Whether you are a sage of the saltwateror a rookie with good taste in fly reels, the Loop Multi 9/12 FlyFishing Reel is an affordable addition to any angling arsenal.Thoughtfully designed with performance in mind, the Loop Multi 9/12Fly Fishing Reel delivers blazing line retrieve and unparalleledpower to ensure that your tarpon of a lifetime or the dorado of yourdreams stays hooked until you snag a photo for the fishing buddies.If you are buying the Loop Multi 9/12 Fly Fishing Reel as a backupfor your next trip to the flats, don't be surprised if you wind upwith a new primary fly reel.
Technology continues and we at Leland have tested all the available backing options. In our opinion, there is now one clear winner. Hatch Outdoors (the maker of Hatch fly reels) offers a backing with clear advantages over both Dacron and gel-spun backing. With a diameter comparable to 12 pound Dacron backing, Hatch's new backing has a break strength of 68 pounds. Unlike gel-spun backing that can literally cut into your fingers during a fish fight, Hatch's backing is smooth and soft to the touch. Finally, Hatch's backing is easy to knot and doesn't require any special trick knots for connections. It's simply the best fly line backing money can buy.
by Dr. Aaron Adams
photos by Aaron Adams
AS THE TIDE TURNED and began to flood, I poled the boat
across a shallow grass flat, just inside the sandbar that separated the
flat from the Intracoastal Waterway. Many of the large boats that
blasted past reminded me of Rodney Dangerfield’s short, destructive,
ill-fated yacht voyage in the movie Caddyshack. So when I
muttered ‘what a couple of Rodneys’ when two boats passing in opposite
directions neglected to slow down, and slammed loudly into each other’s
massive wakes, my fishing buddy Doug Hedges knew exactly what I was
talking about. It was amazing — we were close enough to the chaos of the
ICW that we could read the registration numbers on the sides of passing
boat hulls, and we were stalking tailing redfish. Except for us, these
redfish were unmolested.
You have to give Doug credit, he seems ready to try
something new at least once. And on the bow, he stood ready to cast to
the next tailer that came into range — with, of all things, a gurgler
tied to his tippet. Some folks know this is a good technique, but when I
suggest they try a surface fly for tough tailing redfish, most anglers
show a look of disbelief, even suspicion. But not Doug, he was all for a
A topwater fly is farthest from many angler’s minds when
they are casting to tailing redfish. The fish are, after all, digging
their noses in the bottom for shrimp, crabs, worms, or small
bottom-dwelling fish like gobies and blennies. Why on earth would an
angler in their right mind choose a surface pattern? After all, redfish
don’t eat with their tails. A topwater fly can be a good choice for
First, a redfish intent on digging out prey buried in the
bottom is often so focused that it doesn’t see it’s surroundings. This
is one reason it is possible to pole a boat right up to a tailing
redfish without being noticed until the boat almost overtakes the
feeding fish. On numerous occasions I’ve been able to wade close enough
to a tailing redfish to touch it with my rod tip. Actively tailing
redfish can also stir up enough bottom that visibility in their
immediate surroundings drops to zero, obscuring any fly in the murk. In
either case, even the most perfectly placed fly might not be noticed.
Second, even tailing redfish pick their heads up out of
the bottom every once in a while as they move on in search of more prey.
There is a good chance that a redfish moving in search of more food
will see the motion at the surface and investigate. And it’s not
uncommon for a bottom grubbing redfish to scare up small prey that make a
break for it. So that same redfish that was so engrossed in digging for
a mud crab that it never saw the perfectly presented fly might see the
surface commotion of a gurgler, and mistake the fly for an escaping
prey. Many times I’ve watched small shrimp and fish squirt from the
water as they try to avoid a feeding redfish. And I’ve seen redfish that
were lackadaisically tailing suddenly erupt at the surface to grab
these would-be escapees.
Third, in many of the flats where anglers fish for
tailing redfish, the seagrass is thick and tall. The densely packed
seagrass blades can act as a barrier, preventing a tailing fish from
seeing a fly only inches away. And at a very low tide, the upper
portions of the grass blades lay across the surface, and the tips reach
to the surface at a medium tide, making it tough to get a sinking fly to
the bottom. A weedless gurgler helps get around both of these
challenges and puts the fly in an area where it can be seen by a
A gurgler is my surface fly of choice because it is
light, so is easy to cast long distances and lands on the water lightly.
Both characteristics are necessary when fishing to tailing redfish on
shallow flats. The gurgler is also versatile in how it can be fished —
loudly, so it makes a lot of commotion, or softly, so it barely ripples
the surface. So it’s easy to imitate different prey — soft and slow for
shrimp and loud and fast for the finger mullet that can be abundant in
fall — and the changing moods of redfish.
I first started using gurglers for tailing redfish, in
part, out of frustration. My favorite flats for tailing redfish are
covered with lush turtle grass and shoal grass. It can be wearing to
make good cast after good cast to a tailing fish and get no response
because it never saw the fly among the many grass blades. My strategy
when fishing for tailing reds is pretty simple — get the fly into the
fish’s sight zone and make sure the fish sees it. I know the fish has
seen the fly when it changes it’s behavior — it either reacts
positively, by following or taking the fly, or negatively, by avoiding
the fly or suddenly swimming in the other direction. Often, redfish
feeding in thick seagrass don’t react at all, so likely never see the
An unweighted fly that sinks very slowly is a good choice
in these situations because the fly spends more time in mid-water,
where it is more visible, while a weighted fly that sinks straight to
the bottom is quickly lost. However, even an unweighted fly that hovers
mid-water can remain unseen by a redfish feeding in thick grass. If I
can get the gurgler in front of the redfish, it’s a good bet the fish
will see the fly.
Another good situation for using a gurgler is when there
are a lot of redfish around, but they aren’t staying put long enough to
stalk and cast to any particular fish. The first time I tried a gurgler
in frustration was on a day when the flat was full of tailing fish.
Well, fish were tailing everywhere but where I was. Fish weren’t feeding
very long in a spot, but instead would tail for a few seconds and then
move on. There was really no point in stalking, so I drifted across the
flat blind-casting a gurgler. This can be an especially successful
strategy in late summer and fall when juvenile mullet (aka finger mullet) are often common on the flats, and a favorite food of the larger redfish that invade the flats in fall.
My favorite situation for using a gurgler is casting to
redfish that are pushing a bow-wake as they slowly cruise from one
eating spot to the next. I’ll often see these fish tail some distance
away, then right themselves and slowly head off in search of more prey.
Sometimes, the dorsal and upper tail fins of these fish will be out of
the water. These fish move slowly and deliberately enough that I can
guess their course and put myself in the best location to make a good
cast. I like to lead these fish by a healthy enough distance that they
can’t see the fly or fly line in the air, and let the fly sit until they
are within a few feet before beginning my retrieve.
When casting a gurgler to a tailing or cruising redfish, I
use a leader of 10 - 12 feet or more, with 12 lb. fluorocarbon tippet.
For tailers I use a long leader because I try to cast past the fish, to
the side the head is pointing. I then bring the fly back over the fish.
If the fish continues to tail, I’ll make the fly pop to get the fish’s
attention. If the fish is not tailing, I continue retrieving the fly in
short strips. Using this strategy, a shorter leader would cause the fly
line to land over the fish, likely spooking the fish and ruining my
chances for a hookup.
For blind-casting, a longer leader means I have less
chance of accidentally lining a fish with the fly line during a cast.
The longer leader also provides better separation between the fly line
and fly, so there is less chance a redfish coming to check out the fly’s
commotion will intersect the fly line.
Cruisers are swimming near the surface, with their cone
of vision pointing forward and upward. A longer leader helps me keep the
fly line out of this cone of vision during the cast. I use 12 lb rather
than 20 lb leader because heavier leader tends to pull the gurgler
down. And I find that fluorocarbon tippets make a difference because the
waters I fish tend to be clear.
Long casts are usually best, because even redfish that
attack the gurgler aggressively tend to miss the fly a few times before
they get it in their mouth. With their mouth on the underside of their
snout, redfish have to either raise their head out of the water so they
come down on the fly, or turn sideways to get a better angle on the fly
from below. When a redfish brings its head out of the water to get over
the fly, its eyes come above the water surface, so they can spot an
angler that is close by. And less aggressive redfish will often follow a
gurgler for an excruciatingly long distance, so a long cast gives the
fish more time to decide to take the fly.
When a redfish strikes a gurgler, it is usually an
exciting show — often an explosion on the fly. The temptation is to rear
back and set the hook. In most circumstances, this will result in a
fish circling in confusion as it searches for the fly that you just
launched past your ear. Remember, they’ll often miss the fly the first
time. It takes some control, but keep stripping the fly in the same
manner that induced the redfish into attacking it, and strip strike when
you feel tension on the line. Don’t lift the rod until you’re sure the
fish is hooked. Easier said than done.
Back to the fishing.
Getting in range of a tailing redfish was the biggest
challenge. For a while, it seemed that every fish we saw would tail
aggressively until we were just into casting range, and then suddenly
disappear, only to reappear a few minutes later just a little farther
away: a frustrating pattern that redfish seem to follow frequently.
Doug got decent casts to a couple fish, one of which
ignored the fly as it moved off to another spot, and a second that
looked at the fly and suddenly bolted when Doug stripped the fly ever so
slightly. The eruption caused by the second fish was entertainment in
Doug made a couple casts that had been ignored by a third
tailer, as the fish alternately tailed and moved, tailed and moved.
When the fish had not shown itself for a minute or so, I began to scan
the flat for more action. Then Doug let out a "WHOOP." I turned
to see his rod doubled over and fly line jumping off the deck and
through the guides in pursuit of a surprised redfish. A few minutes
later, we had the fish boatside, and Doug had his first redfish on a
gurgler. We were able to get one more fish before the tailing action
died down, the sun dipped low, and we made the run back to the boat
Would a standard fly pattern for tailing redfish have
worked? Perhaps, but it wouldn’t have been as exciting or visual a take.
And we didn’t have to worry about making the perfect cast and keeping
the fly snag-free.
The gurgler is an easy fly to tie, and is surprisingly durable for being made mostly of soft foam.
I use pliable closed cell foam in either tan or white.
Tan is good for imitating shrimp and some of the small fish that live on
the flats. White is good for imitating finger mullet and is easier to
see at dusk, one of my favorite times for fishing for tailing redfish. I
use a long shank hook — either for tying a longer, shrimp-like body, or
to tie a keel-hook style weedless version. For the standard,
long-bodied pattern, I tie in a mono weedguard just behind the hook eye.
For the keel-hook style fly, I use pliers to bend the hook backwards,
the bend at approximately 2/3 the length of the shank behind the hook
eye. The foam body is then tied on the same side of the hook as the hook
bend. This fly will ride with the hook point up, making it weedless. I
originally began tying the keel-style fly because so many redfish were
striking the fly without getting hooked. The theory is that since
redfish so often come down on the fly from above, an upward pointing
hook should have a better hookup ratio. The jury is still out on this,
but the hookup rate is certainly no less than the standard pattern. This
clearly means that more research is needed.
Hook: Mustad 34011, size 4
Tail: bucktail, color to match foam body
Body: closed cell foam, double the
length of the hook shank – half tied to the shank, half folded over
(from hook bend to eye) as the back
Legs: hackle colored to match the foam body, attached at the rear of the hook bend and palmered to the hook eye
Thread: Danville flat waxed nylon, color to match the foam body
Weedguard: 40 lb mono
by J. M. Chico Fernández
photos by Chico Fernández
THE LIGHT WAS PERFECT as I aimed my telephoto lens at a
skiff working across the flats. The bow angler made some beautiful
practice casts, and I was sure the photos were going to be nice.
All of a sudden, the poler pointed to the right, and the
angler started to cast again. But this time, there was no loop. His
backcasts were hitting the water, and finally, his leader caught and
wrapped around the rod, ending any possibility of a shot. Even at a
distance, the angler looked four inches shorter in his humiliation.
I turned around to my friend, who was smiling broadly. "A
permit," he said. "They saw a permit." And sure enough, a few seconds
later, the angler started to practice his cast, which was once again
A little late, but lovely.
I cast my first fly to a permit in the mid-to-late 50s,
and today, with quite a few permit to my name, they still make me
nervous when I am getting ready to cast. There is something about permit
fishing that just makes an angler uneasy. Maybe it's the fact that you
could face a fish well over 40 pounds, and that same large fish can
often be hard to see in the flats. Or perhaps it's the fact that they
can be incredibly spooky even on a windy day; forget a calm day. Even
after a great presentation, they might come to the fly as it drops,
carefully inspect your offering long after it has reached the bottom,
and then reject it and go about their business of looking for real food.
It can leave you with the shakes.
As hard as it can be to find permit, and as tough as they
can be during a fight, I find the presentation and the retrieve the
most critical. The toughest thing about landing a big permit is hooking a
Given a good breeze — which is ideal for permit because
it helps conceal your profile — you are going to have to talk yourself
into being fairly aggressive in your presentation. You must cast close
enough that the permit sees or hears your fly when it plops and, more
important, sees it sink to the bottom. Remember that the only defense a
crustacean has when confronting such a swift predator is to dive to the
bottom and dig in. To a permit, this looks
like a crab or a shrimp (depending on your fly pattern)
trying to skip out on dinner.
So don't lead him by too much, just a couple of body
lengths or so is enough. And while you will occasionally spook a few
fish by being aggressive and getting too close, you will also hook more
fish than by being too cautious. There is nothing worse than an angler
casting all day to a few permit that never knew he was there. Spook them
or hook them.
If the cast did not land exactly where you want it to,
yet is still too close to pick up and cast again, then retrieve it
slowly. A long pull might put it were you want it. Or you can just
retrieve until you see the fish react, and then let it drop.
One exception occurs when you are chasing a permit or a
school of permit feeding into a strong current, which will be waiting
for crustaceans to drift their way. Here it may be wise to lead the fish
a little more than usual and let the fly drift into them.
Once you have made a good cast, you must interact with
the fish. That is, watch his reaction to the fly from the moment it
plops on the water to the take. Try to read the fish's body language
during all of this, because every fish reacts differently, although this
is certainly an area where experience is the ultimate teacher.
If he sees the fly dropping and comes over for a look, lay it on
the bottom as he investigates. If you feel you must move it, or you
can't stand it any longer, move the fly very slowly and such that it is
off the bottom. Dragging a fly across the sand will spook them.
Other anglers may fish the crab a little faster by swimming it with a long, slow pull.
Then, if this does not work, they will go back to the
drop-and-wait. But whatever you try, do not use sharp or abrupt strips.
This appears very unnatural to a permit and more often than not will
As you make your retrieve — even while you are letting
the crab fly sit on the bottom — make sure that you have no slack in the
line. This way, the moment the permit picks it up, you will feel the
take and are ready to strip-strike. If you don't maintain line contact, a
permit will pick up the fly for a few seconds and then spit it out
without you knowing. Happens all the time, to the frustration of the
guide who is begging for the angler to strike.
On that point, any permit angler should have a constant
line of communication with the guide or poling partner. Remember that he
or she is much higher than you on that poling platform and, if it is a
guide, has seen many more permit than you.
One exception to the slow retrieve is a school of small
permit in the flats, and by small I mean fish under 10 pounds or so.
These younger fish act more like jacks than mature permit, so it is
almost always better to use a faster retrieve and even a fishier fly,
such as a Clouser.
Cast in front of the moving school (like teenagers, small
permit always seem to be moving) and let the fish approach the fly.
Then, without any sharp strips that may scare them, strip, stop, and
strip. If you get no hits, mix it up with a few strips, a long strip,
and so on. By then, the spirit of competition among small permit will
usually trigger a strike. And remember to strip-strike before you lift
the rod, and to look at your line and not at the fish while clearing
your fly line.
In the way of leaders, I like the longest I can handle
in the prevailing wind condition. And half of that is butt section to
help turn over the typically heavily weighted permit flies.
Most of my permit leaders range from about 9 feet for
very windy days to almost 14 feet for fairly calm days. If it's super
calm, I do some other type of fishing (or head back to shore for a big
The single best tippet size for me is around 12-pound
test. I say "around" because some manufacturers' tippets are heavier
than others for the same test strength. Too heavy a tippet, and the crab
will not dive as fast and does not act as natural. But I do see anglers
using 16-pound tippet, and that's okay if the diameter is not too big.
Others even go to 20-pound tippet, but not me.
Everyone has their own killer permit fly, but in most
areas, the basic crab designs seem to do the best, followed by some
shrimp patterns. Rather than show you any of the crab flies I use, I
think it is more important to point out that you should have your crab
flies in two weight sizes. One should be lightly weighted with brass
eyes or bead-chain eyes, and you should have another group tied with
lead eyes. So, for example, you would have a light-colored Merkin in a
light weight and heavy; a dark color in a light weight and heavy, and so
on. This way, if the tide is high when you get to the flats, you go
heavy. If the tide is low and the fish are tailing in fairly shallow
water, then you pull out the lighter flies so you can land softly and
still get to the bottom.
Permit require one of the warmwater fly lines
specifically designed to put up with very hot weather and high humidity.
Most of these lines have a hard core (either braided
monofilament or a single mono core) to keep the fly line fairly stiff in
permit weather. Unlike for bonefish, it doesn't get too hot for Mr.
Permit. So in that high heat, ordinary fly line will hang on the guides
like wet linguini and refuse to shoot. They also tangle often, making
any line manipulation a nightmare.
A 9- or a 10-weight is the best line for delicately
presenting heavy crab and shrimp flies in shallow water. Any heavier and
you are pushing it; besides, what fun would it be to fight a permit
with a tarpon rod?
Use a 9-foot saltwater taper rod to match your fly line.
Unfortunately, some manufacturers have rods that are, at least in my
opinion, too stiff for the recommended fly line. So you may have to use
one line size larger on some rods. But try to stay with the 9- and
10-weights, if you can.
Despite the fact that permit grow several times larger
than bonefish, they tend not to run as far as fast. Even if you hook a
40-pound permit, you should be fine with a fly reel that holds around
200 yards of 20-pound backing. And of course, a smooth drag is a great
help and a pleasure to use. However, I have landed lots of permit while
using reels with light drags or clicker drags, just for fun.
Either way, the fight may be long not so much for the
blistering runs but for the permit's stubborn, jacklike fight. Before
you can experience that, however, you have to learn the necessary
patience to entice them to eat, and that can come only from fishing for
them as much as possible.
- Trey Combs, Steelhead Fly Fishing Each year, a sturdy population of tiny, but energetic, steelhead fry grows a bit larger and begins the journey of a lifetime, a watery trek that will take them from their sleepy home tributaries to the raging mouth of the Pacific Ocean and ultimately to the other end of the world.Each collection of migrating fish will grow from fry to adult steelhead, aided by the bounty of their new surroundings. Eventually these hearty fish will tire of grazing the vast open waters and will begin to find their way home. Driven now by the raw and instinctual urge to spawn, these quite large and commanding adult steelhead swim stoically to their natal stream to procreate and begin the odyssey anew.Each fall, as these great wild fish begin to make their return trip, fly anglers across the reaches of the Pacific Northwest from California to British Columbia, within the volcanic confines of Russia’s Kamchatka Peninsula, and throughout the Great Lakes regions of North America flock to large, fast, tree-lined rivers and their myriad tributaries to “chase chrome.”Naming the Steelhead Steelhead are complicated and compelling creatures, worthy of great reams of literature, intense study, and much fireside mythology. These powerful, steel-grey fish have given biologists and ichthyologists fits and have driven generations of fly fishers crazy. Fly anglers who have plied waters for and caught steelhead generally develop an obsessive connection to these fish and for good reason; steelhead are some of the most striking, strongest and most aggressive fighters in freshwater, and a great deal of knowledge and attention to detail are absolutely necessary to catching a steelhead. These beautiful and brilliant fish have also been dubbed “the fish of 1,000 casts” and there’s nothing quite like some good old-fashioned perseverance when fly fishing for steelhead.Part of the steelhead’s unique complexity stems from the species’ somewhat confusing naming history. For all intents and purposes, steelhead are migratory or non-resident rainbow trout. This has not always been the contention. When initially named, these fish were thought to be more closely and generically related to Atlantic salmon populations, and accordingly, the species’ initial classification was Salmo gairdeneri. The publisher, In 1836, Sir John Richardson, included this new classification in Fauna Boreali Americana based on information provided by a doctor by the name of Gairdner who was working on the broad banks of the Columbia River with the Hudsons Bay Company at Fort Vancouver. Nineteen years later, the rainbow trout was classified as Salmo irideus by the founder of the California Academy of Sciences, Dr. William P. Gibbons. It was later established that Gibbon’s “new” species was not new at all as his observations were based on a pre-migratory steelhead specimen taken from San Leandro Creek (a beautiful creek located in Leland’s back yard and home to what is possibly California’s largest population of rainbow trout). In an instant, steelhead became anadromous rainbow trout and rainbow trout became non-migratory steelhead.The separate, but equal classification of rainbow trout as Salmo irideus and steelhead as Salmo gairdeneri survived until 1989 when the Committee on Names of Fishes assembled by the American Fisheries Society threw a knuckleball at all who knew and understood the species of migratory rainbow trout as cousins of the Atlantic salmon population. The committee announced that all species of trout native to western North America would be re-assigned the generic name Oncorhynchus, linking the trout of western North America to the Pacific salmon.Once established as a Pacific species, more than the Salmo designation needed alteration. In 1792, the prolific German taxonomist, Johann Julius Walbaum classified several species of Pacific salmon as well as the Dolly Varden char, and the rainbow trout of Russia’s Kamchatka Peninsula. It became clear that the steelhead was a more likely cousin of Walbaum’s Kamchatkan rainbows (Salmo mykiss) and, according to the strictures of scientific naming conventions, the populations of steelhead native to western North America should take Walbaum’s earlier species classification of mykiss. In a flash, steelhead morphed, at least in the land of nomenclature, from Salmo gairdeneri to Oncorhynchus mykiss. Such is the steelhead’s complexity.An Anadromous AdventurerLike their genetic counterparts, rainbow trout, steelhead are born in freshwater and are known among fly fishers for their aggressive jumps and long runs. Steelhead will spend anywhere from six months to three years in their home rivers and tributaries before riding the strong outgoing currents and migrating to the Pacific Ocean or to one of the Great Lakes of North America (the species was successfully transplanted to the Great Lakes region during several stocking campaigns during the mid-1800s).Once in their new, larger (and, for some, saltier) homes, these fish feed hungrily on a fat smorgasbord of baitfish, squid, and crustaceans. Here, the species trades its pink band for a new set of chrome silver sides and translucent fins. The fish will retain its deep green back and dorsal spots as well. Steelhead will spend one to five years “a sea” and, like ocean-going salmon, will utilize their strong sense of smell to sniff out the unique chemistry of their native waters and return exactly home, sometimes hundreds of miles upstream to spawn. These fish don’t just get close to home, tagged steelhead have been observed returning to precisely the same spawning bed from which they were born, actually closing the loop on an incredible journey.The most famous runs of steelhead occur in the late summer months and continue throughout the fall to November. However, steelhead can be caught year-round and, since the early 1900s, winter steelhead fly fishing has steadily increased in popularity among fly anglers, especially in California, Oregon, British Columbia and the Great Lakes region of North America. When on the spawn these fish will slowly regain their pinkish banding and will begin to look more like the resident or non-migratory rainbow trout.Step, Cast, Mend … Step, Cast, Mend … Perhaps the most important and most difficult task to master in fly fishing for steelhead lies in understanding how to read steelhead water. Gaining such understanding takes fly anglers years to acquire and is truly a life-long pursuit. This is not to say that steelhead cannot be caught on a fly by a novice angler, but experience in steelheading makes a big difference in an angler’s ability to secure hookups and land fish. During their upstream migration, steelhead are most interested in conserving their energy, and this is especially true of steelhead returning to streams located farther inland. Idaho steelhead populations, for example, must pass several dams and cross high mountainous regions, while battling fierce currents along the journey of several hundred miles. In this effort to conserve energy, steelhead will often make short, powerful upstream runs, separated by longer periods of rest out of the main current. The virulent upstream runs can last anywhere from a few hours to a few days and rest periods can range from a single night of quiet to several long days of relief. Fly anglers enjoy their best chances at steelhead while they are at rest. During these times, fish will sit singly or in pairs along the river banks, in shallow pools, in broad tailouts, and along current seams where the moving water provides travel weary fish with much needed and appreciated pockets of lesser resistance. Learning to find and fish these parts of a river and types of water is invaluable in the steelhead game.Unlike their bull-headed counterparts, the Atlantic salmon, steelhead are ultimately smart about how they use water to their advantage. Rather than simply charging through the main channel, steelhead will choose the optimal pathway up a river, bobbing and weaving from slow current seam to slow current seam until they reach their destination. This quite brilliant behavior is difficult on even the most accomplished fly fishers because the optimal pathway upriver may not always mean the steelhead in front of you is holding in the slowest current in front of you; the fish may have determined that holding in a slightly faster current at an angler’s position in the river will optimize the aggregate journey. Again, such are steelhead.Due to the wide variety of water in which steelhead can be found as well as the wide size range steelhead take on (steelhead can be as small as a foot long like the Klamath River “half-pounders” or as large as twenty pounds in British Columbia’s famous Kispiox River), a host of methods for chasing steelhead with a fly fishing rod have been productive throughout fly fishing’s history. When chasing steelhead, many fly anglers utilize and swear only by a classic approach of swinging dry flies on floating lines. Techniques within this category include pure “greased-lining” and “skating” steelhead bomber and skater fly patterns. Recently, a small group of more adventuresome traditionalists have discovered success in “chugging” their steelhead bugs to imitate the rhythmic motion of hatching caddis. Other steelhead anglers employ trout nymphing strategy with indicators and floating lines, while other fly anglers borrow equipment and flies from Atlantic salmon fly fishing traditions to catch their steelhead. In larger rivers, two-handed Spey casting techniques are employed to efficently cover the vast amounts of water required for success in steelheading. Steelhead fly fishing rods can range from small 4-weight single-handed trout rods for smaller steelhead to large 10- and 11-weight Spey rods of 14 or 15 feet in length for the largest, and usually British Columbian, members of the species. Despite the tremendous variation in tackle and technique, the preferred steelhead rod today is a 7-weight two hand rod, running from 12 to 13 feet in length. By far, our favorite steelhead fly rod is Loop's Cross S1 7120-4. This rod bridges the gap between summer and winter run fish. It elegantly delivers topwater flies, yet can still turn over heaver flies and fast-sinking tips.The complexity of the steelhead game continues as there is a great deal of observed but poorly understood behavioral traits occurring in populations of steelhead from river to river. To this end, how a fly fisher presents the fly to a holding steelhead at a particular location on a particular river, is an equally important component that must be considered rigorously before even the very first cast is made. Ask around about and read up on how local steelhead behave in the river you’re going to fish. Knowing even a small amount about how aggressively the steelhead you’re after takes (or leaves) a well-presented fly or if they are more apt to take a deeply-dredged nymph along the bottom of a pool than rise to a properly swung dry fly at the surface can be a skeleton key for hooking a steelhead on your trip. When practicing reading steelhead water, it is important to clearly define where each pocket, tailout, seamline, and pool are located. A good pair of polarized sunglasses with copper or yellow photochromatic lenses will ease the strain of this challenge. Make sure you look for well-defined water features where fish may hold and cast to these areas. It may take a couple of passes through a run or pool to learn at which depth in the water column the fish are stacking and how aggressive or non-aggressive the fish may be, but only with patience, experience, and experimentation, are steelhead caught. What’s on the Menu? Hardcore steelheaders can easily spend more time thinking about what their beloved quarry eats and what flies to tie than actually casting to fish. This outwitting of fish is not uncommon in fly fishing and is perhaps the sport’s most enduring trait, but steelheaders take it to an extreme that others in the sport do not frequent. Subsequently, there are three leading and competing theories about how steelhead feed. There is no consensus on which theory should rise to the fore of the debate, but it’s most likely that none of the theories are wrong and that steelhead use some combination of the three when choosing what to eat.Some steelheaders are convinced that the chromers they’re after feed off of surface bugs most like the caddis they ate when they were smolts. These anglers will often cast only caddis patterns and more recently chugging bugs. These fly patterns are thought to imitate most closely the movement and appearance of the juvenile steelhead’s earliest diet. The thought is that once the fish are back in their native waters, they will revert to their very first feeding patterns and habits.Another camp is of mind that steelhead feed instinctively when in the open ocean and that only movement and profile should be presented to a fish holding in a river. These modern steelhead fly anglers believe that these fish develop an almost purely instinctual feeding response while maturing and feeding in the ocean environment. This instinct-driven feeding pattern is thought to follow the fish back to their home water, and fly fishers of this ilk and belief will confidently say that size, movement, and profile are the three most important characteristics in creating a successful steelhead fly.The last group believe that the most realistic patterns should be fished at all times – the trick is to imitate closely what was in the ocean from whence the fresh steelhead came or to mimic precisely what bugs are in the river as the fish work their way upstream. These steelhead anglers choose to cast more realistic flies and within this camp there are anglers who favor baitfish, squid, and crustaceans (staples of the ocean-going steelhead’s diet) over the freshwater nymphs, shrimp, and dry fly patterns touted by still other hardcore steelheaders.The debate on the best steelhead flies rages on and the result is an incredibly creative and prolific catalog of successfully tied and fished steelhead flies.Flies commonly used to catch steelhead range from standard trout patterns to streamers and baitfish patterns to the most modern and innovative tube flies and marabou recipes. Spey and Atlantic salmon flies have also proven to be successful choices, especially on the large rivers of the western United States and British Columbia. The Green Butt Skunk and the General Practitioner are more traditional flies that will work well in the Pacific Northwest. Lage marabou flies like the Marabou Spey or the Popsicle will raise steelhead in Alaska and British Columbia and really wild marabou patterns (usually tied as tube flies) and large sculpin patterns will be productive on Russia’s pristine steelhead waters. Leland’s Keith Westra has tied and fished successfully his favorite marabou pattern with a bunny strip tail for British Columbian steelhead and Leland’s Proprietor Josh Frazier loves the action produced on the famed North Umpqua by Scott Howell’s Ska Hopper, a newer deer hair and foam chugging bug.Steelhead are haunting creatures. They enter a fly fisher’s life suddenly and with the powerful burst of a rumbling freight train. No matter how hard an obsessive fly angler prepares for each steelhead trip, or how an experienced steelheader expertly tries to reach the edge of a distant and promising pool, or how well a practiced and polished Spey caster mends line in anticipation of a long, smooth swing, the strike of a fresh steelhead is always unexpected. Steelheading’s seductive draw lies in this unexpectedness, this uncertainty, and it is with this stinking irony that the steelhead has been quietly humbling the generations of fly fishers who have chased her. The suddenness of a fly angler’s connection with a wild steelhead is compounded by its brevity and finality. Legendary steelheader, Trey Combs, writes of this feeling eloquently, and it’s this feeling and understanding, that an angler is just a single signpost on the steelhead’s long journey, that keeps serious steelheaders dreaming of the next sweet cast, unexpected take, and boundless run.