Kype Magazine
What is a Kype? A kype is a hook that forms on the lower jaw of a male trout, salmon or steelhead, during spawning periods. This is their badge of power and dominance, that is unique to only these species—a sign of a warrior. From this mark of strength comes the title of our magazine, KYPE.
VOLUME 6 ISSUE 2, 2015
Kype Magazine Boise, Idaho aileen@mkflies.com
www.KypeMagazine.com Kype Staff Publisher: Aileen Lane Cover Design: George Douglas Editor: Peggy Bodde
Publisher’s Cast...................................................................4 Andros 2015.......................................................................6 Fly Tying: BiColour Nymph II.................................................15
COPYRIGHT
The Bighorn........................................................................20
Kype Magazine © 2015 MKFlies LLC
Fly Farm “Farm to Vise” Movement......................................24
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication m a y b e c o p i e d o r reproduced in any way without the written permission from publisher.
Twin Territory.....................................................................26 Book Review: Closing the Season by Burns..........................32 Bone Lake...........................................................................34 Patagonia Dreams..............................................................38 Small Streams & Tenkara: Separated at Birth......................42
"A classic Idaho tailwater rainbow caught by Regan Flanagan on a pink callibaetis dry fly pattern." Credits Oarsman: Bill Atkinson Photographer: Wesley Atkinson wesatkinson.wa@gmail.com
I Get It... by Aileen Lane
Photo by Michelle Babcock Bio: Publisher of Kype Magazine
Fly Tyer & Owner of MKFlies 1/3 of the Trifecta of Fly Fishing Ventures Pro Staff Tier for Deer Creek UK Type of Fishing: Fly Fishing Location: Boise, Idaho Websites: KypeMagazine.com MKFlies.com Flyfishingv.com Contact Info: mkflies.1966@gmail.com aileen@mkflies.com
Photo by Rachel Morgan
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Do you? M
Photo by Rachel Morgan
y mom once told me I fished too much. Poor mom, I thought, she just doesn’t get it. Some people run, some people dance, others play music— though not my cup of tea, I get it. We all need something that we are passionate about, something that lets us forget our problems for a few moments and helps ground us. After a long week of work, I will often announce, “Boy, I really need to go fishing!” No matter how tired I may be, I am always eager to spend a day on the river. And, it’s not always about the fish. Sure, no body wishes to wet a line all day without a fish in the net. But, there is something very healing and energizing about being in the outdoors. As I walk up to the river’s edge, I marvel at the beauty of the sun rising and reflecting it’s light on the canyon walls as my heart skips a beat to the sound of rising fish. I look around my surroundings, I take in a deep breath and I can’t help but think of all the things I am so grateful for. Let’s go fish! KYPE “Fishing is the chance to wash one’s soul with pure air. It brings meekness and inspiration, reduces our egoism, soothes our troubles and shames our wickedness. It is discipline in the equality of men—for all men are equal before fish.” ~ Herber Hoover
Photo by Rachel Morgan
Andros
2015
Fly Fishing the Flats by Kesley Gallagher
W Kesley Gallagher has been fly fishing since she was 10 years old. Her first fly fishing experience was with her dad in Shenandoah which taught her enormous patience and that Virginia brook trout live in puddles. Since those days, she has traveled to such places as Labrador, Canada, for trophy brook trout, to Andros, Bahamas, for bonefish, and to Louisiana to pursue bull redfish on the fly. Kesley has two IGFA world records on fly thus far and is always looking for the next. She is a graduate of Bowdoin College (BA Biology/Chemistry) and University of Southern California (MS in Regulatory Science, USC School of Pharmacy) and currently works for Amgen in Thousand Oaks, CA.
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ade and I have traveled together to north Andros, the largest island in the Bahamas, three times in the past four years. He is a regular to the Joulters Cays and is an expert at sighting bonefish, landing them, and tying flies for them. Traveling with him to fish for bonefish by foot is one of the more extraordinary experiences I‘ve ever had. The first time I fished the Joulters, my brain was overwhelmed with the beauty of the flats, the invisibility of bonefish, and the desolation of the area. This being my fourth trip, I was ready and focused on one thing: landing bonefish. Wade and I knew traveling to Andros in December was a gamble. We didn’t know if it was going to be cold, if the wind was going to be utterly unmanageable, or if the storms in the continental U.S. would find their way to the islands. We hoped for a few good days on the flats to close out the year. Our first flat had a busy bottom with lots of turtle grass, holes, and marl. The undulations and changing underwater scenery confused my eyes. I was lost. I had been away far too long. “Over there!” Wade was pointing to a push and I saw the tail. Yes! I cast to the tail and spooked an entire school between that tail and me. Time to recalibrate my eyes! This was my first trip to Andros in December; in the past, I have gone in May. The sun is higher in May in the morning; could that have made a difference? Regardless, I needed to land a fish. Soon, Elias, my guide, spotted a single moving slowly across the flat. To me, bonefish look like grey bullets and are a cinch to see from the right angle. An easy fish to catch, I thought, and I was right. It ran over to the fly, and I was on! Nice to be back, I thought. I landed another fish, and we had lunch. Later that evening, we went deeper into the flats in the north. As we walked along a flat, I spotted pushes of fish moving towards me. Lucky me. Nine fish later, I saw that I was alone on the flat and the sun was setting.
Wade and Elias were waiting for me, the straggler, by the boat. It was a great way start to our trip. Glass It was late afternoon on the second day, and the light was slowly fading. Our last flat was all glass, and it was impossible to see into the water. Flashes of tailing bones in the distance flirted with my eyes; I grabbed my 7wt Salt and walked slowly into the mirror. Wade motioned a school was pushing up, and there were the tails, even closer now. I cast three feet in front of the lead fish and waited. Strip...strip....on! And then off! Arghhhh . . . Another set came in, wagging their tails, and I cast again. This time they fought for the fly, and one was on again. Yes! The Salt handled it beautifully and soon I was unhooking the fish. And just in time: the lemon sharks had moved in and were cruising the glass. Lemon sharks are integral to the flats. Anglers should always be aware of sharks, where they are, and where they might be. Often, when I see a shark cruising, I know that bonefish must be close by otherwise, that shark wouldn’t be there. I saw tails waving at me again in the distance. I moved towards the fish, wishing they'd get just a little closer. Then they moved. Wag. Move. Wag. Move . . . Soon they moved into casting range: 80'. Let's go! And I’m on! Again, the lighter weight rod and reel proved up to the task and soon, the bonefish was unhooked. To me, nothing equals hunting tailing bonefish on a glassy flat....stealth, precision, and mental fortitude equals success every time. Lemons "Shark! Shark! Shark!" Wade was playing a large bonefish from the boat on the third day when a large lemon shark charged his fish. We watched in horror as the shark moved in quickly. There was no way Wade could reel the bonefish in time.
"Handline it! Handline it!" Wade shoved the line at me, and I got what he meant a split second later. Grabbing the line, I pulled the bonefish in, hand over hand, as fast as I could. Elias threw his pole at the shark, and it bolted. I got the fish on the boat, and Wade unhooked it. The bonefish weighed around five pounds and fresh; it had a good chance of surviving long enough to make it to deeper water. I thought about what happened; it was my turn on deck. "Hand me my nine." I had just put a wire leader on my 9-weight rod with a tarpon fly for barracuda and decided a bigger target was at hand. I was on deck to fish and began stripping line out. The lemon shark was following the boat and was agitated. He was hungry. "Get it!" Elias enthusiastically cheered me on. The shark was headed out when Wade and Elias started splashing water to draw it back. The lemon turned, and I shot the fly at it. Letting the fly sink, I quickly stripped the fly right by the shark. It turned its head and grabbed it . . . and I was on. The shark circled so fast I thought I had lost it. Stripping the line in, I saw that I was still in the game. I did a tarpon set three times for insurance and the shark took off. The 9+ Hatch screamed as it went into the backing; I held on. "Well Elias, you might as well have lunch 'cause it’ll be three hours before she gets that thing in!" Wade sat down heavily and verbally wondered how we were going to unhook the shark. I played the shark as it ran, tightened the drag, and brought it in. Later, it became a tug of war, so I loosened my line, and it came free. We had seen many sharks that morning so it wasn't surprising that we nearly lost a bonefish to a lemon. Bonnethead sharks made an appearance and added concern to releasing the bonefish alive. The wind picked up and the clouds moved in. We headed back to the Joulters. An hour later, we arrived at Stevie Wonder Flat; so named because “even a blind man could see these fish.� All glass, no wind, and no sunlight. Pure sighting by tails. I was in heaven. Using my 7-
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weight Salt again, I landed four, and with help from Elias and the de-hooker, they were all released unharmed. The lighter weight line and leader proved deadly. The fish couldn’t hear the line despite the glassy conditions, and stalking them became incredibly fun. As the sun began to set, I saw more tails. Mesmerized, I walked away from the boat towards the school in the distance. Flashes and waving tails lured me to try again. Three casts later, I was on a good fish. I was quickly into my backing but realized my de-hooker was on the boat with Elias. I started walking towards the boat after the fish tired, guiding the fish with me while scanning the water for marauding sharks. The fish swam beside me like a dog on a leash. "Nice fish," exclaimed Elias as he got the de-hooker. I smiled; I was happy to end the day on a good note. "Shark! Shark!" Wade was pointing and yelling behind me. I turned and saw a large lemon shark charging. It had followed me back, and for some reason, I hadn’t seen it. Elias jumped out of the boat and ran at it. The shark bolted but came back at Elias. He jumped back and stomped at it. The shark bolted again towards the flat. Wade unhooked the fish, and I leapt onto the boat. Elias came back triumphant, the shark was gone, and we ended our day...unharmed! Porn Star Most of my trips speed up after the third day. This trip was no different, and time started whizzing by on day four. Our routine was well established, which added to my impression of losing time rather than gaining it. My mind was relaxed but sharp. I was on deck and Elias whispered, “Black back, 11:30, 60 feet.” Got it. There were two fish, both headed towards the boat. I cast at one on the right. It spooked, but its partner ran over and gobbled the fly. The fish ran to the mangroves, and I quickly put heat on it by lowering my rod tip, and it bent to the cork for maximum pressure. The fish stopped, and I started to reel. No getting away in the mangroves today, buddy! Fish with black backs are generally larger fish. We had the fish on deck to get a photo, which was proving difficult. I managed to get fish slime all over me. Wade quickly took photos and the fish went back in the water. I was covered in white slime, from my shoulders to my pants. Wade shook his head and laughed. 9
“You look like a porn star.” Elias nearly fell off the poling platform laughing. I couldn’t wipe myself off with a towel fast enough. New Year It was New Year’s Day. We had planned on trekking to the Berry Islands for trophy bonefish, but the seas weren’t agreeing. The wind was up, and clouds were scuttling past. It was going to be a tougher day. Our weather up to this point was perfect—sun, light breezes, and not hot. The Berry Islands are reached by going over open water; the building seas and wind were going to prevent us from going. Next time . . . This New Year’s morning, Skeemer joined us. Skeemer is an older guide with a deep knowledge of the flats. He looked at me and said, “Let’s see if you lost anything.” Skeemer had fished with me on my second trip and told me I wasn’t aggressive enough. By the end of that trip, being aggressive was no longer a problem, and it had made an impression. We reached the flat on an ebbing tide. The sand showed signs of roving packs of bones; pockmarks indicated many feeding fish. We scanned for tails and saw a school pushing off. “100 feet . . . coming to us.” Got it. I waited for the fish to approach. With the wind, long, accurate casts were iffy. The fish was at 80 feet. Cast 70’. Wait. Strip. Strip. POUNCE went the fish, and I was on. Five fish later, we moved on across the flat. The schools had disappeared into singles. Larger fish were moving around, alone, and became our quarry. The wind started to pick up, too. “Can you see it? 80 feet, single, moving right to left towards us!” Directly to my left was a fish we had just seen move. Bonefish are tricky to see; it’s no joke. Sometimes, they appear out of nowhere. Judging the wind, I used it to my advantage and cast 75’ to the fish. The fly landed inches from its nose. “Christ!” exclaimed Skeemer, “It’s on!” I set the hook and the fish was off and running. And I mean, running. Usually, they don’t run very far; I have the drag clamped down tight with 16# tippet. Wade tells us to bring in the fish hot so that they have enough energy to swim away from the sharks. This fish decided he was going by himself to the Berry Islands. “That’s a nice fish.” After two more runs, we brought it in. My boga only read five pounds. Amazing. I could only dream how a nine or ten pound fish would fight; one day I will find out. We landed some more fish, all over four pounds but none over five. They all fought hard and made my apprehension about the wind disappear. Skeemer looked at me, smiled, and said, “You have lost nothing, my dear.” 10
Last day I’ll admit it. I was tired. Walking 10 miles a day in calf-high water was taking its toll. I told myself, “Last day. Enjoy every second and go after every fish like it’s your last.” An image of my desk terrorized me, and I shut it out. We landed on the first flat. We walked and walked and walked. I saw Wade off on the edge of the flat catching fish. It was a good sign. At least there were fish . . . somewhere. But the fish were with him and not me. Soon, we were off to the next flat. It was five miles long and a mile wide surrounded by various mangrove cays. The sun was high and the wind was manageable. Fish started to appear and it was game on! Five fish in, I saw something move to my right. A black back single was moving towards us. Skeemer and I stopped breathing. That’s a big fish. The fish was 100’ out moving right to left but coming towards us. The wind, of course, picked up. The fish got closer; I cast, and put the fly a foot in front of it. “Nice cast!” Strip, strip, he’s following! Aaaaaand . . . .nothing! Skeemer and I followed that fish around the flat for 15 minutes. Soon it joined a school of what seemed to be dwarf bonefish. I cast into it hoping to get the big guy, and hooked one of the miniatures. Black back was gone but gave me a taste of what fly fishing for trophies could be like. Skeemer and I walked on, hoping to get a shot at that fish one last time. Wade was having a spectacular day judging by the number of times I saw him fighting fish. He normally has 30–40 fish days in May. Today was no different. He joined us as the water got deeper, and we walked to the last flat after crossing a shallow channel. I spotted tails waving to me in the distance. My competitive persona showed up on that last flat; I was determined to get to them before Wade did. The tails glinted in the sunlight, the grey bullets showed up, and I cast once again waiting to go tight on a running fish. “It’s on!” All too soon, the sun began to set, and the full moon rose above the eastern horizon. My trip was over, and I was sad. I never look forward to breaking down my rods and packing my gear. I resolved to come back again to Andros sooner rather than later and meet once again with the ghost of the flats. Technical Blurbs: 1.Gear: You paid a lot of money to get to Andros; make sure you have the right gear. a.7, 8, and 9weight rods. Generally, I fish with my 8wt 9’ rod. Be sure you take at least two 8wt rods since rods have a tendency to break when overseas in a remote area. 11
b.Bonefish line. This is important for long distance casts, accuracy, and a line that won’t collapse in the heat. c.10# to 16# leader up to 10’. I generally don’t fish anything longer although Wade does for glassy conditions. d.Wading boots. 10 miles a day. Nuff said. e.Anodized, sealed reel with a large arbor. Make sure you have a reel that can handle long, blistering runs several times a day and one that can pick up line quickly. f.Waterproof sling pack, backpack, or hip pack. Make sure it has a place for your water bottles and raincoat. g.Traditional and non-traditional Gotcha bonefish fly patterns work best, but always check with your guide first before your trip. If you tie your own, bring several patterns with differently colored eyes and legs. Sometimes the darker eyes make the biggest difference. 2.Hints a.Clean your line every night, check for nicks, and check your knots. Bring a backup line. b.Change your leader (always the tippet) every night. Check it at lunch, too. c.Clean your sunglasses frequently. Keep the solvent and cloth in a zip lock bag. d.Bring more than one color of polarized sunglasses. I am always checking hues with the changing light. Seeing the fish is everything. e.Practice your casting and accuracy before your trip! Luck favors the prepared, and you need to be on your game when you see that first fish. KYPE
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“I quit guiding because I could not stand watching others fishing. It was like going to a gold mine without a shovel.� ~ Len Harris lenharris.blogspot.com/
BiColour Nymph Part 2 by Alan Bithell
T Bio: Production fly tier, demonstrator, instructor and sometime fishing author, scratching a living in the Highlands of Scotland, so I can spend as much time as possible on the water fishing. Yes in other words a trout bum!
o leave the BiColoured nymph alone, without exploring other possibilities of the tying technique would go against my nature. Some people asked me if it is possible to add legs while others wanted weight. I’m not so sure about legs, perhaps they add to the pattern. However, Frank Sawyer would not agree. If you wish, here is my method to include legs and weight. If you want to use rubber legs it couldn’t be done any easier than tying the fly sans legs, then threading the legs through the thorax with a sewing needle.
Fly tying: Well, I lash things to hooks and tubes, not to mention the odd waddington. The results have, occasionally, been known to bear some resemblance to what I intended when I started. Some of you may have met me at various shows others read my occasional musings in print or elsewhere online. For my sins I am a member of the very disreputable Deer Creek Pro Team, and work with Virtual Nymph. Website: www.crackaigflies.co.uk/
The tying technique here may be new to you, though some actions are a little awkward at first it is not difficult. Stick with it and you’ll soon have them falling from your vice in no time. This example is tied weighted if you wish. I have so that I can pass on a couple of tips about using self-adhesive lead foil. 15
Put your hook in the vice, here I’m using a size 10 long shank. More for clarity than any other reason. Cut a long strip of lead foil. Cutting it length wise reduces the waste. Make a few turns over the thorax area. This is the “short run.” When putting multiple runs of lead foil on a hook, always start with the shortest run, and get longer. It will save you time and expense. Holding the ends of the foil at the same angle you are winding it, cut through the strip at 90 degrees to the hook shank. The resultant pointed tag (seen below the hook shank) will form a square end to the lead when wound. Make the longer run of lead over, finishing the ends in the same way. See how the lead smoothes itself out this way. If you placed the short run over the longer you would have to do this with thread. Start the thread, and build ramps at either end of the lead. This part is where you will have to take more care than perhaps you usually do. If you get this wrong you will spoil the fly now, but not know it until the last step. Take a good bunch of pheasant tail fibres, and measure them against the hook shank. (To make photographing them easier I have held them in place with a turn of thread.) The tips should extend forward of the eye by the length you want the tail of the finished fly. Grip the butt ends of the pheasant tail fibres with your thumb nail level with the start of the bend. Move them forward until your thumb nail is behind the eye.
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Lash the pheasant tail fibres down to the top of the thorax in the position you have just established. Trim off the butts at an angle so that you get a smooth transition from abdomen to thorax. Take a partridge hackle and strip off the fluffy fibres at the base. Stroke the fibres back, exposing the tip. You need the fibres from a length of stem equal to the length of the thorax. Any fibres beyond this should be removed. Tie in the partridge feather by its tip, flat on top of the thorax, so it curves up. Run the thread back to the start of the bend. Tie in the ribbing wire, and a bunch of dyed yellow pheasant tail fibres.
Wind the yellow pheasant tail fibres forward to form the abdomen. Tie down and trim off the excess.
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Advance the thread to the eye and dub the thorax back to the abdomen.
Bring the partridge feather back over the thorax, and tie down.
Apply a tiny amount of dubbing to the thread and whip finish using the dubbed thread. This hides the tie in point of the legs. If you feel the need to apply head cement to this whip finish, do it by drawing the whip finish tight around your bodkin. Apply a drop of cement to the bodkin. Pull on your bobbin holder to tension the thread. Draw the bodkin out. You will hit the whip finish spot on every time this way. More importantly you will not gum up everything else around there. Trim out the thread. Trim off the excess feather stem.
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Fold the pheasant tail fibres over the top of the fly. Secure the back with the ribbing wire. When you reach the point where abdomen and thorax meet make a couple of half hitches to secure the wire. Worry (twist) of the excess. If you like, a tiny drop of CA glue on the wire will make the half hitches more secure. This is where you will discover if you have measured correctly above.
This pattern can be varied in many ways; above I have included a bead in the thorax. To do this tie in the dark pheasant tail first, measure it as above. Apply a tiny amount of dubbing and whip finish with it to form the front third of the thorax. Then seat the bead on the butts of the pheasant tail.
Tie in the ribbing wire and body. Once you have wound the body apply enough dubbing to the thread to form the rear third of the thorax. Again whip finish with this dubbed thread.
You can tie them without any weight at all. It’s really a style or technique more than a pattern. Bend and twist it in any way you like to fit your fishing situation. KYPE
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The Bighorn by Shawn Stankus
Shawn started fly tying and fishing when he was 11. Riding along with his grandfather as they chased the stocking truck from stream to stream solidified his passion for fly fishing. He guided during college and now fishes all year long on the classic trout streams of central Pennsylvania.
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hat can you say about the Bighorn? Huge trout and great hatches seem to be the way of it. If there’s a river in Montana you must visit, the Bighorn is it. I woke up to a cold, brisk morning in late September in Fort Smith, Montana, and as I pulled into the three-mile access, the fog was lifting off the river like a ghostly spirit. The field beside the parking lot already had thousands of tricos dancing around performing their annual mating ritual. The smell of coffee and donuts lingered as the fishermen geared up and told their stories about the days before. Trading fly patterns and stories of giant trout caught in these waters on previous days are the norm for fishermen and parking lot talk. This can be one of my favorite things to experience in the life of a fly fisherman. As we backed our boat into the foggy river, I could not wait to get down to our destination. The anticipation was killing me. Our friend, Shelly Ehmer, who is also a guide on this mighty river, offered us a free float on this beautiful morning. She is one of the best fly fishermen and friends any-
one could ask for. As we headed downriver, the faint chirping of a lone pheasant echoed through the long field that ran beside the Bighorn. Our destination was the famous drive-in pool. There is an island splitting the river lined on one side with old cars sitting right at the river’s edge. Plenty of magazine ads have showcased this popular section. As my buddy, Dom, and I arrived at the first pool, at least, 20 to 30 trout had already taken up feeding positions. It was a sight to see. The feeding frenzy made it look like the water was boiling. As I nervously tied on my #20 trico pattern, more and more fish began to indulge themselves on this magical feast from the heavens. I literally jumped out of the boat and started covering rising fish as I worked my way up one side of the island. I slowly worked upstream floating my dry fly over pods of fish, picking out the biggest ones I could see. I could not believe how many big trout were surfacing for these tiny mayflies. I hooked one trout after another, and they were all 18 inches and over. I would hook two to three fish and then have to change flies because their giant teeth were just tearing up my patterns. These pods of fish were surfacing right up against the bank in less than a foot of water, which was just amazing to see. Hundreds of thousands of dead tricos floated past me, and thousands more were still in the air. A dozen patterns and 35 trout later, the hatch finally died off. As the fishing slowed down I looked up at the sky and thanked the heavens for this great day on the mighty Bighorn. All of the fish that I hooked were over 18 inches and were very healthy due to the great food supply that this river holds. It was the best day of fishing that I have ever experienced on any river or at any point in my fly fishing career. I made my way back downriver to the boat and found Dom with a big smile on his face. He had experienced a great morning also. As we floated downriver to the takeout, I could not get rid of the grin on my face from the day that I had just experienced. The sun was shining, and I was a grateful fly fisherman who had just had the time of his life. If you’re looking for great hatches, a beautiful river, and plenty of monster trout, do not overlook this wonderful tail water. And I hope that when that day comes, the river will treat you as well as it did me. KYPE
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Fishing Blogs Fly Only Zone
Tying Fly Fishing & Tying
www.unaccomplishedangler.com
www.anglergang.com 22
www.thejerseyangler.blogspot.com
Fly Farming “Farm to Vise” Movement by Andrew Nelson
T Andrew Nelson lives in the mountains of West Virginia and has been fly fishing since he was a boy growing up in Minnesota. When he is not working with individuals with autism or spending time with his kids, he can be found on the water searching for big pike, trout and other fish on the fly. thelaughingfly@gmail.com
he modern fly tier and fisher is a spoiled creature. We have it pretty good. We can dream up crazy flies requiring exotic materials, both synthetic and natural; go to our local fly shop or hop online to place an order; and be tying said fly in 3-5 business days. Fly tiers can be more creative and flies can be more innovative as a result of these efficiencies. With all of this convenience, it can be easy to forget that men and women are making these fly tying materials, sometimes in their garages or basements, all for the love of tying and fly fishing. However, the fly fishing community has a passionate presence on social media, which has made it possible to connect more intimately with unique fly tying materials and the producers developing them.
http://www.thelaughingfly.com/ Photos by Ann Wotring
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One year ago I began working part-time on a farm near my house in our tiny town in the mountains of West Virginia. The Crimson Shamrock Ranch, owned by Dr. David Moran and Mrs. Lori Wall, is home to approximately 80 Suri alpaca and 40 Wensleydale sheep. As I spent more time examining the fiber on the alpaca, I immediately began wondering about the possibility of creating dubbing for my own fly tying. Without much hesitation I grabbed a handful of material and began to experiment in my garage with dyeing and preparing these soft fibers. “The Laughing Fly,” a small business providing fly tying material, was launched soon after. As customers, professional contacts, and personal confidence grew; I started to look at other fly tying materials I could create
using the fibers of the small animals I was raising on my own farm. Pygmy goats are hearty animals with fiber soft enough for delicate flies yet strong enough for streamers and sculpin patterns. I found I could use the pygmy goat fiber as a substitute for buck tail and deer hair in several of the patterns I tie for local fishing. On a night of tying, I can go out to the barn, clip some fibers, and immediately return to the vise to tie. This is a realization of what my friend Dennis Eckrote of the OMF Fly Co calls the “farm to vise” movement. Soft hackles and wet flies are an obsession of mine, and through selective breeding I am currently developing a line of pygmy goat fibers with the barred “grizzly” look one finds in chicken hackles. I should have product available for the market by this spring or summer. Finally, I am starting to learn how to hand spin using a drop spindle to create egg yarns and yarns for sucker spawn using the fiber from our giant angora rabbit. One rabbit produces an amazing amount of fiber, and the process of spinning yarn is relaxing. I hope to be able to offer angora yarn through my store sometime this year as well. In the spirit of building community, I started the inaugural “Fly Farming Material Swap” this year as an attempt to find other producers who raise or source local materials for their own fly-tying bench and broader markets. This year will feature a variety of swap materials including suede insect bodies and tails from Pat Cohen at Super Fly and rare furs from J.P Lipton at Roughfisher. We live in a time when people are seeking a closer relationship with the products they use in their daily lives. We want contact with the landscape that our food and products emerge from. We also want to be able to look producers and famers in the eye and build community locally. Fly tiers and fishers are no different. Therefore, it is my mission to create excellent artisan products that allow fly tiers to experience the same feeling they get at the local market when they open a package of my dubbing or fibers. It is also my mission to inspire others to try raising their own animals on any scale they feel comfortable, and to produce materials for their own fly-tying passions. Start with one animal in your own backyard; it could be the beginning of a lifelong passion.KYPE
Twin Territory Kid Power in Full Action by Aileen Lane
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Bio: Publisher of Kype Magazine
can’t remember exactly how I was introduced to Twin Territory —perhaps while scrolling on facebook. But, I do remember feeling admiration for these boys and what an impact they have had so far with the youth in their community. I was honored when they agreed to be interviewed and to share with us their mission. It was a pleasure to correspond with one of Twin Territory’s AJ and his mom, CaLyn.
Fly Tier & Owner of MKFlies 1/3 of the Trifecta of Fly Fishing Ventures Pro Staff Tier for Deer Creek UK Type of Fishing: Fly Fishing Location: Boise, Idaho Websites: KypeMagazine.com MKFlies.com Flyfishingv.com Contact Info: lane.aileen@yahoo.com
Kype: Hello AJ! Please share with us what Twin Territory is all about! AJ: My twin, Jace and I started Twin Territory a couple of years ago so that we could share our passion for the outdoors with other kids and teenagers. Video games has become such a big thing for kids and they spend hours in their homes playing on them instead of going outside and enjoying things 26
like fishing, hunting, hiking, etc. We know there are a lot of adult programs across the country telling kids to get outdoors but we thought it would be better if we, as kids ourselves, were sharing how much fun we are having. They may listen a little more coming from someone their own age. We started a website and a facebook page where we could share our pictures and outdoor news for kids. Jace, Cameron (our little brother who does just as much work as us) and I have been lucky enough to be invited to a lot of outdoor expo events here in Utah where we have a booth just for the kids. We have the opportunity to talk to other kids about spending more time outdoors and sharing with them what our favorite things to do are. At these shows, we raffle off outdoor gear that have been donated by some awesome outdoors companies that also share the same passion as us. The kids love winning the prizes and we hope this will give them the opportunity enjoy a new outdoor hobby! Kype: What is the 222 Event? AJ: Because Jace and I are twins, we decided a 222 Event would be an easy name to remember. 222 stands for: every 2nd month, on the 2nd Saturday at 2pm, we will be somewhere holding a free outdoors event for kids! If a kid starts coming to these events at let’s say age 11, and comes to all 6 every year for 27
5 years, he will have had at least 30 ourtdoor adventures before he even starts to drive. Our passion is fly fishing, but we want kids to try all sorts of outdoors activities like skeet shooting, paddle boarding, hunting, ice fishing and more. The Utah DWR has started helping us with these events so they are just getting better and better! Kype: I see that you ask kids to turn in their used video games. That’s a big sacrifice for a lot of these kids. Tell me more about it! AJ: Another cool thing about our events is that at each one, kids are asked to turn in their used video games and promise to spend less time playing them. And if they do, they get entered into a raffle to win outdoor gear instead. Thanks to Cabelas, Orvis, William Joseph, Kast Gear and so many more great companies, we have been able to motivate kids with some really awesome prize and support. The best part is that we take all of the video games that have been donated and give them to Primary Childrens Hospital in Utah. They have told us that they can use all they can get because they have so many children there that cannot get outdoors. Last year, the kids in Utah donated over 300 video games and we are on target to beat that for this year. Kype: What do you love the most about what you do? AJ: Besides getting to see kids doing things like catching a fish for the very first time or learning to cast a fly rod, we have been able to have a lot of stories shared with us. Just this past October, at our 222 Event that was a Zombie Fishing Day, a mom told us that her 6 year old son was so excited to come to our event that he woke her up at 7am ready to go. Our event didn’t start unit noon! This means a lot to us that kids are that excited to come out with us.
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Kype: Where do you see Twin Territory in five years from now? AJ: In five years, we will be out of high school but want to see Twin Territory continuing and getting bigger. Our little brother, Cameron (who is almost a better fly fishman than us!), and one of his buddies will be the “kids� that will continue to get other kids outdoors and we will continue to be involved by helping him with the events. We have had some people telling us that they need a Twin Territory group in other places like Southern Utah, Denver, Texas to name a few. We are working on seeing how to do that as well. In those places, they would also need to hold 222 Events, teach lessons and represent kids that want to spend their time outdoors. We have also gotten requests to purchase t-shirts and hats with our logo on it. We think it would be awesome to have a Twin Territory product line just for kids. We are trying to get a TT fly rod package that is affordable and sturdy for kids that want to take up our favorite sport!
Kype: Any final words you would like to share with us? AJ: One last thing we would like to say that is important to us is Stream Access in Utah and in other states. We have already, at our age, learned that we have to fight to keep our rights to have public access to rivers and streams in Utah. If we lose this right, we will lose everything we love and so will future kids, which means they will just keep playing video games. We want to tell kids and adults to be involved in helping the leaders that make the laws to remember our future in the outdoors. USAC in Utah is leading our fight here in our state. Everyone needs to find out who to contact in their own state to help keep our waters free. Lastly, we really want to thank Grant Bench for being an amazing artist / fly tying expert and inspiration to us; Tyler Lyon, a crazy and awesome fly fisherman for helping us with our math homework and so much more in keeping us grounded, and to Kype Magazine for doing so much for our most favorite sport, fly fishing and for thinking of us for this interview! KYPE For more information on Twin Territory, check out their website: www.twinterritory.com
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Book Review
Closing
the Season
Author Bradford Burns by Aileen Lane
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pon opening Burns’ book, Closing the Season, I found myself in another world escaping to experience fly fishing for Atlantic salmon on Miramichi and Cains Rivers of New Brunswick, Canada. Growing up in Maine, author Brad Burns spent many years fishing salt. L.L. Bean Fly Fishing for Striped Bass Handbook, published in 1998, was Burns’ first book. But his passion for fly fishing did not end there, he went on to experience fresh water fly fishing which led to his love for Atlantic salmon. And there, the adventure begins.
Closing the Season is a descriptive and thorough documentation of the history, people and fly fishing for Atlantic salmon. It is evident that Burns has completed extensive research and collected very detail-oriented observations of these areas of fishery. Burns also included his impressive daily journal recording a complete season of fly fishing on the Miramichi and Cains in the fall that makes you feel like you were there as well. Finally, Burns shares tips for flies, equipment and techniques to help one have a successful experience. The tackle and techniques section is not merely a bullet-point presentation. Burns discusses in detail, every you need to know —leaving one with an abundance of information. I have not had the opportunity to fish for Atlantic salmon, yet. However, I found myself transported to a new adventure. The photographs are beautiful to look at and Burns’ writing flows smoothly and makes for a nice read at the end of the day. Being a fly tier myself, I especially enjoyed seeing all the photographs of his flies as well as reading about them. A quality, hard cover book full of beautiful photographs, historical maps, and documents – Closing the Season is a joy to read. Everything you will ever need to know about fly fishing for salmon on the Miramichi River and Cains is all here in this one book. For additional information about Brad Burns, please KYPE visit his website at www.BradBurnsFishing.com 32
Now available at: www.bradburnsfishing.com
Bone Lake by Marty Heil
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’ve kept a journal for many years. In the 5 or 6 years since I wrote this, my career is back in full swing, but the memory of that healing spring is still treasured.
I’ve been tying and fishing since the late 70’s. Blessed to travel and fish all over but my heart lies with the small wild fish of the southern Appalachians. I fish waters big and small every chance I get from coast to coast and across oceans, but my soul sings best in those small wild waters I grew up on. I fish mostly for Salmonids but hit warm water now and then as well. Specks (Brookies) are my true love. I’m a bamboo and dry fly guy mostly but my purist rants are made with my tongue firmly in cheek. I make my home near Nashville, Tennessee (no, I don’t sing or play guitar.) Marty.heil@yahoo.com
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This spring has been both sad and magical for me. I have been away for a long time with work, college, the Marines, a failed marriage, and life in general. In December I was laid off from a soulless corporate job that demanded 90-hour workweeks, and I came home for a while. Dad’s invitation for me to come home to Tennessee while I was job-hunting just felt right way down deep. It has truly been a blessing to be with family and around for my nephew in a time when he has needed it. In between spending time with my nephew, I fished more this spring than in at least the previous 10. I had enjoyed fishing in Florida, but saltwater doesn’t do much for me. We are really blessed in Tennessee. There are lakes, streams, rivers, creeks, and ponds that hold everything from bream (bluegill to you Yankees) and bass to trout and most things in between. I really love trout, and fishing in cool, moving waters is my joy and passion, but there is something truly special about small lakes and ponds too. Not too far from here is a smallish rock quarry that was long ago abandoned when quarry activities hit a spring. The Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency manages several of these for fishing and picnic use. No gas motors and a small daily fee pretty much reserve the water for anglers. The mowed areas where dads with young sons and cane poles chase bluegills are fun to watch, but they take up only a small part of the otherwise craggy, clear little lake. You can rent a johnboat and electric motor or bring your canoe or belly boat. On this particular day, I get a cup of coffee and my permit. I don’t think the caretaker is the same guy from all those years ago. Though he’s probably from the same mold: retired from something and doing this so he can fish. The walls of the little shop are covered with snacks, tackle, and pictures of everything from towheaded kids with bluegill to huge catfish and some really nice bass. He asks if I need any bait. “Thanks, I brought my fly rod,” I respond. “Bream or bass?” he asks. “Whatever works,” I say. “I’m just glad to be fishing. Dad brought me here
a lot when I was a kid.” “Yep. It’s a good old lake. Green or black are your best bets,” he says with a smile. At this point I notice the rod hanging above the counter, well used with a green cork popper about the size of an olive. I thank him and walk out and down to the edge of the clear, greenish water I remember so well. I can see the stumps of the old dock. Across the way are the remnants of the boathouse dad and I used to hideout in during storms. Suddenly I am in a hurry and head to the jeep, and ferry my stuff down to the water. I step into the belly boat…sorry—they’re called float tubes now—and wade until I can kick off. The 9’6” Granger is a little heavy but perfect for this. I start to the left, swinging wide of the grandson and his papaw fishing in the mowed section. I wave and ask if the fish are biting and the little guy holds up three fingers. I give him a thumbs up as I move gently past. Ten yards down, I find a weed line just where I remember it. The silk hisses gently as I work the deer hair bug out. Even in the dead still of early morning, you can’t even hear it plop from thirty feet away. I can almost hear Dad saying, “Wait till the rings are gone…wait.” This was never a lake for violent plops; soft twitches and long pauses were always the thing. On the third twitch a small bream sucks the bug under, and the hook set sends the bug back to me. The good thing about these small to medium bugs is that you can cover bass pretty well without eliminating all the fun that the flat, brightly colored bream can provide. A few casts later, the water explodes the instant the bug hits. I laugh out loud as an 11-inch green rocket dances across the water. Bass that size are so vibrant, and his color is just like an emerald. I lay him in the stripping basket for a quick picture before I release him. As I gently fin my way to the bend, the weed-filled, grassy shoreline gives way to rock and short bluffs. Three more bass take my bug with equal gusto; although one was so small I’m fairly certain its intentions were amorous rather than epicurean. I pass the bend and start thinking how lucky I am to have had a dad like I did. We spent many Saturday mornings here: first in a rented johnboat and then in a flat back canoe. It’s hard to tell, but I’m pretty sure this is the spot where the wind seized the boat while I was trying to tie us to a limb. I stayed airborne for a few seconds before I fell in. Dad pulled me in saying, “You should have let go of the limb.” I got dried off and fished for a while, but it got pretty cold and we went home. I think I was seven or eight. I started fly fishing around age eight and it happened before then. Sometime later, I unintentionally paid him back by trying to help pull the rented johnboat up on the shore while he was unfastening the electric motor. I remember his surprise and laughter, as he stood there soaking wet but unhurt. Dad worked hard in his sales job and would sometimes have to make a couple of calls to customers, but there was a pay phone at the little lake house. By the time sandwiches were finished, business was usually finished too, and we were ready to fish again. For years he had to travel Monday through Thursday, but he always made time for us to go fishing. Thanks, Dad. Several bigger bream and a fair number of bass take my bug as I make my way quietly around the lake. The side opposite the lake house turns to rock cliffs and gets pretty deep as it heads toward the deepest 35
part of the quarry. There is a small dam that was put in at some point to deepen the lake, and at one time there was a boathouse there. Now it’s just a foundation at the waters edge. There are two fish burned into my memory from this spot. One bass was so old it had green, shaggy growths on it and really didn’t fight all that hard, but it was huge. At the time he seemed a giant, but I’m pretty sure he was six or seven pounds. I’ve caught larger in the 30 years since but few I remember more. I yelled and made so much noise that the caretaker came running down the shore with a Polaroid camera. We were in our little green Coleman canoe when I hooked into the second fish. I can still see the deep bend in my Cortland glass rod. The brown and black wooly bugger was taken hard by a fish that just chugged for deep water. It seemed like eons that he pulled our little canoe around and about the time I could see the leader butt above the surface, the hook pulled free. I am jarred out of my reverie by a larger fish taking the bug in very nearly the same spot. He pulls hard and deep, fast and strong. Oddly, he doesn’t jump at all. I start to madly crank up line to get him on the reel. He meets me halfway, and the old Hardy Perfect chatters away. He runs a good 15 or 20 feet and stops. I am facing the center of the lake without even realizing he has moved me too. I gain most of the line back and a bit more, and then his head stops shaking as he runs again but only 10 or 15 feet. I gain line again and the last couple of runs are less than six feet. Clearly this fish has shoulders, and I am pretty sure that this is one heck of a bass. The white belly and whiskers that roll just as I get the leader butt at my rod tip doesn’t register at first. I must have let out a whoop at some point, because I have an audience on the far bank. I reach down and gently hoist him into the stripping basket for a pic. I’m not sure what a fat 22” catfish weighs, but he is pretty darn heavy. I hold him up and then let him revive a bit till he swims strongly out of my hand. My bug is slimed now and just won’t float. Two bass fishermen throwing rubber worms comment that they’d have eaten him. I issue my usual response: that I’m just lazy and don’t like to clean them. The fact that I just have no desire left to kill anything is not a conversation to be had with strangers anywhere, much less on the water. I watch the bass guys making their splashy casts down the bank and notice their bright purple worms with the neon pink tail. It’s not the first time I’ve seen this and the colors remind me of some small wooly buggers with pink-tipped rubber legs and purple bodies I have in my fly box. I change to the streamer and follow these guys down the bank slowly. It is rare for me to be around bass fishermen very much, but I’m not sure that their loud heavy line presentations and big bullet weights weren’t the perfect setup for my small fly quietly slipping into the water. I think sometimes the heavily fished bass get stirred up by the usual presentations but don’t strike. I’ve gone behind bass guys several times and caught fish on flies when none took on their heavier tackle. I cast right under the willow. The usual couple of strips and pause produce a bigger fish. Pulling a four-pound largemouth out of water these guys had just fished hard with no luck is probably a bit rude, but it was a lot of fun to see them look from the jumping bass and back to my rod several times before moving on. Fly fishermen are an oddity here, and they probably thought a brown rod with bright green wraps was a bit strange too. I know it’s often said that you can’t go home again, but a day on the water evokes such nice memories of fishing with Dad and always makes me smile. I still don’t know exactly what’s going to happen, but it feels good to be home if only for a while, and it’s hard to not believe that things will be ok. Ben Franklin once said: “Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.” I think it has more to do with spring mornings and bamboo fly rods, but that’s just me. KYPE
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Got Kype? We do! Contact us for back issues with full length DVD movies by George Douglas. email: aileen@mkflies.com
P a t Dreams agonia by Paul MacDonald
P Born and raised in Southern California, most people didn’t expect I’d be fly fishing every day of my life. Now after a few years spent living in Wyoming and Colorado, I find myself sharing this passion with people from all over the world. I fly fish for a lot of reasons. The thrill of setting out to catch that elusive big fish. Spotting a dark nose at the head of a riffle and laying that perfect cast inches over his head. Seeing the fish rise and trying so hard to wait just a split second longer before setting the hook. Or the so often feeling of complete solitude, when all you can hear is the faint sound of nature and the river slowly staying its course. Your perception of reality becomes that exact moment and you never want it to end. Its a beautiful thing. I hope this article will inspire a few of you to get out there and fish or better yet to take a trip to the beautiful region of Patagonia. I promise you, you will not be disappointed. Thanks for reading my article and don’t hesitate to contact me if you have any questions, macdonaldpaul9@yahoo.com Thanks.
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atagonia is an immense, yet sparsely populated region in southern South America. It is home to the world’s longest continental mountain range, while also housing the seventh largest desert on earth. Words fall short in painting the breathtaking landscapes that exist here. The gin-clear rivers of the Andes Mountains, along with its backwater oases and thick vegetation all offer the perfect environment for large brown trout to flourish. An angler could spend decades fly fishing untouched waters here and never fish the same place twice. Not only does Patagonia offer world class fly fishing, but the culture and its people are quite amazing as well. What sets them apart is their selflessness and willingness to help whoever is in need. Both the Argentine and Chilean people who live in this region do not consider time an issue; things can wait, and there is no problem with delays. If you are interested in learning about their region, they will happily share the stories and secrets of their beautiful land. In that same spirit, I’d like to share a few tips and insights I acquired while traveling through Patagonia in the hopes of helping those of you who may be considering a trip there, but first—the forever-unforgettable story we fly fishers dream of. Jan 30, 2015. The Rio Negro region of Patagonia was experiencing tough fishing for the first time this season. Big fish were common in the earlier months, especially during one of Patagonia’s most prolific hatches: the dragonfly. My good friend, argentine local, and fly-fishing legend, Matias Picapietra, said to me, “Paul, you must go south where the water is colder. Go to Lago Tres. There you will catch a monster.” No better advice could have been given. After all, Mati was a master at targeting big fish with six years spent guiding down south on the Rio Gallegos for sea run brown trout; I’m taking the man’s advice! Zach Madison and Skylar Hamann, two of my good friends from the states,
had just joined me and were still craving their first big Patagonian brown. With all of us in agreement that a move had to be made, we headed south towards the colder Chubut region of Patagonia. The following day we arrived at the body of water I had been hearing about for months. In an area of the Las Pampas region, it was well off the grid and far from any civilization. The campground, however, was surprisingly well marked and sat right along the shore. The campsite had a large wooden shelter (common in northern provinces like Neuquen and Rio Negro), a stone charcoal grill for cooking the world’s finest steaks, and a forested area for hanging the hammock. Not to mention a camp host who would bring us free firewood every evening. When gazing out across the lake, we could see giant snow covered peaks standing tall off in the distance. I started thinking if the fishing held up to its reputation, this could prove to be one of my favorite places on earth. We all woke the next morning with excitement about the possibilities that lay ahead. After a few quick slices of pan dulce and a round of yerba mate (sweet bread and the South American version of coffee), Zach and I walked our float tubes a half mile up the road to a put-in. With no float tube, Skylar stayed behind, waiting to use one of ours later. The shoreline of the Lago Tres was almost completely lined with tall reeds, some areas extending out thirty feet from the shore. There were strong winds in the 20+ mph class that were creating consistent foot-high wakes. These heavy gusts limited our drift time to about an hour, from put-in to take-out. In the first drift, both Zach and I came up empty handed, not even a take. After all the talk we had heard from local fly-fishing guides about this area and its amazing fishing, we willingly stayed the course and walked to the put-in again. The second drift called for a totally different approach. With a freshly tied, foam dry fly and a shortened leader, I focused on tight casts directly to the reed’s edges while smacking the fly in the churning water. Within three minutes a large female brown appeared from the reeds and inhaled the fly. Boom! It was on. Less than five minutes later, Zach hooked into a nice male brown twenty yards further down the reed line. It appeared that these fish were cruising through the reeds looking for opportunities to ambush their prey. In a matter of ten minutes, Zach and I had both landed six pound browns. After arriving back to the campsite and breaking the good news to Skylar, I reached into my bag to show her some photos we had taken with her GoPro camera, and my heart quickly sunk. At some point during the return float, a wake had hit the side of my float tube, causing the camera to go overboard. Feelings of accomplishment and satisfaction slowly turned into an afternoon of regret. I felt terrible. Skylar insisted that everything was fine, life would go on, and that she was just happy to have the opportunity to be in Patagonia. A number of valuables had been stolen from me a few months prior, so I could relate to how she was reacting. And too, something about being around the people of Patagonia, 39
perfectly content and happy with whatever they have, makes you really appreciate the important things in life. It was a tough pill to swallow, but I knew there was still a chance the day could be saved. I told Skylar, “We’re going fishing this evening and you’re going to hook into the fish of your lifetime.” After a restful siesta in the hammock, Skylar and I walked the two float tubes back up to the same put-in as earlier that day. The conditions that evening seemed perfect. The sun was a few hours from setting, and the wind was nice and steady. I had a really good feeling about it. As we approached the put-in, I reminded Skylar of the technique Zach and I had discovered earlier: staying close to the reeds and letting the wind do the casting. In less than five minutes into the float, with one of those, “Oh, come on, eat that!” casts, sure enough, a monster male brown surfaced. Like a dolphin gliding through a wave, the fish, no more than 10 or so feet from our float tubes, inhaled the fly. One Mississippi…set! It was on! A few seconds went by, and I could see Skylar was still in shock after witnessing a monster fish eat her fly. I screamed several times to her, “back paddle, back paddle!!” in order to guide the fish away from the reeds and into open water. Her rod was bending so hard I was afraid it was going to snap. After a long and epic battle far out in the lake, Skylar had finally landed the big fish. Nothing but huge smiles from the both of us. As we walked back to the campsite with a fading sunset off in the horizon, I told myself, “This will be one of those days I will dream about for the rest of my life.” It was the perfect ending to a roller coaster of a day. That night Zach, Skylar and I cooked a huge asado (BBQ) with steak, chorizo, and a salad as we sat around the fire reliving the day. We camped two more nights during that trip but never quite had as good a day as the first. Between the three of us we had landed eight fish that trip and none under twenty four inches. 40
Tips and Insights I’ll now share with you some personal insight and tips that should hold extremely helpful if you plan to fly fish and travel through Patagonia. 1. The time of year you visit directly correlates to how well the fishing will be. If you have the time and can afford being around for the entire fishing season (November to April) like I did, I’d suggest focusing your time in the northern provinces during spring and southern provinces come fall. By the time the middle of summer rolls around, you will want to be in the Chubut Province or further south of that because the water temperatures can get quite high in Northern Patagonia. 2. Having a personal vehicle is a must if you plan on doing it yourself. I purchased a used Mitsubishi Montero in Curitiba, Brazil, where my relatives live and then drove it 3,000 miles south. Upon returning to Brazil five months later, I sold it with an eighty percent return on my investment. Renting a vehicle is also an option but you will probably spend a lot more in the long run. 3. Bring a float tube. You’ll be surprised at how good the lake fishing is in Patagonia. When people think of lake fishing, a lot of them see it as making blind casts into the middle of the ocean. That's not the case here. Almost all the lakes in Patagonia have excellent features along the shore. And since nearly every lake is surrounded by thick vegetation, it is literally impossible to fish them without a float tube. 4. Don’t be afraid to practice speaking Spanish with the natives. The people of Patagonia as a whole are THE nicest people I have encountered in my twenty five years. They will respect you a lot more if they see you are making an effort to speak their language. There is no better way to learn the language than by engaging in conversation with locals. 5. Bring U.S. dollars. More specifically, one hundred dollar bills. You will live like a king. Argentina’s economy is much weaker than the U.S. so Argentinians are always looking for ways to get their hands on some greenbacks. Plan on exchanging at the blue dollar rate. You can find plenty of people in main street Bariloche shouting “Cambio, cambio!” which literally means an exchange of money. Chile is a different story because their currency is much stronger. You won’t be getting any deals in Chile like you will in Argentina. 6. Slow your roll. Don’t come down to Patagonia thinking you are going to be fishing every day of the week. The culture here is very relaxed, and it is often hard to get things done. There will be speed bumps along the way; that is just the reality of it. Once you learn to slow down and accept that things will take more time than you thought, you will be in a much better state of mind. 7. Travel with much less than you think you need. I personally brought way more valuables and supplies than I needed. I also paid the price after having most of my valuables stolen from my vehicle. Which leads me to my next tip. 8. Try and keep your valuables in a secure and concealed area. I left my vehicle parked near the side of a river and found it broken into a few hours later. Just like with any other place in the world, theft is a possibility. If you know someone in the area and you can keep your things safe with them, trust me, take the extra effort to do so. 9. Eat like the Argentinians do. Their food is unbelievably good and your US dollars will go a long way. Traveling through Patagonia has been the most rewarding experiences of my life. It is a truly special place and, much of it is still waiting to be explored. For those who seek adventure and the outdoors, I strongly recommend visiting. If you have any questions for me or would like to know specific details about the area, shoot me an email at macdonaldpaul9@yahoo.com.KYPE 41
Small Streams & Tenkara Separated at Birth by Anthony Naples
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o start at the beginning and work your way to the fishable end—that’s a real possibility. At its mouth, a small stream rushes around one last bend, digging up under the stream bank, exposing tree roots, and then tumbling over one last riffle. Anthony Naples was converted to fly fishing about 22 years ago while attending Penn State University, bicycling distance from one of Pennsylvania's best wild trout streams. For the last five years he’s been exploring the unreel possibilities of tenkara. Like many, when he started with tenkara he thought it would be a novel way to fish now and again. But it quickly took over. You can find his ideas and thoughts on tenkara at his blog Casting Around (www.castingaround.com). In addition to blogging at Casting Around, Anthony is also attempting to turn an avocation into a vocation with his online tenkara shop Three Rivers Tenkara (www.threeriverstenkara.com). Three Rivers Tenkara is the exclusive US retailer for Oni Tenkara Rods and The Tenkara Times rods.
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Finally, it flows thinly over a small delta of rounded stones and gravel to be subsumed by the larger creek. The larger “creek” is big enough to be called a river in many other parts of the country. But here, in this part of Pennsylvania, the word “river” is reserved for the really big ones: the Allegheny, Monongahela, Ohio, and Youghiogheny. You have no doubt that those things are rivers. They are in your face about it. I always find it amusing to stand on a small wooden footbridge over some ”river” when I’m traveling around the country. Maybe it’s Colorado or Maine or Virginia. I look at the creek flowing by underneath my wader clad feet and wonder about it being called a river. However grand in size, my home rivers are mostly warm water affairs. If you want to find trout in my corner of the world, and more specifically, wild, native brook trout, you’re going to have to fish somewhere with
a name ending in “creek” or “run.” These are small headwater streams that flow down off of the ridges of the Appalachians. They are almost always short, and very often tiny. They are a rarefied essence of trout stream. I recently mapped the fishable length of one of my favorite streams— about 2.5 miles from the mouth to the point where it was too small to fish. That’s pretty typical, and once the stream hits the bigger creek the wild trout water is over. I can’t help but feel a sort of bittersweet melancholy when I fish there. This trout stream lives a short, lonely and disconnected life, separated from other trout streams by significant stretches of marginal (at best) trout water. Certainly, the educated trout in highly pressured, rich rivers like the limestone streams of Pennsylvania and famous spring creeks and tailwaters of the west can be more difficult to fool than my small stream brookies. But the actual casting in those places is not nearly so difficult. What my small streams may lack in trout sophistication, they make up for in pure tactical difficulty due to tight quarters, skinny water, low hanging branches, and spooky fish. Sometimes simply getting the fly to the water— and doing so with enough stealth to be successful—can be more of a challenge than an angler is up for. Sometimes it’s more of a challenge than I am up for. It can feel like work at times— but then each fish feels like it’s earned. Of course, not every one of these tiny streams is so difficult, and not every section of a stream is the same. There are places where the streams flow in wide, flat-bottomed hollows under a canopy of mature beech and hickory, where hippo and car-sized sandstone boulders create deep pools, and where you can cast from a distance and casting is easy. Where the stream gives you the gift of ease. Fishing up one of these tiny streams can feel a bit like switching the direction of time’s arrow and disobeying the second law of thermodynamics. As you move upstream things change quickly, entropy decreases, and the stream cannot hide as much information. The structure is obvious, and reading the water is uncomplicated. But fishing is not necessarily easier. The questions are known and the 43
answers are obvious. But the implementation can be tough as trees lean in, and the water gets thin. You know what you have to do—but the challenge is in the doing. At times I’ve been lured into thinking about fishing as a sort of evolution. The angler evolves through different stages: small pond bluegill fishing with a bobber and worm, then maybe spin fishing with bait for trout, then spinners, then fly fishing…or some similar “evolution.” And maybe fishing locations have been thought of similarly. Small mountain brook trout streams being at the beginning of the trout fishing branch and technical spring creeks with trico-sipping browns at the more evolved tip of the branch. Tenkara likewise is sometimes placed in a sort of evolutionary hierarchy, being positioned at the bottom as a more primitive and less evolved form of fly fishing when compared to western fly fishing. To borrow a bit clumsily from the natural sciences, I don’t think this is really the proper way to look at Tenkara. A species evolves only so much as it needs to. A shark may be an older species than Homo sapiens, but does that mean it’s less well suited to its environment? I don’t think so. Tenkara, like western fly fishing, evolved in a specific environment and evolved to match that environment. Modern tenkara is the apex. It’s not a less evolved form of western fly fishing; it’s a fully evolved creature that fits its environment perfectly. Just as a small mountain brook trout stream is not less evolved than a western spring creek— they’re just different things. In picking up a tenkara rod and plying the small mountain streams that I love, I felt as if something had clicked into place. The setting and the technique complement each other in such a natural way. Indeed, my catch rates did increase with tenkara, though that was never my intention. It simply seems to be a case of tenkara flourishing in its natural environment. Thanks to a friend and tenkara brother in Wales, Craig Chambers, I’ve been enjoying Andrew Herd’s excellent book of fly fishing history called “The Fly: Two Thousand Years of Fly Fishing” (2001). In the first chapter of his book, Mr. Herd discusses tenkara and other similar fixed-line methods from around the world, which were, and in some cases, still are prac44
ticed in the mountain streams of Italy, Spain, France, Serbia, Bosnia, Bulgaria, and Russia. It’s not just the mere mention of fixed-line fly-fishing methods that I found intriguing; it’s the quotes the author presents from firsthand observers of the methods. He mentions that G.E.M. Skues, a well known UK fly angler and author, visited Bosnia and wrote about it in 1897. Apparently, the very accomplished Skues was impressed by the locals and their fixed-line methods as they out fished him and his “modern gear” in their home mountain streams. A friend of Mr. Herd, Dr. Goran Grubic, provides another account. Dr. Grubic describes seeing modern fixed-line fly anglers in Serbia. Dr. Grubic says with regard to the persistence of the method in the face of modern gear, “They don’t want to waste money on tackle that they don’t need to catch trout.” I have always tried to avoid arguments that pit tenkara against western fly angling and seek to find a winner. I don’t find that interesting or productive. In fact I have two 3-wt fiberglass fly rod blanks and all the associated parts sitting in my basement waiting to be put together even as I write this. And so my point is not that tenkara is better than western fly fishing. Not at all. It is merely that fixed-line mountain stream fishing methods have persisted into modern times in various parts of the world, because they are totally sufficient and elegantly effective in their proper environments. I’m not a fanatic that believes tenkara is the best fit for every situation. But it’s almost as if my small brook trout streams and tenkara were separated at birth and now that they’re back together. KYPE
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