me, with his arms acting as shock absorbers when the fish surged. Finally, Genry was able to grab the bill, and the two were able to get the double hook set out of its mouth. After a quick flurry of boatside photos, the 100+ pound fish glided away from Nico’s hands.

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Billfish on the fly is ABSOLUTELY a team sport. Chris, Nico, and Genry are such a cohesive team that their critical, high speed activity is almost imperceptible. I love being a temporary part of this fishing machine, but I learn even more when I can watch them in action with another angler. Over the years I’ve seen them work successfully with every skill level. Chris put the boat back into gear and trolling spread was redeployed while I changed to a fresh leader. When I tried to hand the rod off to Brian for his turn, he refused. He said, “Babe, I’ve caught two over the years. You keep fishing until you catch up.” By sunset I had passed Brian’s record, landing a total of three blue marlin and a bonus sailfish. These numbers were already an outstanding fly tally for a multi-day FAD trip. But, it was just a warmup. The second night aboard “Finest Kind” we dined on fish tacos, and rehashed the day’s fishing. Sometime late in the afternoon Genry disappeared into the cabin where he prepared all the fixings for our meal. He also vacuumed the cabin and laid out towels for the shower. Our tiny floating hotel was surprisingly civilized. The sea anchor was deployed and Brian and I rocked to sleep in the softly rolling boat. Chris stretched out in the cabin where he could hear Nico and Genry, who bunked in the tower where they took turns keeping watch. I woke before first light and crept out to the cockpit to watch the tropical sunrise. Soon everyone was stirring, coffee was brewing, and breakfast was started. As Genry placed a full package of bacon in the electric frying pan, we trolled the 10 miles we had drifted back to Cervesa. The bacon was still cracking when the marlin came in. I stumbled out on precaffeinated legs and the mates flew past me, grabbing rods and winding as they went.

Cast! Boom! Crank! Crank! Crank! I was slammed with a blue water bath and black smoke, but the leader was in the rod tip within seconds. The leader broke after the official release when the highly-caffeinated marlin made a surging jump at the boat. It still counted as my first striped marlin, and it happened before breakfast!

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The smell of bacon and biscuits was wafting from the cabin when the next blue hit. Again, Brian deferred to me, perhaps because he was hungry and he thought food was just moments away. An hour later we finally enjoyed a notso-hot breakfast, though I could hardly lift my biscuit after wrestling with a 200+ pounder. That beast was unforgiving! She greyhounded, made ripping surface runs, and then popped up hundreds of yards from where I expected her to be. Several times Chris was able to help me gain almost all of my backing and line, then the fish would make a demoralizing (for me) run of several hundred yards. This fish also went deep and sulked. When this happens with sailfish, they can be coaxed back to the surface by moving away from them and waiting. At least I got to eat before number three crashed the party. This fish was more reasonable. While it did greyhound and run, it was a much smaller fish. I was beginning to understand and feel the difference between the blue marlin and sailfish fights. FAD blues hit so hard, and move so quickly, that they selfset the hooks. Getting through the first jumps without bills and tails breaking the leader is critical. Long runs also lose fish, because a lot of moving line out generates enough water resistance to pop even a 20 class tippet fished on only 2 pounds of reel drag. I would not touch the drag adjustment until we got the official release. After that, I started steadily increasing drag to full “whupass" just to experiment with how much pressure I could put on a fish. After hundreds of sailfish fly fights, I had never put a Mako drag up to maximum. I tentatively creeped it up max, but the fish did not break off! It was exciting, uncharted territory for me. I did it with every fish after. When fighting in max drag, I had to be perceptive to surges and line belly. Most importantly, I had to be patient with the fish, and with myself. I’ve never put such extreme pressure on a fish. After the third fish, Brian finally picked up a rod. My quivering arms were happy for a brief break, and I was looking forward to seeing the fish fights from a different perspective. I didn’t have to wait long! Brian’s first fish was the perfect size and temperament. It took about 20 minutes in which time I was able to shoot video and regroup. Blue marlin were coming into the spread every 15 minutes and for several hours Brian and I traded off fishing duties. I honestly lost track of fish and bites.

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photo by Chris Sheeder

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By lunch Brian had released two marlin and I was up to four blues and a striped. Fish kept storming the bait through and beyond lunch, but not sticking around to actually eat flies. I watched from the bridge as a 300+ pound marlin that had plowed through teasers, lurked under Brian’s fly, with peck fins glowing, before fading off. We were all secretly happy that monster decided to eat elsewhere. After lunch, marlin would come in behind the long rigger and never tease into the fly, or they would pulverize a flat line and vanish. It’s a wonder we were able to entice any fish. The two Cervesa FADs were like a candy store. Fish could dine on endless 2-5 pound yellowfin tuna and flip-flop sized dolphins. The mates were able to catch both species at will on small feather jigs dropped down 10-15 feet behind the boat. You could see dozens of schoolmates flashing as the jigs were dropped back. Small fish were turned into hookless teasers and bigger tuna became our dinner! Later in the afternoon I connected with my fifth blue of the day. It was a big beast that made sure I was reminded of all the new bruises on my hands and belly. After an intense hour, Nico and I gave each other one more tiered hug and Chris climbed out of the bridge for a pow wow. Seas had begun to build, and it was time to make a decision. Should we stay for one more day of fishing in rough and potentially dangerous conditions or start the long run in?

As the sun set behind the beautiful, but ominous tropical clouds, we reeled in baits and said goodbye to the twilight zone. 

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Basque in Glory

I was born in 1984 in Bilbao, a city that belongs to Basque Country, which is a small region in Northern Spain, west of the Pyrenees Mountains, and made up of three provinces: Bizkaia, Gipuzkoa, and Araba. It is a region with its own language called Euskera, where talking about food, wine, and fly fishing is almost a religion. by Miren Elosegui

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uddled by the Cantabrian Sea, Basque is a mountainous and very green country due to the abundance of rain. The terrain suddenly gathers height from the sea inward towards the close plateau to the South. There you can find many attractive rivers to enjoy fly fishing. With a population of around 2.5 million people in an area about half the size of the state of Connecticut, the once plentiful salmon and trout populations suffered a sharp decline due to a heavy industrial past. Fortunately, nowadays our water courses are making an impressive comeback. For anglers, Basque Country has a strategic location within Spain. In just a few hours drive, you can reach many of the best salmon and trout fishing areas and fish wild brown trout of the three main genetic lines present in Spain: the Mediterranean, the Atlantic, and the Cantabrian. These are precious treasures within our rivers, and here you can enjoy long days of tourism and gastronomy hand-in-hand. In the inland regions, the climate is drier and colder, ideal wineland, having turned the area of Rioja Alavesa into one of the most renowned wine producers in the world. No trip to this area is complete without touring some of the beautiful wineries and enjoying the wine tastings. With its nearly 13,000 hectares of vineyards, out of a total of almost 64,000 hectares encompassing the regions of La Rioja and Navarra, these wines enjoy the Protected Designation of Origin Rioja. It is worth mentioning the town of Haro (province of La Rioja, 100 km away from Bilbao) is known internationally for its wines and cellars. It is here where culture, landscape, and food make it an unforgettable experience. On the other hand, the coastal area has a milder climate, turning it into the perfect white wine producing land, whose star is called Txakoli. Their vineyards along green hillsides look into the sea, and coast-boasting beaches such as Zarautz and La Concha in Donostia/ San Sebastián or Laida y Laga in Bizkaia province’s Urdaibai’s Biosphere Reserve make for mandatory breathtaking stopovers.

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Despite being small, Basque Country is home to more than 20 Michelin starred restaurants including Azurmendi in Larrabetzu (Bizkaia), Zarate in Bilbao (Bizkaia), Arzak in Donostia/ San Sebastián (Gipuzkoa), and Zaldiaran in Vitoria-Gasteiz (Araba), which are catalogued as some of the best restaurants in the world. And again, despite its small size, its orography of plateau, mountains, and coast gifts this land with unbeatable characteristics allowing these authentic masters of cuisine to cultivate a once in a lifetime divine table experience using locally sourced products. Do not forget the Spanish art of small plates and bar hopping where you can enjoy pintxos, small bite-sized works of art washed down with a wonderful glass of wine, in areas of Bilbao city such as Casco Viejo (old city centre), Ledesma Street, and Donostia/San Sebastián’s Casco Viejo. This is a mandatory exercise for the visitor, as well as visiting Bilbao‘s Guggenheim museum, one of the most important in Spain. It is an amazing place! photo by Iñaki Garabieta

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Miren releases her favorite trout, a stunning Mediterranean brown trout caught in the Basque Country of Spain photo by Jagoba Garabieta

And what can I say about the fishing? I started fishing thanks to my boyfriend about five years ago. It all began when he used to take me to practice fly casting on the grass. I was completely amazed by the loops in the air. I must admit that I first learned to cast and then to fish, I thought that it was a lot of fun. Then we went to the river to face wild trout, and I fell in love with fly fishing forever. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not very common to see female fly anglers in Spain. We are still few, but little-by-little we are becoming a larger group. My passion is brown trout. Atlantic salmon do not thrive here, as most salmon rivers are found in other northern regions of Spain, such as Cantabria, Asturias, and Galicia. These areas do not practice a catch and release philosophy, and as a result, their populations are in decline, and salmon fly fishing is only practiced by a small group of very experienced local anglers. photo by Jagoba Garabieta

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The north of Spain is generally mild and humid, making the season between March and October perfect for dry fly fishing. Choose the rivers in this area depending on the time of season, altitude, and latitude. You always want to look for the areas with the biggest hatches. Important areas for fly fishing include the Pyrenees region of northern Aragon with its lakes and high mountain rivers and Castilla y León known for the high quality of its rivers and warm hospitality of its people. Let's not forget the cannot-miss cities and towns like León, where you can admire the Cathedral and walk around its precious old city centre, and, of course, buy its famous feathers, Coq de León (CDL), which is one of the best materials in the world for tying dry flies and nymphs.

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Both areas, Aragón and Castilla y León have firmly positioned themselves as “no-kill” fishing venues, of which I am a convinced advocate. Consequently, many of their rivers are turning into real paradises for fly fishing, with abundant populations of wild brown trout. While not yet comparable in size to the enormous trout in northern Europe, they can certainly compete in terms of the climate they thrive in, and in the way of fishing for them, that is, dry fly. In my view, there is no doubt that anyone who visits Basque Country to fish, and enjoys its fantastic touristic sites, experiences its superb food, and washes it down with a good glass of wine, will fall in love with the region and its trout. And, of course, we will be here waiting for you with open arms.  photo by Jagoba Garabieta

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Splendor of

the WEST

My flight had been delayed, so I was hurried as I drove down the winding, two-lane Highway 191. I wasn’t able to fully take in the freestone river interlacing its waters through the forest and the perfume of the fresh air. Yet, my shoulders began to relax with the lack of massive billboards with mile markers alerting me to the next hotel with free continental breakfast. I suddenly had a sense of the days of Pete Karst, bringing “dudes” to Yellowstone by stagecoach from Bozeman in the early 1900s. by Rachael McClendon photos by Brian Grossenbacher Spring 2019

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eased down main street into West Yellowstone, assessing if we had enough daylight to get in a few shots at the river with the billowing steam of the geysers against the sunset. The succession of drift boats lining the streets likened the showcasing of luxury cars one might see at an NFL or MLB training camp. I paused for a moment, wondering—if I had stayed out West past the summer of ’98, would I too have owned one of these fiberglass vessels steered by teakhandled oars, leading me to a more authentic life? Fortunately, we were able to capture the last act of fish rising amid the dancing caddis. We discussed which of the waters boasted the most generous fishing gods as we sipped on some Blanton’s. Firehole Ranch offers a limitless variety of rivers, streams, and lakes more abundant than any other ranch can boast. We came to rest on the Madison River at Reynolds Pass as our fate. As we drove to the ranch, my mind drifted again back to my college summer of working in Wyoming. The sound of the tires on the gravel road and the dust in the headlights driving along Hebgen Lake were all too familiar, and with a sense that I was 20 again—I shut my eyes as we passed under the large, timberframed entrance. Purnache, the manager’s loyal dog from Russia, greeted me warmly and escorted me to my cabin, assuring me that we were the same, outliers looking for a place to escape. I'm not exactly sure why I couldn't be on time to meals in the dining room, but it may have had something to do with the warmth of my cozy log cabin and a bed so comfortable I could have slept 20 years just like Rip Van Winkle. My eagerness to see what Kris and Bruno, the French chefs of 30 years, had on the menu for breakfast enabled me to make my way to the sink—nestled in an antique chest of drawers—to brush my teeth and prep for a full day on the water. I walked along the path toward the dining room, undisturbed by other humans due to the limited capacity of only 22 guests. I opened the door to the dining room and immediately spied the coffee cake surrounded by blue and white china bowls full of berries. The large stone fireplace was perfectly placed in front of a series of windows overlooking the Hebgen Lake, which is arguably the best dry fly lake fishing in Montana.

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I was seated at a round table with a group of older gentlemen. One cannot escape conversation around a sphere. Assuming I would get the usual question, “So, what are you doing here?” I decided to beat them to the punch. There is usually an immediate halo of question marks surrounding others’ puzzled heads when they realize I’m a party of one. So, I started by asking them why they were here, and was taken aback when they said they were on a father/daughter fishing trip. An immediate grin donned my face. One of the dads, a guest of the ranch for eight years and counting, first put a rod in his daughter’s hand at 10 years old while catching blue gill out of their john boat in Trafalgar, Indiana. I often wonder if those fish know the ineffable feeling that we experience from their tug and that they enrich lives and form communities that otherwise would not be. Other dads, too, have found fishing as a way to connect with their daughters as they have grown into adults. The Firehole has become some sort of father/daughter nirvana for them. I glanced at the menu as they talked about how they coordinate their calendars to make these trips an annual tradition; the chefs had me at cornmeal blueberry pancakes. Kris prides herself on making all of her baked goods from scratch. I would imagine a large portion of the food budget goes toward butter for all the homemade morsels. Breakfast was short-lived, due to the punctual departure on the pontoon boat that carried us across the lake to meet our guides. A thoughtful gesture, among many, provided to the guest to avoid the longer trek by way of car. When you see a group of guides and don’t know who will be yours for the day, you stand back and discern the differences like one would a litter of puppies. Fortunately for all the guests, Lyndy Caine, the present owner of the ranch, has hand-picked the best of the best. Some of the guides have worked their way up from the grounds crew while apprenticing on the water on their days off. I once read, “After a day on the water, a guide can know you better than people you have worked with for 10 years. If you fish with them for a week, then they will know you better than your own mother.” Mostly every one of my guides becomes an immediate friend for life, as the water serves as an equalizer and allows for vulnerability, laughs, and realizations like no other platform fosters.

Right Purnache, the manager's loyal dog from Russia

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Most of us come in pursuit of the big brown to brag about to our friends over cocktails, inflating the size of the fish with each passing year. Even so, the restorative powers of the water resurrect versions of our best selves. We gathered that the fish had an early breakfast and got back in bed because we couldn’t get so much as a nibble. My guide worked tirelessly changing flies, steering the boat, and reading the water, but more importantly, encouraged me and made me laugh. His approach to fly fishing was “hey fishing is fun” coupled with high fives and a big smile through his Magnum, P.I. mustache. He was exuberant and exceedingly kind, and loved sharing his knowledge and his “Office.” Some probably smile at him while he talks about doing this job forever, thinking he’s young and naïve. Maybe so, but his passion is contagious and I would venture to guess every person that has floated in his boat questions how they are living their life. There aren’t many jobs that make you feel alive—not just for a few days, but for years—like that of a fly guide. In the end, we came off the water satisfied with a few 20+ inch Rainbows, which we celebrated at the local watering hole near the takeout. I reflected as we rode back on the ferry as to why the same juicy fly that satisfied the belly of the fish caught in the other boat snubbed me like how a child would turn their nose up at cold Brussels sprouts. Those fleeting thoughts were met by, “Regardless of what those fish were wanting for lunch, I am about to have cuisine worthy enough to have been plated at Megan and Harry’s wedding.” I would be dining with Lyndy this evening, so I quickly showered off the “day” and dressed, not wanting to miss a second about how a single, female transplant from Seattle accumulated a 640-acre fly fishing ranch. Traveling up from Utah, she would summer with her grandparents at their cabin five miles down the road from where we sat. The Firehole was originally known as the Watkins Creek Ranch in the early 1900s, primarily serving as a cattle ranch. The Smith family took over the ranch mid-century when Union Pacific was making the journey West more accessible for families to visit dude ranches. Wealthy East Coast families could play cowboy like the ones they watched in the cinema and brush away the pretenses and formalities of the upper-class social code. In 1982, it became a world-class fly fishing ranch, as it remains to this day. Lyndy purchased the ranch years later when she learned of its financial woes and the

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potential threat of the land being subdivided into 20-acre parcels. Lyndy laughingly jokes, “I didn’t want an abundance of neighbors surrounding my 200 acres I already owned.” I could tell from the way she leaned in intimately and told stories of her childhood the way an adolescent girl would tell her best friend about her new crush, that a potential subdivision wasn’t the sole reason for her new venture. Her new neighbors would become the elk that come to rest by the lake after the summer guest return home and the vastness of her placid land, streams, and creeks would replace the rubber mulched playgrounds for her precocious three-year-old daughter, who would grow into a beautiful angler. For nearly 20 years she has maintained the prestigious reputation of the ranch while being a good steward of the land. The ranch rights came with irrigation to the creek. Knowing that a viable, healthy stream is vital to the fish population, she shuts down her irrigation during droughts leaving water in the stream to support the fish and wildlife. She was very much in favor of the Western Water project, initiated by Trout Unlimited, helping to restore healthy stream flows. Montana passed a law allowing ranch owners to lease their water while still keeping ownership. These restoration projects have proven that working landscapes and fish can coexist.

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That evening the table was set with wines from various regions carefully selected by Bruno and a menu that resembled a wedding program. All anglers would agree that swapping stories over cocktails is the best part of the day. Even if we weren’t present, we’ve all been there in some way and have our favorite fishing memory, so we celebrate them all as if they were our own. The understated elegance of this lodge doesn’t compete with the simple, alluring qualities of the West. All titles and levels of social hierarchy are left at the airport. We are all here for the same reason—to feel the rush of tricking that fish to eat. Each passing course from the grilled plums atop fresh arugula and local goat cheese, followed by the North Dakota bison tenderloin with a Cabernet jus, and blue cheese butter was like sampling entries at a James Beard Award dinner. Somehow an extra tenderloin was set in the middle of the

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table. I will never tell if I did or did not forget my manners and seize the opportunity for the first stab at it. I hated to mentally rush dinner along, but my eagerness to taste another masterpiece of confection from Kris’ kitchen left me continually glancing at the swinging pitch door. Earlier that week I had phoned Kris letting her know our photographer was having his birthday and we wanted to celebrate with something special. To his surprise, and mine, she came out with a well-lit flourless chocolate cake and the entire dining room erupted in singing “Happy Birthday” for his big 50. While 2014 bottles of Remo Farina Valpolicella Ripasso continued to flow, I decided to retire to my cabin to read my book and indulge my frontier fantasies. The walk back was lit with stars and the light from vintage creels resting on post along the path. The quiet and calm outdoors was mirrored inside the cabin by the absence of TVs and phones, allowing the guest

in the cabin beside me to enjoy a late-night conversation on the porch. I put on the plush robe I found in the closet and tucked myself in knowing in less than 12 hours I would be returning home where the mountains would be replaced with concrete buildings. I drifted off to sleep realizing that both Lyndy and I made the West our permanent residence in the late 90s—hers in West Yellowstone and mine in my heart. I was looking for a paramount reason to justify staying that summer in college. Now, 20 years later I see through her lens. It’s all the simple things that add up that one may dismiss as trivial, but are truly at the root of our longing to return. Aging gives you permission to defend those notions while in your youth they are not admissible. Staying here these past few days at the Firehole provided affirmation of the splendor of the West. The magnificence of travel may not last forever, but the dream that birthed it can forever change our lives. 

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Kit and Kaboodle

Jen's

Spring Must-Haves There are so many great products out this spring. Here are some that I absolutely love, and you will too. — Jen

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1 RIVER WARM UP

The Hydro Flask 12 oz Coffee Mug makes the perfect travel mug for those cool spring days boatside. Hot water, tea, sweetened dried lemons, and splash of Basil Hayden's Bourbon Whiskey makes our driftboat toddy.

$29.95 - HydroFlask.com

2 HATS OFF Deso Supply Co designed this hat specifically for fly fishing and rafting. The Jono waxed canvas hat is waterproof and packable. $36.00 - DesoSupply.com

3 MINI MARKET IT I am kind of a pack rat. The Mountain Khakis Mini Market Tote has an interior panel that helps me keep things organized, and a built-in key lanyard so I don't have to search for my keys. $79.95 - MountainKhakis.com

4 BASE PLAYER Patagonia continues to reinvent the baselayer with the Air Hoody. This is the warmest and most comfortable Capiline shirt I've ever worn. $149.00 - Patagonia.com

5 PACK IT IN

The Matador Freerain24 2.0 is so small and lightweight that I no longer have to worry about whether I have room for a waterproof bag when I travel. $64.99 - MatadorUp.com

6 SKIRT THE ISSUE The Voormi Solstice Skirt is the perfect addition to slip over your leggings after a day in waders. $1oo.00 - voormi.com

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discover

The life and Times of

Diane Pallot Where do you call home?

What is it like being Diane Pallot?

Right here in Mims, Florida. No restaurants, no main street, no quaint shopping stores. Boring beyond belief however no traffic, no over population, every pit bull dog is friendly, and so are their owners.

Diane who? I don’t really know. She changes everyday. I’m that lady my friends and family tease goes to Publix everyday to shop for groceries instead of weekly. I’m an Aries (where did that come from?). I’m also the person who traveled the world working for a major airline and made it a career for 35 years as a flight attendant. I even traveled on my days off. I lived out of a suitcase for most of those years. I’m Flip's sidekick when he gives me the opportunity to take trips or do a fishing show with him. I learn so much about fishing and casting whenever I go with him to one of his fly fishing clinics. It’s incredible how much knowledge he has. I’m still impressed after all these years. And, of course, I’m a grandmother to an exceptional 11 year-old girl who is bright and beautiful beyond anything I could even imagine.

How did you get into fly fishing? I think I sort of morphed into it. Flip never forced the idea nor did he pressure me. After fishing with him for a few years with spin tackle, I decided one afternoon to ask him for a casting lesson. He was more than accommodating and spent a few hours with me showing me the basics. That was the beginning of many hours of practice, frustration, and tears, fun fishing adventures and a lifetime of acquiring new skill levels and improving on them everyday that I fish. I’m still learning.

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You met Flip when you hired him as a guide. Did you go knowing who he was? The only thing I knew about Flip was he had a funny first name, and that he had the reputation for being an outstanding angler. He had just started guiding after shutting down his retail outfitter and clothing store in a nearby shopping mall. I had no expectations, well that’s not exactly true. I really did hope he would help me catch a tarpon.

What is your favorite fish to catch? Hands down largemouth bass. There is nothing so provocative than to cast a popper to a nearby grassy pad, and watch one of those colorful, iridescent fish explode out of his world and into a foreign environment for a nanosecond with one goal in mind. FOOD!

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Is there a bucket list fish you have yet to catch?

What is your most prized possessions tangible or intangible?

You have inspired so many. Who inspires you?

I don’t have any expectations. I like surprises. However, it would be nice to catch a permit on fly. I’ve come close while fishing in the Bahamas, but for me it just hasn’t happened yet. That gives me something to look forward to.

Tangible: My Nautor coffee milk frother, and my 7 weight Mangrove with my Cortland High Vis Flip fly line. I love that combo. Intangible: “Home Sweet Home” where on any given day we have wild turkeys, deer, bobcats, hawks, and an assortment of wild birds come and visit our property. It's my base camp where I reenergize entertain, and create.

I have to emphatically say, hands down, Joan Wulff. She is the first lady of fly fishing and she set the bar very high. She is very humble about herself and her achievements, is a pioneer in the world of fly fishing just like Amelia Earhart was to flying. She is classy and has her own fashion style. Her accomplishments include her books, her fly fishing school, countless awards, and being inducted into the IGFA Hall of Fame. I have had the honor of meeting and talking with her a number of times, and have a framed photo of us that I cherish. Then, the love of my life, Lefty Kreh. Friend, confidante, partner in crime, and all things bright and funny. He is still with me always.

Tell me about your favorite fishing memory. There are so many, including the first time I wrangled Flip into taking me fishing on one of those sterling days on the St. John's River. We watched in awe as thousands of Swallow-tailed Kites made their migratory journey. Never had I seen so many at one time. It was breathtaking and it added so much to an already special day with Flip out on our airboat.

We all remember the fish that got away. What fish haunts your dreams? None, I truly mean that. If a fish blows me off, spits a fly, flips me off, I laugh. I commend any fish that outsmarts and instinctively uses his primal skills to get free and get back to his normal routine. What I’m haunted by is when he breaks off with a hook and fly still in his mouth. I worry if he will shake it loose, if it hurts the fish. I’m haunted by the release. Did I fight him too long? Did the fish build up too much lactic acid to be able to survive? Most times when I’ve caught tarpon Flip and I purposely use lighter line so that when we hook them, they do break off. We got the strike, a quick fight, and bam, they're gone leaving us laughing on the bow of the boat.

You’re standing on the front of a flats boat scanning the water, fly in hand. What do you think about:? I’m looking out at some beautiful water and willing the fish to my fly. I’m always ready for that adrenaline rush to kick in and test my skill and ability to land a fish. I never take for granted the surrounding beauty, and I’m constantly concerned about protecting our fresh and saltwater environments. I’m always anxious to do what I can to help be a part of the reshaping. It’s a big problem, especially here in Florida. We have so many lakes, rivers, and are surrounded by two coastal bodies of water. We have a big fight ahead of us.

DIANE PALLOT

Cats or Dogs? Cats, two of them. We love dogs, but cats are easier when we leave town. My 8 year-old cat, Flounder, just used up another one of his 9 lives when he went into respiratory arrest in our home the other day. Four days later with five doctors working on him, including a heart doctor, he is still alive and the entire experience left me a wreck.

What is the funniest thing that ever happened to you on a fishing trip? I was driving to South Florida to meet Flip and fish on the east coast. I was on the cell phone talking with a friend, stressed out about my father’s recent diagnosis with Alzheimer disease. I got distracted and took the wrong exit. Flip called me and asked where I was. I looked at a road sign. “I’m just now coming into Bonita Springs." Flip laughed! I asked why he was laughing and where Bonita Springs was. "It's on the west coast" he said. Needless to say I didn't go fishing with Flip that day, and he had to navigate me back east. I might add this was way before GPS and Mapquest. Crazy, sad, stupid, funny!

What is your superpower? I am able to at all times, during a fishing trip and especially walking down a mountain stream in Idaho, have the superpower to be able to resurrect the most horrific cast, winding up in some bloody shrub that I have no botanical name for except to call it “Son of a Bitch Evil Bush.” This superpower enables me to work it out and still have the fly intact at the end of my tippet. And, my back up power gives me the ability to untangle the worst, fouled up, schizoid leader line or fly line. I have been known to stay as long as it takes, with unyielding determination to undo or die. I will not let anyone, ever, do it for me, no matter how heartbreaking it looks. Is there a piece of advice you can give to new anglers? Absolutely. When it comes to learning how to fly fish, don’t even bother booking a trip or buying the latest costly equipment without first perfecting your casting skills. Otherwise, you’ll look quite good out there while you throw a lousy loop, and frustrate your guide or fishing companions. I might add, having a good fly rod, fly line, and a decent reel definitely helps improve your ability to learn. Just don’t convince yourself that more expensive is better. It doesn’t work that way ... but you knew that, right?

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discover Many people grew up watching the Walker’s Cay Chronicles. What is it like knowing that you’ve influenced so many in our sport? My, you have really pushed my emotional button on this question. I hold this part of my journey with Flip near and dear to my heart. This show was a dream come true. We always talked about a show that would give us free reign, creativity, and allow us to do what had never been done before — expose the audience, not only to men that fish, but to their families. There was something for everyone including the music, the narrative, the destinations, and the good fishing etiquette. We wanted to influence our audience by allowing them to experience different natural surroundings and teaching them to be part of the solution rather than the problem. I believe we succeeded. Young people come up to us all the time and tell us how they looked forward to watching the show and loved it. These same kids, now all grown up, tell us it changed their life and direction. They now have kids of their own, and the cycle is now repeating itself. That is a wonderful thing.

I’m sure you’ve seen our sport change tremendously in the years you’ve been involved. What would you say is the biggest change? The most obvious is the equipment, especially fly rods. They’re lighter, stronger, and much more portable. Fly rods are like good dance partners, they can make you look good. A good fly rod, after you have learned the basics of casting, will enhance your skills. It does wonders for your confidence. The industry is a small one compared to other sports, but I have witnessed an explosion of by-products that are related to fly fishing. Yeti, which started with fly fishing, has proven you can start small and spread big. And women! Thirty years ago when I started going to the Fly Tackle Dealer Show it was overwhelming, and exciting. The convention centers were big and included wall-to-wall vendors from all over the country. For years I could go into any of the restrooms and I would be the only woman using the facility. I didn’t think much of it at first. There just was not that much

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interest regarding women and this sport. Fast forward to now, and that has changed to such a degree that sometimes I even have to wait to get into a stall to pee. And at my age that is not fun. All kidding aside, I’m glad to see my little sisters with their fishing garb and fish jewelry at these expositions doing their best to be a part of our sport. I do have to add that I have a deep respect for the pioneering matriarchs of our sport. Women like Joan Wulf, Cathy Beck, Jackie Robinson, Sarah Gardiner, and others who devoted their lives to fishing. I applaud them.

What is the one thing you never leave home without when you leave for a fishing trip? FLIP! I don’t go on fishing trips with anyone else but him. Now that might sound very insipid of me, and narrow-minded, but you have to understand Flip is my fishing muse. He is still my teacher, and my best friend. You would think that I would get to fish with him all the time, but time gets away from us. He gets more excited than me when I do everything right, when it all comes together, and the outcome is just so magical. These times are my moments, my history in the making. A good sunscreen tinted lip gloss is very important as well.

What do you do when not on the water? I play a game called “Catch Up”. Every woman knows this game. You pay bills, fill up the refrigerator, go through paper work, and make appointments. Perhaps a dinner engagement or two with good friends. We also enjoy sitting around the fireside sipping our favorite brand of rum “Frigate Reserve”. We have learned to appreciate a stand alone straight-up glass of high end rum that adds to the ambiance of a cool breeze and warm ring fire.

What is the best piece of advice you were ever given and by whom? It has to be the day Michael Maloney, a good friend from out west, who came to our house for a few days to visit. Early on when I was still struggling with my casting, Michael took me out in the front of our house telling Flip “you're not invited”. Michael watched me cast for a few minutes, and then he asked me something that really clicked. He asked “what are you doing?” Of course I was stumped. What did he mean? He told me "Diane the only way you are going to be a good fly caster is to know what you are doing every time you cast that line. Once you know what you are doing correctly, the outcome will always be the same. A good cast. If for any reason you fail, you’ll know why, and be able to correct it on your own." It was the best advice I had ever received. For some reason, hearing this advice set my compass straight. It was my light bulb moment.

What are you most grateful for? Everything, I don’t have to do a lot of stuff every day to prove that I exist and am worthy. I feel grateful when I finish that watercolor painting I have been working on for many weeks or months. I feel grateful for my long time friendships that I have cultivated over a lifetime. I don’t want to get too overwhelmed with this question, otherwise I’ll start looking like one of those Hollywood actors standing at the podium with their Oscar in hand going on and on until the music comes on to tell them to “shut the f*** up”. So, before that happens, I’m gonna say bye for now and leave you with this thought: Compassion — For me this is establishing a state of grace where nothing causes me to hate myself. 

What do you do to keep the fun in fly fishing? If you have to do something to keep the fun in fly fishing, then you're in the wrong sport and should, perhaps, pursue another personal obsession. The moment I pick up that rod, the fun begins. The moment I slip on those fishing pants, a smile appears. The moment I hear, smell, and see all that is involved with the anticipation of the day, the hunger starts.

MOTIVATION

ADULTS $45 (UNDER 16, $20)

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CRK MEMBERSHIP, SWEETWATER HAPPY HOUR, FOOD, 5 RAFFLE TICKETS, FILMS AND MORE!

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EXHIBITORS, NONPROFIT PARTNERS, CELEBRITY GUESTS, YOUTH PANEL, FOOD, BREWS, DESSERT AND COFFEE BAR, SHORT-FILM COMPETITION, AND MUSIC! PROCEEDS GO TO CHATTAHOOCHEE RIVERKEEPER TO SUPPORT WATER QUALITY PROGRAMS IN THE CRNRA

Foundation

An Introduction to Fly Tying

Hooks by the DUN Team

“Now you must understand that the hardest and most difficult thing in producing your tackle is the making of your hooks. In order to make these, it is necessary for you to have a set of sharp, thin and lightly beaten files, a seamy iron clamp, and a pair of long and small pincers, a somewhat thick and hard knife, an anvil, and a small hammer.” - Dame Juliana Berners When Dame Juliana Berners penned those words in A Treatyse of Fysshynge With an Angle in the late 15th century, the Angle she referred to was the hook. The hook is what sets anglers apart from fishermen, and is an integral part of our sport. Luckily, today we don't have to make our own hooks. Nevertheless, choosing the right hook for your fishing situation remains one of the hardest parts of fly fishing.

Frosted Velveteen tied and photographed by Brandon Miller

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Not all hooks are created equal. When looking at flies, make sure your hook is up to the task. After all it is your point of contact with the fish, and arguably the most important part of the setup.

Dry Fly Down-Turned Eye Model Perfect Bend

Designed with the lightest material possible to help a fly float, this hook uses a 'model perfect bend' that is smooth and uniform, with the hook point parallel to the shank. Most dry fly hooks have a down-turned eye, which is a tradition from the time when anglers would attach their tippet to the shank and not the hook eye. The down-turned eye also helps the fly ride hook point down. Sample Model: Umpqua U001 - sizes #8 - #24 Fly Pattern: Royal Wulff

Living Nymph Bent Shank

This is a more modern hook design consisting of a bent shank with a 'model perfect bend'. This combination gives the hook a slightly up turned hook point, and the nymph a more life-like appearance in the water. This double bend design can make it difficult to push an oversized bead onto the hook. In this instance, pinching the barb first can make it easier to add a bead. Sample Model: TMC 200R - sizes #4 - #22 Fly Pattern: Yellow Stonefly

Stinger Sproat Bend Slightly Upturned Point

Characterized by a sproat bend with a slightly upturned hook point, this hook style was traditionally used for deer hair poppers and other bass flies. This bend provides anglers with an extra wide gap that is perfect for fish with hard mouths, and flies tied with lots of material. Today, this hook style has become the preferred choice for streamer tiers crafting monstrous multi-hooked flies. Sample Model: TMC 8089 - sizes #2 - #12 Fly Pattern: Deer Hair Popper

Saltwater Straight Shank

Ring Eye

Usually forged and not bent to shape, and made out of stainless steel or plated to prevent them from rusting, saltwater hooks are designed to be stiff and strong. They come in a variety of shank lengths, have a straight/ring eye, and are extra heavy to keep up with saltwater game fish. Although most come chemically sharpened, when fishing salt it is handy to keep a hook file nearby to resharpen. Sample Model: TMC 811S - sizes #3/0 - #8 Fly Pattern: Seaducer

BASICS

hook photos courtesy of Umqua Feather Merchants

kit and kaboodle by DUN

Why It's Worth It Three Forks Ranch is a getaway that you have to see to believe. The lodge property straddles the Wyoming-Colorado border at the headwaters of the Little Snake River. The lodge boasts 200,000 acres of stunning natural beauty providing guests with unparalleled personal service to create a world-class vacation experience unlike any other. The fishing at Three Forks Ranch is some of the best in North America. One unique aspect of a fly fishing trip at Three Forks Ranch is that your fishing guide is also your dedicated Ranch Ambassador who is there to help you navigate the ranch and get the most out of your stay. Lunch can be a white tablecloth riverside affair or you can take a break from the water and enjoy a selection of sandwiches, entrees, and salads. Don't forget to grab one of the famous Lodge Cookies before heading back out for the afternoon bite. After fishing, belly up to the one-of-a-kind bar in the Middle Fork Lounge, and enjoy a private label wine or cocktail. After dinner, retire to your beyond luxurious and high end room to enjoy the Italian linen, marble bathroom, private hot tub, in room fireplace, and a bed so comfortable you won't want to leave it to fish. Starting at $1,695/night per person for the all-inclusive experience ThreeForksRanch.com

This once in a lifetime escape requires a special trout outfit that won't let you down when you see that monster rainbow rising. Rod

We don't know how Scott did it, but they took a cult classic fly rod and made it even better. Scott GS 885, 8'8" 5 weight - $845 ScottFlyRod.com

Fly Line

SA has some amazing tapers and coatings. Now they come in smooth models. Finally. SA Trout Amplitude Smooth - $99.95

Reel

ScientificAnglers.com

Light tippet and big fish? The drag on this reel is so smooth it's not a problem. Orvis Mirage LT II - $379.00 Orvis.com

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Three Forks Ranch The world's only 5 billion star resort

photo courtesy of Three Forks Ranch

LUXURY

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Protecting the Peace of Wild Things TROUT UNLIMITED has thousands of volunteers

throughout the country protecting and fixing the cold, clean, fishable water that makes fly fishing possible in the first place. We restore miles of trout rivers every year. And we work to protect the peace of wild things for everyone.

PHOTOS BY JOSH DUPLECHIAN

Please join us. Support us. Help make fishing better.

conservation

Bristol Bay by Jenny Weis photos by Paul Nicoletti

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Giddy. I don’t use the word often, but it’s the best way I can describe my demeanor as our flight touched down in King Salmon, Alaska late last August. My uncles, first time visitors to the Bristol Bay region, sat chatting a few rows ahead of me. When the plane came to a halt, I did my best “keep it cool” impression as I unbuckled, grabbed my carryon, and walked up the aisle to meet them. As we stepped off the plane, I smirked and thought, “Holy buckets, this place is about to blow your socks off.” As I’ve gotten to know Alaska, I’ve confirmed for myself a belief held by many that a love of wild places and conservation work go hand in hand, especially in places as special as Bristol Bay. In a time where being busy is equated with being successful; the quiet, vastness, simplicity, and beauty of the wild has never been more critical. That’s what we were there for that week. My uncle Scott and his husband Brian and I are close, and they hear about my work in Bristol Bay a lot. As communications director for Trout Unlimited’s Alaska program, I spend a lot of time talking to the public, my friends, and family about the region. With each year living in Alaska, I more deeply fall in love with the magnificent landscapes it offers. I was insanely excited to show it to my family, almost like

ALASKA

a justification for why I choose to live so far from them. When Scott told me last winter they decided the time had come for them to see what all the fuss was about, I agreed. I also insisted they should probably bring me along with them. You know, to make sure everything went smoothly. Following that decision, I connected Scott and Brian with my friend Nanci Morris Lyon, a 30+ year Bristol Bay guide, all-around badass, and the owner of Bear Trail Lodge in King Salmon. Soon, the trip was booked, and we were stoked. All we had to do was wait eight months. Scott and Brian had dabbled in fly fishing, but never in Alaska. There’s no reason they wouldn’t like Bristol Bay, but still, I felt a lot of pressure to make sure their trip was amazing. I’d been talking about this place with stars in my eyes for so long, they’d traveled so far, and fly-out lodges aren’t cheap. I wanted the magic of Bristol Bay to grab their souls like it had mine. Only then could they understand my dedication to its protection. They are familiar with Trout Unlimited’s conservation work in the region to advance long-term protections for this “fishing mecca” by fighting the disastrous, proposed Pebble mine. But to someone unfamiliar with the issue, a mine slated a hundred miles upstream of the actual bay in a remote area may not seem that terrible of an idea. Jobs and copper aren’t a bad thing, right? When you pull back the top layer, however, you learn that copper is particularly toxic for salmon. And pull back another layer: the landscape of the region is wet, and the ore is low-grade, meaning the mine would need to be massive to turn a profit, and the chance for spill or accident is extremely high. It’s a gigantic risk to a region that’s almost indescribably beautiful, unique, and dependent on wild salmon— with thriving Native subsistence cultures and rivers plugged with the tasty fish. I just really wanted my uncles to not only see it, but get it. But for them to get it, I knew I needed to take 25 steps backwards. They just needed to catch fish. After we were settled into the lodge that evening, full and relaxed after a hearty meal, our guide, Rylie, came to set up a game plan for fishing the next day. Meet at the bus at 6:50 a.m. to catch our plane, she told us. Be in waders. She’d pack lunches. Got it. Sleepy from their long day of travel and jet lag, the uncles went to bed. I couldn’t sleep. The excitement for a day of wilderness, guided fishing, hiking, float planes, and some of my favorite people made my too-excitedto-sleep-o-meter go haywire. The next morning, squished into a tiny plane flying low over the tundra, I watched small winding rivers, and the massive Naknek Lake pass beneath us out the windows. I quietly marveled at what makes Bristol Bay special: the maze of diverse, intact streams where salmon spawn and trophy rainbow trout, clowned up Dolly Varden, and alluring Arctic Grayling grow fat from a buffet of salmon eggs, flesh, and fry. A few dozen miles to the north, these are the types of waterways most imperiled by the mine. Our fishing destination that day was the Brooks River in Katmai National Park. Many recognize Brooks for its famous falls, the site of the live cam where you can watch fat grizzly bears feasting on salmon all summer. It’s an amazing display of nature unfolding in front of your eyes.

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Conservation After rigging up and getting introduced to the park, Scott and Brian kept calling themselves “star struck” for the famous brown bears that surrounded us as we hiked a mile or so along the trail to the upper river to fish for rainbows. We noticed bright red sockeye pooling and immediately got our lines in the water. A hooked rainbow on the first cast set in motion an epic day. We caught plenty of rainbows and hooked into some bright red sockeye — it’s always a thrill to fight a fish that big on a 6wt. I caught a 22” rainbow thanks to some expert guiding from Rylie, Scott got chased by a brown bear, my whole party almost took an accidental swim while crossing the river to get away from the same brown bear, we got slightly lost in the woods, had to wait for another bear to snack down about three salmon to get back to our own lunch, and stood watching the falls in the rain — mesmerized — for longer than Rylie could probably stand. All told, a classic Brooks Camp day served up a once-in-a-lifetime kind of day for the rest of us. That night, our heads hit the pillows with equal parts amazement and exhaustion. Early the next morning, we hopped in a boat down at the Bear Trail Lodge dock and sped up the Naknek River amid a brilliant Alaska sunrise, which we only get to see late in the summer as the daylight hours level up with our normal waking schedule. The sky was painted in orange, pink, yellow, and purple. In that moment, we sat in silent awe of the sky, too content to care if we saw a single fish that day. As the brightness of daylight set in, our desire for fish predictably returned. We spent the morning chasing coho (silver salmon) for Scott and Brian’s freezer, the noon hour eating turkey sandwiches from the boat with the sun shining on our faces, and the late afternoon catching the largest freaking Naknek River rainbow of my life. As you’d guess, my fears about my uncles’ satisfaction were unfounded. They left with a freezer full of fresh coho to enjoy all winter and to share with friends, and I knew without a doubt that now, they got it. They understood how there’s an entire region of Alaska, a state known for developing its resources, that’s just meant to be wild. They got that places like Bristol Bay should be explored and experienced as they are, because they’re places that make us understand sometimes the best thing we can do as humans is to just leave something alone. They saw why so many regard Bristol Bay as a place meant simply for fish and for fishing. Staring again out the window at the streams I waded through the day before, reflecting on yet another incredible experience in the heart of salmon country as I flew away, my mind went back to the simple resolve of our trip and a key driver of the region. Though fly fishing is made complicated by a myriad of variations in flies, line, fancy rods, gear, regulations, you name it — the sport at its core is simple. It’s the joy of the pursuit. It’s marveling at the catch — the colors of wild trout, the shimmer of salmon. It’s the satisfaction of watching them swim away and return to where they belong. On our flight from King Salmon back to Anchorage, I thought about the ginclear waters and color of coho underneath my feet in the belly of a boat. I thought about my uncles’ gratitude for the river that filled their freezer

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and will provide healthy meals throughout the winter, and of my own freezer, which is similarly full. I thought about our shared gratitude for those who have taken care of the resource before us and who allow us on their land to experience the same stretches of water upon which their ancestors relied. I thought, again, about responsibility to take care of the place for the cultures and bellies these rivers and fish have left to nourish. Simpler yet, I thought about how fishing is about being outside. Being, for a moment, a part of the river. It’s spending time away from screens, being fully present, and building connection not only among the people with whom we fish, but the places we spend our time. There are tons of places to go fishing in this country. But anymore, there aren’t many places nicknamed “salmon country,” and if they are, the name hearkens back to some historic moment where fish used to fill the rivers now just memories. There aren’t places where you can fly low and quietly take in miles and miles of tundra and intricately winding rivers without seeing a road, building, or fence. There aren’t many places you can catch multiple rainbows over 20”, fill your freezer with wild salmon for the winter in a day, and be home by dinner. After only two days, my uncles understood that Bristol Bay revolves around fish, and that it must stay that way. Sometimes it takes standing in a freezing cold river to take you back to what matters. When you have a place that makes your too-excitedto-sleep-o-meter go haywire over this simple act, you know it’s something worth protecting. 

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BRISTOL BAY SUPPORTS A

$73 MILLION WORLD-CLASS SPORT FISHING ECONOMY.

STOP PEBBLE MINE. PROTECTBRISTOLBAY.US PHOTO: RYAN BECK

The Reel Sisters A fly fishing novel by Michelle Cummings

A story about the power of women friendships, and how we learn a little bit about ourselves each time we step into the river. Through the voice of each character, The Reel Sisters fosters the notion that fly fishing has the potential to transcend age, gender, culture, and even socioeconomic barriers, and can occasionally be the glue that binds us.

As lovely and ponderous as fly fishing

My dad, an avid fly fisherman, recently died. I grabbed this book to feel close to him an and it didn't disappoint. The descriptions of fishing and life outdoors with all its marvels and pains were perfect. The characters bloomed too life like flowers in spring ... By Becca April 10, 2018

TRAVEL

Purchase your copy on Amazon. To learn more, visit TheReelSisters.com

from every angle

getting you out there by Jen Ripple

Nissan Leaf Starting at $29,990 nissanUSA.com In urban settings, getting to the water is half the battle. Fighting traffic during rush hour, and squeezing into a parallel parking spot in 2.3 seconds, all while being beeped at for just existing, makes that time on the water not only welcome, but necessary . I love the Pro-Pilot Assist features of the Leaf that can step in and take action if I need it, and the e-pedal function which makes the Leaf not only a breeze to drive, but fun. Oh, and no tail pipe means when I bend down to slip on my boots I don't get a big face full of exhaust. The Cargo Organizer makes it easy to carry my gear with me for a quick fishing stop before heading home after work. On top of all of this, in a city where parking spaces can go for the price of a small town, the starting price of $30k makes a good case for being able to purchase that new fly rod without the buyerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s remorse that sometimes follows.

photo courtesy of Nissan USA

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Filson Highland Shirt

Urban Fishing

Long gone are the thoughts that fly fishing is only for trout in remote mountain streams. Today's anglers are taking to the waters where they live. For those of us who find ourselves practicing urban fishing in the concrete jungle, here are a few of the selections we love to help you get out there after a harried day at the office or for that staycation fishing trip.

XTRATUF Salmon Sisters Ankle Deck Boot MSRP $100.00 xtratuf.com

Wigwam Alamogordo Socks MSRP $16.50 wigwam.com

MSRP $98.00 filson.com This lightweight shirt is perfect for those days when the evening temps dip, but the days are warm. Perfect to throw on over a tank or wrap around your waist just to have “in case.”

Prana Meme Pant MSRP $85.00 prana.com

These perky boots are not only fun, they’re tough ... just like their name suggests. Easy to slip on and slip off makes them perfect for the quick after work fishing stop.

CONSERVATION

As a Midwesterner at heart, I’ve been wearing Wigwam socks for as long as I can remember. I love them because they just fit and they keep my feet warm and dry no matter what the situation.

We love these because of their cross-functional nature and the water-repellent fabric. Wear these from the dress-down day at the office right to the river bank.

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tuck

Taking the time to enjoy the good things

Pizza We definitely love wheat-based doughs at DUN, but at times cutting out some gluten is a good thing. Try this grainfree, glutenfree, dairy-free Pizza Crust

Ingredients ½ cup blanched almond flour ¾ cup tapioca flour 6 tbsp coconut flour divided ½ tsp garlic powder 1 tsp Italian herb blend

¾ tsp sea salt 1/3 cup warm water 1/3 cup olive oil 1 tbsp apple cider vinegar 1 egg, room temperature

Steps Insert a pizza stone into the oven and preheat oven to 450 degrees. Grease a round pizza pan and set aside. Combine the almond flour, tapioca flour, 3 tbsp of coconut flour, garlic powder, Italian herb blend, and sea salt in a large bowl. Stir all ingredients to combine. Combine the water, oil, egg, and vinegar in a measuring cup and pour into the dry ingredients. Stir with a wooden spoon until a dough is formed. photo by Brandon Miller Photography

Add 1 tbsp of coconut flour to bring the dough together into a dough that can be pressed into the pizza pan without sticking. Do not add more than 3 tbsp of coconut flour. Press the dough into an even layer in the pizza pan. Place in the oven and bake for 1012 minutes. Add your toppings and return back to the oven for 12-15 minutes, depending on toppings.

Use this dough to create two of our favorite pizzas, the farm and mushroom madness. Spring 2019

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Tuck tuckIn in

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MOTIVATION

The Farm Pizza Ingredients ½ lb chicken tenders 1 sprig fresh rosemary 1 leek 5 sundried tomatoes packed in oil 8 oz fresh mozzarella pearls Two handfuls baby arugula Salt and pepper to taste 1 tbsp olive oil

Steps Preheat oven to 525 degrees. Cut the chicken tenders into bite-sized strips. Heat 2 tbsp of olive oil in a skillet over medium high heat. Add chicken and brown on all sides. Season with salt, pepper, and rosemary. Clean and finely dice the leek, dice the sundried tomatoes, and add both items to the skillet with the browned chicken. Sauté for a few minutes, stirring often. Remove from heat and set the mixture aside.

HOMEMADE

Evenly spread out the chicken mixture on top of the already prepared crust. Add mozzarella pearls evenly on chicken mixture and top with a few handfuls of fresh arugula. Place the pizza in a 525 degree oven for 12-15 minutes. The pizza is done when the cheese is melted and the arugula is wilted. Remove from the oven. Cool, slice, and serve.

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from tuck everyinangle

Mushroom Madness Pizza Ingredients

Steps

1 large onion 8 oz fresh shitake mushrooms 4 oz white button mushrooms 4 oz cremini mushrooms 1 tsp sugar 3 tsp olive oil divided 4 oz goat cheese Salt and pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 525 degrees. Thinly slice the onions and place in a cool frying pan with the sugar, 2 tsp of olive oil, and a pinch of salt. Turn the pan to medium low and cover. Let onions soften and caramelize. Stir onions occasionally to prevent burning. While the onions are cooking, destem, clean, and thinly slice the mushrooms.

Garlic Aioli 2 cloves garlic 2 pasteurized egg yolks 1 tbsp lemon juice 1 tbsp white wine vinegar ½ cup virgin olive oil Pinch of salt

Once the onions have caramelized add 2 tsp of oil to the pan and turn the heat to medium high. Sauté the mushrooms and onions until the mushrooms have lost most of their moisture. Add salt and pepper to taste. When the mushrooms are cooked, set aside.

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Drizzle the oil into the egg yolks and beat vigorously with a whisk. If oil starts to build up on the surface, stop adding the oil and whisk until combined. Add all of the oil, making sure the sauce is thick. After all oil is added, slowly drizzle in the lemon juice and vinegar, whisking continuously. You should have a runny smooth sauce. Now it’s time to build your pizza: Lightly brush the prepared crust with olive oil, and drizzle a couple tablespoons of aioli on the crust, not too much, just enough to flavor. Cover the pizza with your mushroom and onion mixture, leaving room around the edges. Crumble goat cheese evenly on top of your pizza. Drizzle more aioli on top of the pizza.

Now it’s time to make the garlic aioli: Finely mince the garlic and combine with the egg yolks and the salt.

Place the pizza in the center rack of a 525 degree oven and cook for 12-15 minutes. The pizza is done when the goat cheese is nicely browned and melted.

Break up the egg yolks with a whisk and gently beat.

Remove from oven. Let cool. Cut and serve with the garlic aioli sauce on the side.

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photos by Brandon Miller Photography

HOMEMADE

Tuck IN

Travel Bars These raw bars are filled with ingredients you can actually pronounce and will fill you up for those on the go days. Feel free to change up the nuts or seeds to create your own personalized bars. (We like exchanging the pecans for walnuts and have also substituted hemp seeds for the black flax). There are so many options! Make your own combination and be sure to tag us in your posts! 1 ½ cups pitted dried dates 1 cup dried cranberries 1 cup pecans 1/3 cup chia seeds 1/3 cup ground golden flax seeds 1/3 cup black flax seeds ¼ cup no sugar added dark chocolate chips ¼ cup unsweetened coconut flakes ¾ cup pumpkin seeds 3 tbsps melted coconut oil Combine the dates and cranberries in a food processor and process until a thick paste is formed. Add the pecans, chia seeds, ground flax, whole flax, chocolate chips, coconut, and pumpkin seeds. Reserve some of the pecans, chocolate chips, and pumpkin seeds to add after processing for more texture if desired. Process using pulses until the nuts are nicely ground and combined with the dried fruit. Drizzle in the coconut oil and process for a few moments to combine. Transfer the contents to a large bowl and mix in the whole ingredients by hand. Press the mixture in a 9 x 11 backing pan lined with parchment paper using a stiff spatula or the bottom of a measuring cup. The denser the bars, the better they will hold together. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least one hour to set. Remove the bars and cut into portions. Store in the refrigerator for 3-5 days, or in the freezer for up to one month.

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HOMEMADE

photo by Brandon Miller Photography

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Tuck In

P is co S o ur

Pisco is a light-colored spirit similar to grappa. It is produced by distilling the grape pomace and wine after fermentation has occurred. Pisco is usually not aged, and is the national spirit of both Chile and Peru. We tried this cocktail while hosting a trip to Rio Manso Lodge in Argentina's Patagonia region and fell in love.

Ingredients

2 oz Pisco 1 oz Fresh lime juice Â˝ oz Simple syrup 1 Pasteurized egg white Garnish

Lime wheel 1 dash cocktail bitters Instructions Combine all ingredients in a shaker with ice and shake vigorously. Double strain into a chilled coupe. Garnish with a lime wheel on the edge and drop one dash of bitters in the center of the cocktail before serving.

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REFRESHMENT

photo by Brandon Miller Photography

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end of the day

At the end of the day, I believe that the world is a stunningly beautiful place that should be protected for future generations to enjoy. I believe that clean water should be a basic human right. I believe in kindness, in truth, and in forgiveness. I believe in moving forward, instead of living in the past. I believe the world is a troubled enough place, and the last place we should be fighting with each other is on a river, a lake, or a stream. I believe it is easy to surf the net and get caught up in the wave of negativity. I believe we have bigger and better fights to win in today’s world. I believe in authenticity, being real, and owning who you are. I believe our fights are much more important than what you wear on the water. At the end of the day, this is fishing. And fishing is supposed to be fun. Now, go say something nice.

photo by Brandon Miller Photography

Fish-inspired. Functional Fishing Fashion. Shop online, at select retailers and in Anchorage, Alaska at FisheWear’s Show Room 4011 Arctic Blvd, Suite C, Anchorage, AK 99503 (907) 854 - 4775 @fishewear • #fishewear

DUN Spring 2019

Articles inside

Pisco Sour

Travel Bars

Pizza

Getting You Out There

Bristol Bay

Why It's Worth It

An Introduction to Fly Tying Hooks

The Life and Times of Diane Pallot

Jen's Spring Must haves

Splendor of the West

Basque in Glory

Embrace The Suck

I Packed Lingerie for My Trip to the Amazon

Where The World Ends

Fish Camp

Chica de Mayo

Breathe in

Reminder

Just Like Dad

Hook Anatomy