Sometimes, flies just work, and there’s no real explanation as to why. Take the Royal Coachman, for instance. It doesn’t imitate any one hatching insect, yet with its peacock herl body broken by red floss, it seems to work often enough that trout recognize it as food. I think the same thing can be said
One of the great things about working with the fly-fishing industry and conservation is the people you meet. You meet a lot of kind, authentic people who care deeply about fish and fishing. And you soon learn that there are people who will never let you down. These are the reliable supporters, the people that
By Andy Brown Recent projects to remove in-stream barriers on two North Carolina streams have opened miles of habitat for trout and other creek-dwelling creatures. The work was completed on Powdermill and Cedar Rock creeks and is part of TU’s coldwater conservation program in the Southern Appalachians. Removing barriers helps fish, including native brook trout,
Participants at a recent STREAM Girls event held in South Carolina get their feet wet. Trout Unlimited photo. By Franklin Tate Composer Aaron Copland was so inspired by Appalachian spring he wrote a symphony about it. Countless other artists and musicians have also found their muses once the days lengthen and the very seams of
Just as a snake sheds its skin, we must shed our past over and over again. – —Gautama Buddha By Sam Davidson Recently I saw a post on social media reminding people that as spring comes on strong, so do snakes. The post offered visual proof (see above) of this, in the form of a
Photo by Mike Sepelak By Chris Hunt FOLKSTON, Ga.— I’ve never been a boat guy, choosing instead to find my best fly fishing using my two feet, usually after driving to the end of the road, and then wandering on a bit farther to the water few others bother to reach. It’s a preference thing.
By Chris Hunt The first time I visited a blackwater swamp, I was probably about 12. My dad rented a little jon boat from the marina near Uncertain, Texas, and he manned the tiller as we glided over the glassy waters of Caddo Lake. I was instantly enchanted. At the time, 35 years ago, East
