Greg Taylor of Roseburg, Ore., comes tight to a steelhead on the North Umpqua River. By Mark Taylor IDLEYLD PARK, Ore. — Knee deep in the chilly North Umpqua river, I pulled line off my reel and prepared for the first cast of the day into one of my favorite runs. There was a “plop”
By Eric Booton I am in the washing machine. Stuck in the cycle of rushing water. The power of the water has me in its clutches and is reluctant to let go. I am trapped in the hydraulic power of the rapid. Water is rushing in and filling the boat. I am thankful for self
By Chris Hunt The old two-track along the small stream in Idaho’s Caribou National Forest sees some ATVs now and then, but not too many folks in their Razors are there to fish, thankfully. It’s not a secret stream, not by any means. But it takes some effort to get there. And once you’re there,
This bridge over the Willamette River in Eugene, Oregon, teases anglers with art. Brett Prettyman/Trout Unlimited By Brett Prettyman Efforts to keep fishing from entering my mind during our family vacation only lasted to the first state line. Some may find it hard to believe, but fishing doesn’t always fit into the plans. It is
A few years back, I had the good fortune to fish the Limay River in Argentina’s northern Patagonia region. It’s a sweeping desert tailwater absolutely loaded with large trout. To this day, the 27-inch brown trout I brought to hand is my largest trout. I also landed a 25-inch brown and was in the boat
Photo by Rachel Andona By Chris Hunt We steered the rig into a pull-off shaded by lodgepoles and pressed almost flat by frequent use. Nothing remained of the understory—every fallen log, limb or twig had been meticulously collected for firewood. Even the lodgepoles were nude from the ground up, only sporting branches starting a good
The Nacimiento River at peak winter flow, central California. By Sam Davidson A recent telephone call with the Steelhead Whisperer got me fired up. His brother had been car-camping around the central coast, and had seen people fishing in one of the streams that swerve out of the Santa Lucia range and through the oak
By Chris Hunt The low grumble in Phoebe’s throat grew into a steady growl, and her floppy ears perked up. She stared across the Little Greys River Canyon in the fading twilight, clearly interested in something across the river. “Hush,” I said instinctively, nursing a gin and tonic and staring into the flames that were
New water is always exciting, and, while I’ve fished Idaho’s Salmon River a lot for steelhead over the years, I’d never poked into the river’s extreme upper reaches at the base of Galena Summit, where the Sawtooths spread out to the northwest. My thought—and, frankly, my hope—was to get into some native west slope cutthroats
A “half-pounder” steelhead from northern California’s Trinity River. My buddy Sam and I met at the Fly Shop in Redding, Calif., eager to make the springtime drive over the Coastal Range to a little cabin on the banks of the fabled Trinity River. It was the tail end of steelhead season in northern California, and
Tom Reed with a nice Firehole River brown trout. We’d walked maybe a mile away from the bike trail that crosses the Firehole River, just upstream of the Fountain Flat parking area, putting a bit of distance between us and the last couple of anglers we wandered past that early June day several years back.
All photos, unless noted, by Hansi Johnson
Combat fishing in Alaska at its finest. By Dave Atcheson My reasons for fishing vary. Sure, sometimes it’s utilitarian; to fill the freezer, but more often than not it’s about the experience. It’s about connecting to the outdoors, to something larger than myself, the sense of peace and relaxation that only comes streamside. This is
A Bear River cutthroat landed at Bear Lake in Utah. Courtesy Paul Thompson/Utah DWR. By Brett Prettyman As a kid my boundaries were marked by street names. Pinehill Drive. Arrowhead Lane. Vine Street. State Street. The borders eventually expanded to counties, forests, states and countries. While driving over a mountain pass recently I realized at
By Chris Hunt The thermometer on my dash read a cold 33 degrees. The calendar claimed it was June 13. Sadly, both were accurate. Welcome to Yellowstone. As I topped Craig Pass heading north, snowbanks still lined the Grand Loop Road, and more was falling. My wiper blades could keep the the white stuff off
A tight-lined nymph produced this and several other wild Spring Creek browns for Mark Taylor during his recent visit to the popular Pennsylvania stream.
By Mark Taylor Scenic and peaceful, this place was not. We were walking on the shoulder of a busy highway in Eastern Pennsylvania, Joe Baylog leading the way. We were in the area working on a film project on TU’s work with the state’s Unassessed Waters Initiative. Baylog, president the Forks of the Delaware chapter,
By Travis Banta It is safe to say we are a fishing family. Grandpa Lee crossed the Madison River to his favorite fishing hole in an old 1940’s era Ford pickup. Grandma Margaret hated that bridge because it was essentially a couple of 2×12 boards and she didn’t like guiding the tires of that old Ford
Wes Gwaltney, president of the New River Valley of Trout Unlimited, fishes the West Prong of the Pigeon River near Gatlinburg, Tenn., in late April. Even as damage from 2016 fires remains, the forest in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park is greening up with the arrival of spring. (Mark Taylor photo.) By Mark Taylor
By Josh Duplechian Frank is a man with a knack for organization. His black Richard Wheatley fly boxes are neatly arranged in order of size, color and pattern. Frank pinches barbs on all his flies, most of which are either elk hair caddis or nymphs. He is not much of a big, chunky streamer fan.
