Articles

Air-lock strike indicators.

For years, thingamabobbers have been my go-to strike indicators. When I'm expecting truly subtle strikes and need something very sensitive, I'll reach for yarn, but otherwise a bobber is typically what I'll choose. They're ultra-visible, float as high or higher as any other indicator I've used, and they're easy to attach and remove. But they're not perfect. They often slide when used on thinner pieces of leader or tippet and when used on thicker material, typically leave the butt section of your leader kinked and twisted beyond repair.

This past year, Rajeff Sports introduced a new strike indicator, Air-Lock, which we've quickly accepted as the better bobber. The company that designs and manufactures Air-Lock strike indicators -- a small company based in Portland, Oregon named Field Systems Research --recognized the faults the existing bobber designs had and set to task at fixing them. The solution started with a prototype fashioned out of the top of a toothpaste tube. The eventual result, Air-Lock's screw-on cap design, eliminates both of the aforementioned issues of slippage and kinking.

An open letter to America's anglers

We love America. We love our landscapes, and our sporting traditions, and our rich outdoors culture, and our fisheries, and we’re willing to fight for it.
Sunset on the Yellowstone River (photo: Tim Saunders).

We love to fish. We love it. Not in that juvenile, sloppy-wet-kiss way that so many of us remember from high school, but with an “I come alive with a fly rod in my hand” love that’s grounded in maturity, appreciation and respect for our angling traditions. We’ve been fishing for decades and there are very few other activities that bring us so much joy or help us connect to the natural world on such an elemental level.

Unfortunately, those of us who love to fish, and who see the necessity for protecting our landscapes and waterways, are coming under attack. It turns out - and no, we’re not making this up - that we are “radicals.” As Ty Hansen pointed out in a recent Hatch Magazine piece, the energy and resource extraction industries are targeting hunters and anglers. Those of us who support conservation are being portrayed as extremists and radicals.

So what is a radical? Seriously, what does it mean? Is protecting our favorite trout stream a radical act? What about defending an Alaskan salmon river from a mining company? Or how about passing on a healthy natural world to our kids and grandkids? Because those of us who want to share clean water, clean air and healthy landscapes with future generations are being ridiculed and marginalized. It’s almost as if our love for the great outdoors is standing in the way of “progress.”

Tenkara as a teaching tool

Many are beginning to see tenkara as the ideal introduction to fly fishing.
Photo: Daniel Galhardo

Stand around with a group of fly fishers and mention tenkara and the response can be both enlightening and entertaining. Tenkara evokes strong responses from some while it is ignored by others because it doesn’t fit the more common image of modern fly fishing.

But, haters are going to hate and I have no interest in getting into a prolonged discussion with haters of any stripe. On the other hand, every day more and more people are looking into tenkara and becoming interested in fly fishing because of it.

Photo: D. Giles / cc2.0

Fishing at night can be a foreign experience for the uninitiated. The nightscape on a river can seem like an alien world compared to its daytime counterpart. Disorientation can make even the simplest tasks seem monumental, including choosing a fly. But, while normally routine operations like walking down the riverbank or tying on extra tippet can become vexing conundrums, the process of selecting a fly at night is much the same as it is during the day.

Photo: Mark Raisler, Headhunters Fly Shop.

We hit the river around 1:00 in the afternoon this past Saturday, with a three hour drive in the rearview mirror and the various necessities of early March fly fishing - the waders and the synthetic long johns and the fleece pants and the heavy wool socks and the Nano-Puff jackets - all in place.

It didn’t matter. While the air temperature was decent, the water was down in the mid-30s and wading conditions that were fine for a grown man were bone-achingly, foot-numbingly cold for a 9 year old boy with no body mass to speak of and the fat reserves of your typical anorexic super model.

We slid down the muddy brown bank of the side channel, stepped into the Missouri, and picked our way slowly across the current on a wide gravel bar, his hand in mine, both of us holding tight, knowing that if he went in the river, even here in the shallows, he’d be hypothermic before I could get him back to the truck.

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