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As summer air temperatures in New England veer sharply from their northern roots most water courses warm beyond the tolerance of trout. With trout hunkered in thermal refuges the sulking trout angler has some options. There's opportunity on stillwater for largemouth, crappie and bluegills but that requires tactics and tackle that is foreign to many. In several renowned trout rivers smallmouth share the same neighborhood with their sleeker kin. With yin to trout's yang, smallmouth come alive when water temps suppress trout. While both are a fine distraction, truly tormented trout anglers seek the succor of a tailwater in the days after the mid-year solstice.

Last week I had smallmouth on the brain and was prepared to make the hour drive for a few hours fishing. The previous evening a summer storm rolled up the valley and created a muddy torrent while sparing neighboring, smallmouth-free watersheds. I could have scrapped the whole notion but my buddy Steve had planted a few seeds with solid tailwater intel.

Steve is one of those quiet anglers who goes about his business without calling attention to himself. Not knowing Steve you might dismiss the counsel of this unassuming gentleman. But he's committed to his craft, puts his hours in, and when Steve says that a #26 Olive will work until 6 p.m. and a #16 Sulphur spinner until dark, you stock your fly box, pack your car, and drive north.

Dr. Slick's new Typhoon pliers.

Continuing the trend of new product announcements in advance of the IFTD/ICAST show in Orlando, Dr. Slick has unveiled their lineup of new tools and gadgets for the coming year. Included in their new product offerings are their Typhoon pliers, a pair of premium pliers that are targeted at fly and conventional anglers alike.

Dr. Slick's new Typhoon pliers are made of 6061-T6 aircraft quality anodized, salt-water resistant aluminum that is fully machined, not die cast. Also featured are non-slip rubber grips and a self-opening
spring. The Typhoon's cutters are HR (Rockwell Hardness) 70+, which Dr. Slick describes as "lethal on all monofilament, new age braid and synthetic lines plus coated wire up to 60-pound." The pliers' jaws offer a half smooth and half striated design.

Photo: Mike Sepelak

I traveled three thousand miles to the Mexican Baja and the baitfish disappeared. So, too, did the roosters who feed on them. Flew fifteen hundred to chase South Padre reds, only to be blown off the Gulf by thirty-knot winds and freak thunderstorms. Twice. Verified emphatically that rain in the far-flung Bahamas is tough on the bonefishing. There’s something about traveling thousands of miles and getting utterly skunked that puts a man to thinking. Was it worth it? Why didn’t I just stay on my home waters where I know I can catch fish? Why go to the trouble?

They’re dumb questions, all, to my way of thinking, because if the sole purpose of your fly-fishing destination trips is to catch fish, you’re missing the point. There’s so much more to be gained by stretching your limits.

A lot of us learned to fly fish on small waters. We cut our angling teeth on brook trout-laden creeks of Appalachia or maybe a high-mountain trickle somewhere in the Rockies. My first fly rod trout came from a tiny beaver pond in the headwaters of Colorado’s Taylor River, somewhere on the shoulders of Tin Cup Pass.

This little trickle likely wouldn’t have been fishable at all if not for the beavers that dammed its course and created the habitat suitable for trout. The fish was a stout little non-native brookie that, along with its brethren, had long ago pushed the native Colorado River cutthroats out of the stream. But to a kid more interested in the fish than the flavor, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the opportunity.

That little trickle — and thousands of others like them all across America—was protected by the Clean Water Act until the 2000s, when the U.S. Supreme Court issued a pair of rulings that left these sensitive waters vulnerable to development. According to the court, these small headwater streams — some of which run dry at certain times of the year—had no proven nexus with the “navigable” waters of the country, and therefore, they were not specifically protected under the Clean Water Act.

Is chasing salty creatures like this Ascension Bay permit on your bucket list?

I’m not sure why, but it seems like more and more folks are talking about their “bucket lists.” If you’re not familiar with the term, it refers to the places you’d like to visit, and the things you’d like to do, before you “kick the bucket.” A little morbid, perhaps, but it’s easy enough to understand the general allure. We’re only here for a few score years and there’s no point sitting on the sidelines while life races on by. So with that in mind, here are my thoughts on the ultimate fly fishing bucket list; both things I’ve done (marked with a check) and things I’d still like to do.

The Henry’s Fork

If you haven’t fished it yet, you need to. Not because of the hype, or because it’s the most interesting river in North America, or because it’s the ultimate dry fly water, but because standing knee deep in the quiet flows of Bonefish Flats while darkness settles gently over the Island Park caldera is the angling equivalent of saying the rosary in St. Peter’s Basilica or vision-questing in Glacier Park. It’s a transcendent experience; one we should all be fortunate enough to enjoy at least once. ✓

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