February in New Orleans

Buck fever.   That’s what they call it when a hunter freezes or does something stupid during the perfect moment to attack their prey.

I prefer to call it temporary retardation and it’s a talent that I consistently excel at.

Perhaps this is why I fish such large rivers in my home province of BC, Canada. Wide runs and Spey rods, boulders and seams….. the simplicity of silent prayers that a steelhead is somewhere lurking in the current.

Cast, swing, step,pray. Cast, swing, step, pray. (Adam Tavender photo).

See, without visually spotting the fish in advance there is truly no buck fever, only buck surprise; and it’s a whole lot easier on the ego when one screws up after the fish has been hooked.

Sight fishing in the saltwater is something that is still quite new to me and I’ll be honest in admitting that it doesn’t take an overly observant guide to note this.

For example, take the buck fever I mentioned. In my case I instantly turn into an over-sized kindergarten student who’s forgotten her lefts from rights, all the while appearing to have never looked at any clock other than a digital Timex with a Velcro strap.  The guide yells ”11:00!”, I cast at 2:00…..what a mess.

“Oh, THAT one o’clock!” (Glendon Paulk photo).

If I’m lucky I may be able to avoid the sick “thunking” sound as my Clouser nails the back of my head and if I’m really lucky, I may be able to delay the disgusting slurp of catching water as my overly excited back cast drops to where there are simply no excuses.

Don’t let them fool you…..they hurt. (Tim Myers photo).

Another unique newbie talent I seem to possess is my curse of enthusiasm and uncontrollable excitement. My friends call it the happy dance, my guides call it something I can’t quite make out as they always seem to mutter it under their breath.

Oh I get so excited!   My feet start to dance like a football player practicing that silly drill atop old car tires while my hands subsequently keep along to the rhythm with ridiculous clapping and nervous squeals. The anticipation kills me.

So when I booked Travis Holeman of Holeman Brothers Outdoors no one could blame me for not telling him about any of these ‘ buck fever symptoms’. I wanted Travis to take me and several other friends fishing in Louisiana for Red fish; BIG Red fish.

I had heard of Travis through another guide we had arranged to fish with, Greg Dini.

Greg had contacted me several years earlier in an email tempting me to take a shot at the famous New Orleans catch; the spotted beauty and glowing Red Drum. He had twisted my mind (and my arm) and had plagued my thoughts with visions of monstrous, record breaking fish.

Paired with a city that had intrigued me for years, New Orleans, land of Jazz legends, wild parties, historical brilliance, world famous cuisine, swampland and of course, fishing….had me doing my happy dance before my feet even hit the boat.

There were eight of us fishing on this trip and each of us were eager to touch down and settle into a feast of oysters and Hurricanes (a cocktail designed to help rowdies accumulate an abundance of beads…if you know what I mean). We were arriving only one day after Mardi Gras and had no idea what to expect.

Oh Mardi Gras…

Sure enough, beads and red plastic cups littered the asphalt and the lack of life on the dark streets implied that everyone had indeed participated in a wild night just 24 hours earlier.

One of our many refreshment stops during our stay.

We chuckled and made our way to the famous Bourbon street for dinner and drinks.

The next morning came fast (5:30am to be exact) and Travis was waiting to pick me and friend Phil Napolitan up before the sun made an appearance.

A beautiful morning.

The weather was cold but the smile on Travis’ face warmed us instantly and within seconds we were loaded up and on the road.

We had a 40 minute drive ahead of us and Travis settled in to give us the lowdown on the latest fishing report and weather conditions.

He went on to explain that February wasn’t usually this cold and that the weather had been baffling the locals. Usually warm and sunny, the below freezing temperatures, overcast skies and choppy wind was unusual and overwhelming for some; especially while seated in an accelerated boat in the middle of the ocean.

The boat ride was long but with Patagonia and Buff as my new best friends, the ride was tolerable. Travis wasn’t lying; it was cold.

(Tim Myers photo).

Rumor had it that the winter months brought in fewer, but larger fish.

Big game hunters, Phil and I knew this going into our trip so we were prepared for a day of patience and selective stalking.

The sky was gray and visibility was not at its best. Travis stopped the boat and assumed position on the poling platform, pole in hand. He looked like a giant up there, burly, weathered and standing in at 6’4.

Travis Holeman….the Man. (Tim Myers photo).

“Ape,” he demanded, “Let me see your cast. I wanna see what I’m working with here.” I shot out a bomb and watched my weighted Clouser plummet into the water and instantly pierce through the depths. I smiled proud and prematurely. Buck Fever hadn’t consumed me yet.

Travis instructed me to land my fly softly and to keep my eyes open for what looked like a “large Golden Retriever” swimming in the water.

I truly had no idea what to expect but I kept my eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary.

Next, Travis worked on my vision. As he poled us effortlessly he pointed out schools of Sheepshead and tested my eye sight and distance approximations.

Sheer concentration. (Glendon Paulk photo).

The overcast sky and rippling water was not making this easy….

Suddenly across the way, a loud shout of excitement broke the silence and echoed through the yellow grass and marshy tundra. Dini’s boat and two of our guys were into a big one and it was taking them for a ride. We had found fish!

(Tim Myers photo).

Travis maintained his cool (something I never was fortunate enough to see him lose) and pointed almost directly in front of me.

“There, fifteen feet 11:00″.

I squinted then felt my stomach flip. There truly was what looked like a floating canine almost right at my feet. I cast, stripped and came up blank.

I cast again, only this time clumsily landing the cast on its head. With a tuft of sand and one quick dart, my fish was gone and I was left unimpressed.

(Tim Myers photo).

“Arrgghhh! Idiot!”   Needless to say, there were no pats on my back.

Travis laughed and continued to pole. I handed the rod to Phil.

“Alright Philthy, let’s see what you’ve got.”

I watched Phil and Travis work together spotting the next fish. Travis instructed Phil where to cast and Phil landed his fly with precision. He kept his nerves composed and maintained focus. I wondered to myself how much the wad of chewing tobacco stuck inside his cheek helped to ease the anxiety.

Watching the guys intently. (Tim Myers photo).

Again Travis instructed him clearly with casting direction and distance. The fly landed with a soft “ploop”.

“Wait….slow strip….strip….strip…he’s on it dude!”

Phil set the hook hard and to the side flexing his forearms and preparing to battle.

The water churned and metallic scales had me squealing…. This fish was sturdy and fighting with passion.

Phil fought his beauty like a pro and before long she had succumbed to the battle and was ready for landing.

Nice wad Phil.

Travis leaned over and swiftly brought her into the boat for a photo and a release.

Leeches squirmed on her belly and fins, a result of the cold water and laying close to the ocean floor as Travis later explained.

It wasn’t an hour after Phil’s excitement that I was putting on a similar show and my rod buckled while I concentrated on landing my first Red. With long runs and intimidating head shakes, it battled hard and teased us as it neared the boat, only to peel line again.

Upon landing, I admired its distinct scales, thick shoulders, blunt face and a spectacular signature dot marking the girth of the tail.

I smiled as I watched her swim back into the depths.

My first Red.  Thanks sweetheart….  (Phil Napolitan photo).

Some photos to tell the rest of the story….

A New Orleans Voodoo doll checking out my “Boots with the Fur”.  Whatever.  It was cold… (Glendon Paulk photo).

“You’re awfully small to be poling this thing aren’t you?” (Glendon Paulk photo).

Phil with a nice one.

A nice New Orleans Red. (Travis Holeman photo).

Love.  (Travis Holeman photo).

Glendon fighting a good one.  (Tim Myers photo).

Glendon lands a nice Black Drum.  (Tim Myers photo).

Trav with a good one.

(Tim Myers photo).

Travis has been keeping us updated with the latest on the BP oil spill and how the spill is affecting Louisiana’s fishery. Visit his Face Book page at http://www.facebook.com/#!/profile.php?id=1638460732&ref=ts

Dean River at the Blackwell’s Dean River Lodge

The Blackwell’s Dean River Lodge is a lodge that has graced the Dean River for many years and has tortured me with stories of huge fish and epic battles since my beginning days as a steelheader.

So naturally, when my sister got a job at the lodge, my gut churned with both jealousy and ache as she was not only being taken from me for an extended period of time, but she was being taken from me to be put on some of the best steelhead water in the world.

Her stories of huge fish, fantastic food, fluttering hummingbirds, rushing waterfalls, great company and a top notch boss (Justin Blackwell), had me itching to experience such paradise.

Justin Blackwell and his family have been historical markers on the Dean for years and as humble, down to Earth, kind and gracious people, they ooze with integrity and sincerity.  I couldn’t believe how lucky I was when Justin’s email lit up my inbox extending an invite.

Myself, so used to lodge atmospheres full of pretentiousness with stories of who can cast the farthest, who can hook the most fish and who’s heard what about who…..my stay at the Blackwell’s was refreshingly flawless, encompassing the epitome of what a back-country utopia should be like….

Here’s the story by photos and a video clip or two….

From Vancouver we flew into the teeny tiny village of Bella Coola.

From here we flew into an even smaller town known as Anahim Lake.

Once we landed in Anahim Lake, we drove to Justin’s float plane and loaded up in preparation of a 45 minute flight over pure bliss.

That smile only got larger as the flight went on.

The Dean River

This waterfall was truly magnificent!  See the Blackwell’s Lodge tucked in the far right corner.  Is that a view or what!?

Getting ready to land.

We land in the ocean only minutes away from the front doors of the lodge.

The main lodge (Andrew Maillot photo).  Check out http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ofR53ab80c to see the view upon waking up from my cabin.

Ummm, can you say “the best staff in the world”!?  Dana Vokey, chef extraordinaire and a true breath of fresh air to the Dean River.

Our guide, the hilarious Stevie Morrow.  Steve seconds as the Blackwell’s comedian when we’re off the river and playing with whiskey and rum.  This guy knows his stuff and is hands down one of the best guides I have ever had the pleasure of fishing with.

Getting ready to load up into the boat.

Ah ha!  First one of the trip!  A fuzzy self-photo but an everlasting memory that’s clear as day….

And another.  One of four pulled from this spot….what a day!

Saying goodbye.

Doug running to a nice one!  (Andrew Maillot photo).

Nice one buddy!  (Andrew Mailott photo.)

Wow!  Does it get any better than this?  (Steve Morrow photo).

Ummmm….nope!  Sure doesn’t!

Sharing stories of the day (Jack Daniels photo).

Just minutes from the ocean!  See the video of the fight here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=StnT2G6VmV8 (Stevie Morrow video and photo.)

Rock on Kenny!  (Andrew Maillot photo).

Atta boy!  Check out http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=miXxAlMUng8 to see Kenny hook into a slab!

One happy girl!

Utopia (Stevie Morrow photo).

This was one of my favs!  Beau hooks this beauty and loses the reel of his handle in the water!  Check out the whole commotion on YouTube here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MpV_JFD0WV4

Freakin’ awesome!

Hot summer heat… (Andrew Maillot photo).

Two peas in a pod.  The Dean beware, the Vokey sisters plan on menacing this river for a long time!

Kenny with yet another nice steelhead!

Ahhh, beer, Dean, chauffeur, steel?  Check!  Doug’s got it made (Andrew Maillot photo.)

Cast, swing, step.  Andrew Maillot photo.

Another beauty!

Nice work Mike!

Ohhhhhh…………..

Psych….The pinks are in.  (Andrew Maillot photo.)

Argghh!  Bugger took my whole fly line and busted off at the middle of my amnesia running line.  Amnesia?  I wish…. because I sure remember being very unimpressed.

Nonetheless, equipped with a new fly line and a little luck, all was forgotten when this stomper decided to battle!  (Andrew Maillot photo).

Oh, don’t tease honey….come to Mama!  (Andrew Maillot photo).

Magnificent.  (Andrew Maillot photo).

Hans!  Right on!

My angel and Dean River sweetheart, Dana.

Reflecting on a trip of a lifetime and a love like none other.

The Dean turned me to mush and had me tearing up upon departing….this will be an annual trip for me.  My heart is lost somewhere amidst those mountains and I can promise you that I’ll be back soon to find it.

If ever you have trusted me on one thing this is it; Book your trip of a lifetime on the Dean River and make the conscious decision to leave your heart behind.

Contact april@flygal.ca for more information or to book a trip.

Bare Lake Women’s Retreat Update

Thanks to Lynn Smith and Kevyn Parker for the great photos and special thanks to Sturgeon Slayers for booking our ladies.

Wow! What a Deal!

Oh wow, we’re excited for this one!

We are ecstatic to announce our Co-Ed Learn to Fly Fish Weekend retreat in Terrace, BC!

(Jeff Bright photo)

Join us as we team with Nicholas Dean Lodge www.nicholasdean.com on the long weekend of August 6, 7 and 8th fishing for salmon and steelhead.

(Noel Gyger photo)

Course includes 3 days of fishing, 2 nights accommodations at a 5 star lodge, and all meals.

Price:  $895.00

Contact april@flygal.ca or Chad Black at chadblack@nicholasdean.com to reserve your space.

Terrace in the Spring

Just got back from Terrace with friends Steve Rajeff, Bruce Holt and Ross Purnell.  We teamed with Nicholas Dean Lodge www.nicholasdean.com to fish some beautiful water and get into some equally beautiful fish!

Stay tuned for the full story in an upcoming issue in Fly  Fisherman magazine.

Photos by Ross Purnell.

 

Rajeff letting one fly.

Ross with a beauty.

Bruce and his ‘pink’ shirt  : )

Ape cutting through the wind.

Sigh.

Entering a small coastal stream.

Was worth the bruises. 

Rajeff and a small steel.

Ross and guide/owner Dustin.

Steve and Ross end the trip on a good note.

Utah Follow-Up Photos With Fishwest Fly Shop….

Oh, we had fun!

The ladies were a riot and the guys at the Fishwest Open House http://fishwest.com/ made the JD even more fun….  What a great time!

Some pics of the weekend…..

Photos of our class by Douglas Barnes.  He is very talented!  Check out his site at http://www.nowpicturethis.com/

Teaching the mini Fly Gals how to crank!

Even I was able to sneak away for a while…. (Photos by Dustin Carlson)

Keeping low….

Got ya!

Dustin Carlson

Bare On The Bonaparte, May 28th-30th, 2010- Last Chance! Book Now!

In conjunction with Sturgeon Slayers , Fly Gal Ventures and Bare Lake (lodge and staff).

Ladies come join us for a rare opportunity to experience Beautiful British Columbia at its finest May 28th-30th (guys I promise that we haven’t forgotten about you, stay tuned for upcoming packages that we’re sure you’ll love!).

A 3 day / 2 night venture into the wilderness, where fun and relaxation is the top priority. 

Join me, April Vokey, as I host you during this fun filled, stress free event.

Once on the water we will take you through various fly casting techniques from beginner to expert.  All guests will make a leisurely 40 min hike into camp on the morning of the May 28th and will return refreshed and invigorated on the night of the 30^th having learned many new angling skills.

 Bare lake is an exceptional secluded hideaway which has seen the likes of Bing Crosby, Gabby Hayes, Claudette Colbert, Ronald Colman and Phil Harris to name but a few. Protected by the Bonaparte Provincial Park and surrounded by pristine lakes, we guarantee this is one untouched piece of paradise and a fantastic weekend getaway that you do not want to miss out on.

Included

 All fishing Gear

 All food and beverages

 Casting instruction from April

 Theory and knowledge session regarding your days fishing

 Guide for hike in and out of the lodge

 Taxes

 Not included

 Alcohol

 Gratuities

 Things to keep in mind 

 This is an all inclusive trip which is an INTRO PRICE for Bare.

 Heli and float plane transportation is available upon request at an additional fee.

 We recommend that guests bring clothing for all types of our BC weather.

 For those who make a last minute decision to stay an extra night at the lodge, the additional charge will be $ per cabin.

 For those who need to check emails, the lodge has satellite internet and phone lines to call out.

 With a full kitchen and all the amenities of home, it’s a good idea to bring extra cash to stay another night. 

 Please contact us regarding any food allergies or preferences. All meals and snacks will be fully catered.

PRICE FOR GETAWAY $675.00 CANADIAN DOLLARS INC TAXES

 Contact april@flygal.ca more information or to book your space.

2010 Fraser River’s Edge Co-Ed School

Gar Pike….You’ve Been Asking….

I could see them in groups of two and three sun-bathing in the weed beds, golden tails of leopard spots flowing gracefully back and forth, their long noses pointed in one concentrated direction.

I adjusted my polarized glasses and cast my fly into one of the small schools. A large gar followed my fly as I stripped it back towards myself, then abruptly darted in the opposite direction when it saw my looming shadow.

I tried again, this time with a different school. I watched a mid-size gar turn towards my fly and suddenly dart at it, grabbing it between it’s gnarly chops, raking it’s jagged teeth into the soft bunny. I set the hook, only to feel my line go slack, “damn!”

The guys laughed as my voice carried on the breeze, interrupting the peaceful flat.

Nick reminded me that their mouths were comprised of bone and teeth and to set the hook I had to apply some serious power. Now I meant business. I waded to a nearby rock, and stood atop it to increase my field of vision. There they were, unsuspecting and peaceful.  I couldn’t wait to cause a commotion.

I picked up my water-logged fly and cast it determinedly just ahead of a fair size fish.

Strip, strip, strip. It turned, followed and then lunged! I set the hook! Fish on!

A flash of silver and glowing metallic scales danced atop the water, churning the surface as it tail-walked and rolled trying desperately to spit my fly.

I played the feisty gar until it succumbed and I was able to pull it close to me, preparing for a release. It didn’t take long for me to change my mind about putting my fingers anywhere near it’s mouth.

First gar!

“Careful, they’re like razor blades. They’ll slice you open and you won’t even realize it”, the guys warned, referring to its unbelievably long snout of never ending rows of misaligned and serrated teeth.

This thing had one serious overbite! “Just hang on to it while I pull your fly out”, coached one the guys as he pulled out his pliers. Easy enough for a local to say, I thought. With scales thick and rough, this beautiful fish wore a shell of armor, an exact opposite of the delicate steelhead and trout I was so used to handling.

The gar had an astonishing amount of strength and the instant it squirmed, it freed itself from my grip. I squealed as it’s skewer was unleashed and slashed dangerously close to my thighs.

Matt called me a wimp from the other side of the flat and laughed as I pulled the classic stereo-type of a squeamish woman out of her element.

Nicole with a healthy gar.

To this, all I have to say, is that I defy any man not to squirm uncomfortably as twelve inches of snapping scissors thrashes uncontrollably at their groin.

The day continued, and we caught gar-pike until our arms were sore. I was amazed that I hadn’t seen anyone else fishing on such a beautifully sunny day.

I later was told that the majority of the locals looked upon these gar as a ‘garbage’ fish, unworthy as they offered no appealing meat. “You can catch them on the fly?” was the popular phrase amongst local tackle shop customers. “Hmm, now that might be interesting…..” If only they knew.

The next day, we headed back to the same spot for some more adrenaline-packed fun.

The gar were there waiting, and it wasn’t long before we were at it again, only today, I was trying something a little different. I tied on a bass popper (a large and colorful floating fly designed to push water and create an obnoxious disturbance on the water’s surface) and cast it into the shallows.

Like aquatic garden shears breaking through the surface, my popper was a favorite amongst both gar-pike and angler.

Hmmh, looks like someone doesn’t know how to hold a bass.

A dozen gar-pike and two intercepted large-mouth bass later, a familiar sound screamed through the air (no, it wasn’t me).

Matt’s reel was wailing that glorious tune, as a huge gar ran frantically back towards the depths. His rod buckled and serious concentration consumed his face. The battle continued for what seemed like eternity, but Matt’s wicked hook set ensured that this trophy wasn’t going anywhere except into his clutches.

Measuring in at 50 inches (a mere inch off the record mark), it shone with radiance, demanding respect. It was an epic day.

Go Matt!  It’s your birthday…..

We were only two days into our trip and already I had long surpassed any doubts I had once reserved in regards to my ability to be surprised with Ontario and it’s fishery.

Gar on a popper.

For our third day of fishing, we had arranged to meet up with Chris Marshall, editor and experienced angler to The Canadian Flyfisher magazine.

He was going to show us around the upper Moira river, a small flowing system that passes directly through the town of Belleville. The water was low and clear, a result of an ongoing Ontario drought caused by lack of precipitation and high temperatures.

Ape and Nicole fishing the Moira.

Nevertheless, we were determined to hook into some small mouth bass and take our chances at finding a lone musky lurking in the shadows.

A classic Englishman, Chris guided us through the Moira, pointing out distinct drop offs and ideal aquatic habitat. Accustomed to large boulders and slippery rock, the vast stretches of over-hanging ledge-rock shelves were a treat to wade on.

I tied on a small nymph and stripped it through a crystal-clear pool, past several nonchalant gar pike and towards a crevice in the rock. I was shocked as small walleye, bass and other various species darted out into the open, momentarily abandoning their cover, curious about the intruding insect.

Like a spectacular fresh-water aquarium teeming with an array of co-existing species, we were awestruck by the intermingling that was taking place right before our very eyes.

As we waded the serene river, structure and shadows marked opportune locations for territorial musky laying in wait. Sure enough, sitting still beside a weed bed, lay a musky, quiet and motionless.

Matt beat me to the box of clousers and cast to the monster. He stripped vigorously, with no success. Again he cast and stripped aggressively. There was a splash and a brief tightening of the line, and then it was gone, hidden from us, tight-lipped and uninterested.

We headed down river in search of the notorious small-mouth bass. After casting into several runs, we hooked and landed a number of small mouths. Everything that we had heard about these scrappers proved true, as they pulled pound for pound and made us work.

Immediately I felt foolish for ever trash-talking the small-mouth bass and it’s pursuers.

Day four we took it easy. We fished the lower Moira, in hopes of finding another Musky, but cut the day short as we needed to pack and hit the the road to partake in the experience of a lifetime, a 14km drift on the Saugeen River with renowned guide Ken Chandler.

It was well after midnight by the time we arrived at our quaint B&B in South-West Ontario and it hadn’t stopped raining since mid-afternoon the previous day. Just our luck to go from low water conditions to a muddy, blown out river over night. We went to bed and figured we’d deal with the consequences in the morning.

Day five marked our final day of fishing and we couldn’t have asked for a nicer day. The sun shone through the blinds and the realization that I may finally live out my long-time dream of catching a musky on the fly, hit me the moment I opened my eyes. Within the hour we were at a boat launch near the small city of Paisley, excited to meet Ken and experience the Saugeen River in his incredible hand-crafted drift boat.

Ken was laid-back as he rowed us through the quiet, steady river.

As anticipated, the water had gained some color, but that didn’t phase Ken in the least. He handed me a beefy fly rod with a huge flashy deceiver pattern that looked much like a piece of road-kill tied onto a hook. “Cast over there, close to the shore”, he instructed. “Be aggressive and hit the water hard with your fly.”

I listened, and did as he said. When I had finished stripping the line in, he told me to cast again. The fly hit the water intrusively with a splash and as I began to strip, a large dark shadow darted out from the bank towards it. As quick as it had appeared, it vanished. I had just experienced my first encounter with a Musky!

We continued to row through the rapids searching for small-mouth, precisely casting our crawdad patterns into prime bass habitat. Sure enough, where Ken said a fish would be, the line would tighten and the rod would buckle. He knew every inch of this river and it showed.

He dropped anchor as we approached a shadowed bog with overhanging trees and long blades of grass. “There’s a musky in there”, he said calmly.

My heart raced and the “Jaws” theme song echoed through my head as I cast the huge fly fiercely into the water. Minnows jumped clear out of the water, startled by my intimidating fly, trying to escape it. Nothing. I cast again, this time slapping the water harder with my lure. The minnows jumped even higher.

Then there he was, monstrous and determined, just a black streak in the muddy water, the musky lunged at my fly voraciously. I set the hook and was overcome with a sick feeling when I felt no tension. I had missed my musky.

It didn’t take long for me to recover, reminding myself that I was fortunate to have at least seen and tempted the predator that had intrigued me for so many years. A self-applied motto; catching is simply a bonus when spending a day on the water.

We rowed in to shore to stretch our legs and feast on an unbelievable shore-side lunch. With a full belly and the best company a girl could ask for, I closed my eyes to fully take in the experience. The warmth of the sun caressed my eyelids, and a perfect breeze flirted with my hair. The river flowed therapeutically and the aromas of summer tickled my senses. I couldn’t believe this was Ontario!

Perhaps my erroneous expectations of Ontario and its fishery were a result of ignorance. Perhaps they were a result of inexperience. Perhaps, really, at the end of the day, the two are one and the same. All that really matters is that upon realizing these faults, one grows and adapts, accepting that they reserve the right to an opinion, but an opinion that’s fair and just.

I would like to think that during my stay in Ontario, I accomplished just that.

And you can be damn sure about one thing. I will be back to catch that musky!

As the water began to shallow, Nick shut off the boat’s motor, and we slowly drifted towards the shore.

The water was calm and clear with a soft bottom and no shortage of weeds. It looked ‘fishy’ and my heart pounded as I stepped into the two foot depth, grabbing my eight weight and rigging up my braided leader with trembling fingers.

My fly of choice, a heavy pink and white bunny leech, darted appealingly though the water, so with overwhelming confidence I headed off in search of my first victim.

Fly Halo

Custom Fly Orders Available…..

Contact april@flygal.ca for more information.