This year, it seemed that every pheasant was a trophy.  Whether it was those early birds on opening weekend with half-colored feathers, or that lone rooster coming late in the season, each one provided a welcome warm meal and a new crop of pheasant feathers for fly fishing.  With one season behind us, another one begins – the fly tying season.  And I’ve been hard at it already, tying up new patterns with feathers from my favorite bird, beyond the nymphs and soft hackles that are so common.  Here are just a few for you to try.
The Copper Sawyer

Humpies and Stimulators are some of my favorite dries, and big flashy streamers are fun to tie and neat to see in the water. Nymphs aren’t usually so flashy, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be. The Copper Sawyer is a good mix of the usual nymph features – brown and buggy – with a little added flash and weight thanks to some copper ultra wire; and best of all it is a simple two-material fly made with feathers from our favorite bird – AND it catches fish.
Materials
Hook: Nymph, Size 12-18
Thread: Brown 6/0
Tail, Body, Wingcase: Pheasant Tail Fibers
Abdomen: Copper Ultra Wire

Tie in 6-10 pheasant tail fibers so the tips hang one-third of the hook shank length beyond the bend, serving as the tail. Tie in a 3-inch strip of copper ultra wire (use Medium for size 12-14 hooks, and Small for hooks size 16 and smaller). Wrap the remaining fibers forward about 2/3 of the hook shank and tie off, advancing your thread to the hook eye. Then wrap the ultra wire forward, segmenting the thorax. When you reach the tie off point, use the ultra wire to form the abdomen by tightly wrapping it forward and then back over the first wraps to the tie off point, trimming the wire neatly. Fold the tied-off feather fibers over the wire abdomen forming a wingcase, tie them off and trim. Form a head with the thread, whip finish and cement.

Simple Streamer

This two-material fly is a short streamer that can be used for bluegills or crappies.  It wraps up quick and uses all-pheasant fibers to trigger fish.

Materials
Hook: Streamer, Size 8-12
Thread: Brown 6/0
Body: Gray Underfeather
Collar: Pheasant Rump Overfeather

You’ll need a streamer hook, a rump feather from a rooster and the gray underfeather beneath it. Simply tie in the underfeather and wrap it forward for the body.Then tie in a rump feather – a nice big blue-green one from the top of the rump – by the tip and turn it around a couple times behind the hook eye for a collar, trim it and tie off. Whip finish, cement, and you’re done!

Advanced Streamer
This bigger, badder version of the previous fly works great on smallmouth bass and aggressive trout.  It has more substance and style to send bigger predator fish into a frenzy – and except for two pieces of tinsel – it is all pheasant-powered!

Materials
Hook: 3X Long Streamer, Size 8-12
Thread: Brown (or Red) 6/0
Tail: Pheasant Marabou
Body: Gray Underfeather
Lateral Line: Tinsel of Your Choice
Collar: Two Pheasant Rump Overfeathers

With a streamer hook secured in your vise, select a full marabou-tipped middle layer rump feather from a rooster and strip the fibers from it. Tie the fibers in as the tail of the fly. Next, find a fairly long after feather with bushy gray marabou all along it and tie it in by the tip, just in front of the marabou tail. From there, wrap the gray feather forward, forming a nice thick body, giving the fly a minnow-like appearance. Trim and tie off about 1/4 of the hook shank behind the eye.

Now tie in a piece of tinsel on both sides, forming a colorful streak for some fish-attracting flair – you can use silver, gold, pearl, red, whatever – make the fly your own! This tinsel should reach the end of the marabou tail. Finally, select two bright colored rump feathers (the blue-green ones around the tail) and tie them by the tips over the tinsel. Advance your thread and wrap the feathers around the hook to form a collar on the fly. Trim off the excess, cover with thread, form a small head, whip finish, cut the thread and cement for posterity. You can add lead wraps or a bead head at the beginning for more weight.  Fill your fly box with an army of these flies built with pheasant feathers for fly fishing and you’ll be ready for some fast spring fishing…in our outdoors.

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By Nick Simonson
Each spring, the banks of area lakes and rivers are littered with pop bottles, chip bags, Styrofoam cups, plastic containers, beer cans, and my personal pet peeve, spent fishing line. The snow that lines the gutters of city streets and highway ditches slowly gives way to reveal plastic, cardboard and other garbage that was buried by winter. The accumulation is tough to ignore as the neon greens and blues of various plastic and aluminum objects jut out from the beige roadside grasses or bob in the foam-filled eddies of local flows.

We All Live Downstream

I hope each time I pick up a weather-worn bottle or a Styrofoam cup that it didn’t find its resting place at the hands of an angler or hunter. I know most sportsmen are courteous and respect not only nature, but the rights of those that follow after them. Much of the problem lies upstream. Anytime a beer can is hurled out a car window into a ditch on a Friday night, it has to go somewhere. Anytime a piece of litter is thrown in the gutter instead of a garbage can, it has a chance of making it into the water.

I have seen stretches of shoreline littered with crushed cans and other garbage which make it appear that those who were last there were too lazy or not concerned enough to put litter in its place. I’ve seen paper fast food bags full of floorboard trash dumped casually on the side of a gravel road, no doubt a late night stop on a cruise in the country. Sad to say, those items end up in nearby wildlife habitat or make their way downstream, whisked away by wind or carried away by melt water. I find garbage in our wild places to be an aesthetic nightmare, but for the animals it affects, it can be a death sentence.

Killer Trash

The biggest reason to pick up trash is to preserve the wildlife that live in, on and around our public lands and waters. I can recall several examples when fishing where animals have been impacted by discarded garbage that injured them and hindered their survival.

The most memorable – as it spurred my hatred for “line-strippers” who rip the line off their reels and let it lay at the water’s edge – involved a robin tangled in yards of monofilament. The bird was caught in a mess of thick blue line which bound his already mangled leg to the end of a tree branch.

The bird struggled to free itself in vain and tried harder as I approached with the tiny scissors drawn on my Swiss Army knife. He pecked at my hand as I cut several of the loops that bit into his foot and leg. Finally freed, he flew a few feet away and hobbled off, foot nearly severed from his body. I only hoped that it would heal well enough for him to survive and that I would never have to do that again, mostly because it was a pathetic display of what people can do to the environment and partly because that robin’s beak was as sharp as a razor.

Time and again, animals get caught in fishing line and plastics such as six-pack rings. Many of them aren’t as fortunate as the robin to escape and continue living. Most are doomed to die a slow, horrible death resulting from starvation or inability to process ingested trash that was discarded upstream.
Get Committed

The animals you pursue for sport such as walleye, ducks, deer, bass, fox, and pheasants are all subject to your actions. The animals you enjoy watching: eagles, songbirds, owls, squirrels and others all have to live with the mess left behind. Animals thousands of miles away, such as manatees, porpoises, whales, ocean fish, osprey, grizzly bears and more can be affected by the trash that washes downstream from the gutter to the gulf.
Your actions dictate the future. Join me in making the months ahead the time that you begin or renew your commitment to being a better steward of your local environment. Make the pledge to pick up just one extra piece of litter each day this spring, be it on the shore or on the sidewalk. Then put it where it belongs: in the garbage or in the recycle bin. We owe it to ourselves, to generations of future outdoors enthusiasts and to everyone and everything that lives downstream…in our outdoors.

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As my offering drifted around in the pool eddy, I hoped that my brother would see a fish caught – if not by me, then by another angler, or maybe himself – and he would experience the finned allure of the north shore of Lake Superior beyond the lichen-covered bluffs and pine-shaded streams that add to its aesthetics. Being a greenhorn to steelhead fishing myself, I made no promises, other than that we’d try a few rivers, talk to a few people, watch how its done and take some good pictures. The weather was somewhat sketchy, with partly cloudy skies and a northwest wind ripping out onto the water of the big lake, but it was tropical compared to the trout opener two weeks before.

Steelheads are a true prize in the fly circles up north

As we neared the streamside, a dark gray cloud began spitting tiny chunks of ice at us and sleet fell for several minutes. My brother remarked that it must be some sort of sign. We descended down the steep bank to a pool below a small set of ledges and watched for a few moments. I thought at one point I saw a shadow move in and out of the foam line, and then decided to drift my offering through the pool. The rushing of the falls, the squawking of a kingfisher and the rustling branches of an old cedar tree that had grown out from the canyon’s side reminded me that fish would always be a bonus in a place like this. For a few minutes, as the sun peaked back out, I soaked it all in and my mind wandered.

My rod tip bumped once and brought me back to the moment. I pulled up on the slack in the pool. The eight-pound line tightened in the guides of my fly rod as whatever it was on the other end realized there is no such thing as a free lunch. The rod bent into a full arch and the reel spun backward against the palm of my hand as the fish dug for the main current.

‘Fish On!’ I hollered over to my brother, who was just getting his feet wet in terms of north shore fishing. Despite my reminders, he had forgotten to bring waders and was stuck in the shallows in my old calf-high rubber boots. He bounded across the rock ledge to the gravel shore I was standing on and readied himself to grab the fish, whenever it chose to come close enough to land. On the trip over his feet went from being figuratively wet to literally soaked, as his third step put him knee-deep in the chilly meltwater of the stream. It wouldn’t be the only time this fish would baptize him in the waters of spring trout fishing.

My mind began to spin, my voice cracked and I shouted when I talked. I could tell the fish was big, even though I could not see it. My knees began to weaken and each touch of the reel was softened by the anxiety of the fish – potentially my first north shore trout – breaking me off. I let the knob spin around several times as I lost more and more line with each run. Finally the fish turned sideways near the surface, a bright purple streak with a creamy-green back and a clipped adipose fin signaled a large feisty kamlooper – a variety of rainbow trout stocked into the tributaries of Lake Superior to supplement the Steelhead population and for put-and-take fishing. Shortly after being identified, the 25-inch fish ran an end around that would take my brother and I 100 yards downstream.

As I tried to guide the fish into the shallows of the pool where my brother could make a landing attempt, it quickly spun the opposite direction and bolted over the small ledge. I turned and pointed the rod tip downstream as the reel spun out of control. I expected the green backing to follow suit as yards and yards of the clear line peeled off as if I had hooked into the last car on a freight train.

Without instruction, my brother gave chase. Each step into the smaller downstream pools put more icy water in his galoshes. The fish squirted through his hands in the second or third hole down and then made for the lake. My line was wrapped around the buds on the end of a birch branch hanging over the stream, and we struggled to free it, even as the fish took more and more of it down the flow. I thought the ‘looper was lost for sure, but as I reeled up the slack from the tree, I felt the weight of the fish, though it could have just as easily been a rock. As I ran downstream, I found the fish with its nose buried deep behind a small boulder that broke the current in the middle of the riffles.

“He’s right there,” I hollered to my brother, pointing with my arched rod tip at the mid-stream boulder. Ben reached down to grab it, and as he did, the fish darted away. I felt the electricity in my fishing rod falter and heard my brother curse. With a turn revealing a flash of pink, the kamlooper bolted toward the lake, leaving the hook in my brother’s hand and both of us bewildered and out of breath, shaking with the after effects of adrenaline.

After a minute or two, Ben apologized, but I told him it wasn’t necessary. That was the longest I had any fish on the line in my trips to the north shore. I had seen it, felt it and ran the steeplechase after it on the small stream and that was memorable enough. Besides, if that was the first half-hour on the water, I was certain we could find something in the rest of the afternoon which would provide a silver lining on this trip.

-PART II
Having swallowed hard on the agony of defeat after watching my first fish of the day bolt down toward the waters of Gitche Gumee, my brother and I moved up the shore in search of more excitement. His first trip had started off much like my early adventures on the north shore had – full of wind, sleet, and lost fish.

We relocated beneath a set of falls to work a run and a deeper pool. The sun shone more frequently and we approached the area with renewed confidence. I waded to the far side and my brother, with a change of socks and drier boots, worked a drift setup on his spinning rod through the foam line on the near side. I flipped my offering out into the run, guided it behind the red and gray boulders and into the little pockets I hoped would hold fish.

The pines on the bank, some sixty feet in height, swayed with the gusts of wind overhead. Their bases of thick branches spared us the chill and allowed us to soak up the sunlight beaming down from directly overhead. We drifted the run for half an hour with no luck and then moved up toward the deep pool.

Having never used a fly rod, my brother asked if he could try mine. Explaining to him that it wasn’t a typical fly-fishing set up, I showed him how to present the monofilament drift rig. There was no traditional ten-to-two cast, but rather a flip of the rod-tip with a roll cast into the current, and a following of the split shot as it bumped around in the flow. It had taken all of last spring for me to get used to it.

Giving him the rod, I waded back to the far side of the river with the camera to take some pictures. The sun shone down on the clear water and my brother was lost in the observation of his drifting line. I snapped a few photographs of him methodically working the seams as if hexd done it all his life. I closed the camera lens and walked back down the bank. As I did, I saw the rod bounce and bow in my brother’s hands.

“I’ve got one,” he shouted from across the stream.

Of course I should have expected it, knowing my brother’s luck. On his first cast with the fly rod, he had hooked into a north shore trout, which quickly realized it was in trouble and dug deep into the pool. I entered the role of coach and net man, minus the net I had forgotten back home, and began formulating a plan to direct the fish into shallow waters and execute a hand landing. I instructed Ben to back into the shallows, where the fish could be landed with a carefully timed grab. The fish rolled to the surface, beaming silver with the slightest hint of pink and then bulldogged back into the depths.

As the fish made run after run, I instructed my brother to let the old fly reel spin and to keep tension with the palm of his hand. For a novice, he executed the battle perfectly. His rod tip stayed high, as did the tension in the line. After withstanding five minutes of powerful charges, my brother was able to direct the fish toward the pool’s edge. Wetting my hands, I reached down into the shallows and the fish lazily rolled into my grasp. I readied the camera and snapped pictures of the Simonson family’s first steelhead.

High-fiving after a successful release, I pointed out that what he had done was something that still eluded me and seemed that only those with years of experience did regularly. We stood in the trickle of water, replayed the fight and estimated the size of the fish at around 22 inches. Handing over my fly rod, he enlightened me on the finer points of steelhead fishing, laughed, and went back to his spinning rod.

As the afternoon progressed, my brother hooked into three more fish, landing one of them, a 17-inch kamlooper. Not only had he caught his first steelhead, but also his first ‘looper, giving him the two main spring species anglers look for on the north shore. I chalked it up to beginner’s luck combined with my brother’s mojo.

The sun peaked through the pines and leafless spring aspens as it made its trek toward the evening skies. I prepared to end my day fishless on the north shore as usual, but happy that my brother had met with such success. I flipped my offering into the water one final time and traced the movement with my rod tip. Suddenly, I didn’t feel the rig, only the sensation of dead weight.

-I pulled up on the rod and it buckled hard. The knob on the whirring fly reel hit my knuckles as the fish ran. I could tell it was big, and from his vantage point, my brother confirmed it was the biggest trout he had ever seen – even bigger than my lost kamlooper. As the minutes wore on, the fish made countless runs, never tiring, never losing the advantage of the swift river around it. Over and over again, it would come shallow, in a streak of silver and metallic pink, as if to wink at me, and then teasingly charge back into the flow. As the runs subsided, the fish seemed to voluntarily swim to-and-fro just a few feet in front of me, as if to say, “Alright, I’ll let you win this one.”

My brother gently clasped the fish around the tail and under its belly and lifted it to me. And there it was, beaming in the late afternoon sunlight, my first steelhead.

Five trips to these tributaries spread out over two springs filled with snow, wind, rain, sleet, numb toes and frozen fingers culminated in this one fish, born of the very water I stood in. And for the first time in my adventures along the north shore, the sunlit scales of a steelhead became my silver lining’in our outdoors.

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Nick Simonson

Of all the game birds sportsmen pursue, none is more colorful than the ringneck pheasant. Which makes it a pretty odd fact that the most popular fly used by outdoorsmen is the generally drab looking pheasant tail nymph – or simply, the PTN. Of course, trout, bluegill and other fish don’t seem to mind, considering most of their food sources are brown in color and about a half-inch in length. Sometimes though, little additions make a big difference in triggering fish, and dressing up the PTN with some flash or color can help put fish on the line and electrify your outings.

Pheasant Tail Nymph

So with the materials piling up on the fly tying desk after the pheasant season opener, now is the time to learn some new twists on a classic pattern to help you fire up some fall trout or some spring bluegill. From the addition of beads and flashy wingcases to accented thoraxes and wire bodies, these patterns turn the PTN from drab to dynamite and give you new options to try on your favorite fly fishing flows.

The most common way to highlight the PTN is to add a bead head. Before you start tying the fly, slip a bead to the front of the hook next to the eye and tie the usual nymph body up to it, but take note of the smaller tying area to keep things proportionate. A standard brass bead is still a bit boring, so feel free to experiment with different colors. Black metal beads make for subtle options while providing some extra weight. Or make the fly scream “eat me!” with a blaze-orange metal bead. For a neat color highlight, add a glass bead to the nymph’s head in red, pink, blue or other hue. The options are only limited by the colors you have available, so invest a couple bucks in a variety pack of glass beads or pick up a few brass or tungsten options.

Another body part that can be modified on the PTN is the wingcase, which is pulled over the abdomen of peacock herl. Instead of creating the case with the tail feather fibers, tie them flat and add in a piece of pearlescence, tinsel or other flashy material. Wrap in the herl as normal and fold the pearlescent material up toward the head. Tie it down and trim, creating the legs with the remaining feather fibers and form a thread head. A quick detour from the normal pattern adds some flash to the back of the fly – resulting in this variant’s common name: The Flashback PTN. The same tactic can be applied to any nymph with a wingcase, such as the popular Gold-Ribbed Hare’s Ear.

For an egg-laying appearance or just something different, start your PTN off with a dash of color. After anchoring the tail fibers in place, tie in a small ball of dubbing in pink, orange or chartreuse to fire the fly up from the butt section. From there, wrap the standard body in place and finish the fly as normal. This variant is known in many tying circles as the Hot Butt PTN, for obvious reasons.

Finally, feel free to borrow from another popular pattern to put a new twist on Ol’ Reliable. Using wire, you can combine the flashy abdomen of a popular midge pattern – the brassie – with the bulk of the PTN. Simply form the body of the pheasant tail nymph by twisting the wire over the abdomen area to provide both weight and flash. Tie in two pieces of different colored wire and wrap them side-by-side up to the herl thorax area for added attraction.

All of these variations on the classic pheasant tail nymph will expand your skills at the vise and should give fish something new to consider next season. The options are limited only by your imagination and by experimenting with material and pattern combinations during the tying season you might just find next year’s hot pattern on your vise, just waiting to be tested on your favorite trout or panfish waters…in our outdoors.

Pheasant Tail Nymph

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With all the hunting opportunities around us, it’s tough to set the shotgun or the bow down for an evening and pick up the fishing rod. However, fall provides an excellent chance at some fast trout fishing, particularly in those deeper pits and ponds where agencies have stocked trout for put-and-take fishing.

Fishing always picks up in the fall and trout are no exception

If fish had a deep hole to hide in from higher temperatures, they will be on their way up into the shallows to enjoy the cooling autumn waters. They will also have packed on the weight over the summer, increasing their size from “catchable” to “worth your while.” Start your search out shallow using small trout spinners, little spoons, or jigs and twister tails. Cast over and along the thinning weedlines where stocked trout seek the end of summer’s buffet: bugs, baitfish and crustaceans.

Fall is generally a time of clearing water. The algae blooms of July and August have subsided and many lakes will begin to clear, particularly after turnover. In the case of clear water, use florocarbon leaders for a seamless presentation. Make your casts as long as possible, and cast beyond the areas where you see fish feeding so they aren’t spooked by the splash of a lure.

Another method for catching trout that works well, where it is allowed, is trolling a small crankbait, like a Salmo Hornet, Floating Rapala or Rebel Wee Craw. This tactic helps cover water quickly and assists in finding the depth that autumn trout are cruising at. In many smaller lakes and ponds where trout are stocked, it is wise to stick to the littoral area, which runs between one and 15 feet deep. While cruising, trout can be found anywhere, but primary areas to key in on include points, bends and other contours. As you troll, pay attention to these changes on a depthfinder or by studying the shoreline.

If you’re going after fish with the fly rod, focus on late-hatching insects or their aquatic stages that you know are present in the ecosystem – midge larvae, scuds, damselfly and dragonfly nymphs. By this time of the year, the stocked trout that made it through the bucket brigades shortly after stocking will key in on more natural prey such as minnows, leeches and the aforementioned insects. Throw streamers and smaller baitfish patterns to find active trout or present flies that match the hatch when you see fish feeding at the surface.

Packing two spools, one with floating fly line and another with sinking line, like a Type II or III, will help in your presentation. The sinking lines will give you a count-down rate to find the precise area in the water column where fish are holding, if they aren’t feeding up top.

Generally, stocked trout that make it through the summer will be about 12 inches long in the fall; in some fertile areas, they will be bigger and will have packed on a lot of summer meat. Those fish that have dodged the bullet two or even three seasons in a row will present you with a chance to catch a trout over 20 inches in length – a quality fish in anyone’s book. Examine agency reports to see how many trout are stocked each year, and what time of year they are stocked to get an estimate of the size of the fish you are after. Check survey reports, where available, to see how many fish of each length were caught in the most recent test netting. That will give you an idea of the amount of pressure a stocked water receives and the number of big fish that might survive from year to year.

If you can tear yourself away from grouse, pheasant and deer this autumn, there are plenty of opportunities to give stocked trout a try. Tack an outing on in the afternoon after a morning hunt and you have a memorable blast n’ cast combo that is available almost until ice-up…in our outdoors.

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A nice muskie caught while fishing at night

Fall not only represents a time to return to the field, but also a time to restock fly tying and lure making materials for the winter. From partridge and grouse in the early season, to ducks, pheasants and deer as cold air sets in, the bounty of nature on the wing and hoof can help you land a number of finned species next spring.

The feathers of the Hungarian partridge, particularly the barred soft feathers of the chest and back, are popular soft-hackles for forming collars on wet and nymph flies. The Partridge and Yellow and a variety of similar soft hackles from England, dubbed “Spiders” get their attraction from the subtle undulations of the partridge hackle fibers. Sharptail grouse and ruffed grouse also have an abundance of soft hackle feathers that can be used for a change of pace in wet hackle patterns as well.

The most popular upland game bird in the upper Midwest is arguably the ringneck pheasant. The vibrant coloration of the male ringneck also makes it a well-liked bird among fly tyers as it is so versatile at the vise. The tail feather fibers are a standard in many nymph patterns, which imitate the underwater phase of a variety of insects. In fact the Pheasant Tail Nymph (PTN) is a basic pattern which is tied with just the tail fibers and a couple turns of peacock herl to imitate immature mayflies. The tail fibers can also be knotted to form leg imitations on many popular grasshopper flies. The variety of rump, chest and back feathers of the ringneck pheasant are great on soft hackles and can also be tied up to make some flashy streamers. Save the skin and tail of a ringneck for a productive winter at the vise.

Time in the blind or on the X can help you stock up on popular waterfowl feathers for fly tying as well. Mallards, a popular pursuit in the sloughs and on the lakes of the upper Midwest, provide a bevy of materials for fly tying. Mallard shoulders and flanks provide great feathers for streamers that are popular for salmon as well as a variety of nymphs and wet flies.

A turkey tag also opens you up to a world of possibilities, as wild turkey quills are a staple for fly tying. Wing cases on nymphs and wings on wet flies, and the elongated wings of grasshopper imitations can be fashioned from the durable fibers of the wild turkey quills.

Big game, especially whitetail deer, provide a great source for both fly tying and lure making materials. The most popular deer material for both fly tying and standard lure dressing is the tail of the whitetail deer. In the natural colors of brown and white, or died in a variety of attractor colors such as red, yellow, chartreuse and purple, the bucktail fibers make a pulsating attraction when tied on to the collar of a standard jig or on a streamer hook.. Don’t forget to dress up the standard treble hooks on spoons and crankbaits with a little red bucktail as well.

The body hair of the whitetail deer is a very buoyant material, and should be saved for beetle patterns, as well as a number of high-riding trout flies for fast water. It can be died and spun into the bodies of popular bass bugs, such as frogs, mice and poppers. It also makes a great wing and doubles for elk hair in a pinch, for those Midwesterners who can’t make it to the Rockies or draw a once-in-a-lifetime tag.

These common game animals, along with the less common ones, like moose, bear, elk and antelope, provide a variety of materials to use in standard patterns, or to experiment with throughout the long winter. Save a patch of fur and feathers from each species you pursue to help fill your fly box this winter and dress those jigs and spinners for springtime walleye and pike, but only after enjoying a successful set of fall seasons…in our outdoors.

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There were some great opportunities with the camera on my visit to the North Shore for steelhead.

Though the weather is an element that is always out of my control, I try not to let it dampen the spirits of a fishing trip; particularly when that trip is my first of the season and my first to a new place. Despite highs in the forties, rain and cold swollen streams, the weather did not detract from the first in what will be many trips to the tributary streams of Lake Superior’s north shore.

After work on Friday, and a scenic drive to the small town of Knife River, MN, I met up with the group of experienced north shore anglers that I had been corresponding with all winter. After settling into our cabins, we traded war stories over dinner, and for the first time in quite a while, I found myself doing most of the listening. They talked of salmon runs through the middle of Milwaukee and rare coaster brook trout near Grand Marais and tried to recall what rivers between Duluth and Tofte they had not caught fish on.

Neil, the organizer of the event, broke down his daily scouting report of the area. River temperatures were cold and were not conducive to fly fishing, but like me, most of those around the table were there for that purpose and refused to abandon it.

When we assembled in the morning, we were met with moderate rain, cool temps and calm air, conditions which would fall short of the previous day’s forecast. From the front porch of my cabin, in the dim gray morning light, I could make out a chocolate colored sediment plume cutting from the mouth of the Knife River into the gray-blue waters of Lake Superior. Neil sent me with Matt, a former fly fishing guide from Chicago who spent his free weekends scouring the shores of the Great Lakes year round in search of fresh runs of migratory salmon and trout. Matt suggested we try the nearby Sucker River.

As we slid our way down the embankment, Matt advised that every morning was a race to the mouth in the spring on the north shore. If we were to catch any fish on this cold day, they would most likely be making scouting runs into the first pool. Whipping his leader and tippet through a nail-knot tool, he showed me the art of the dropper rig. I clumsily followed suit with a blood knot, making several attempts to get the tag ends long enough to knot and add split shot. It was hard to look graceful roll-casting the rig, but I was beginning to learn there was little grace involved with spring fishing on the north shore, as muddied anglers in mismatched camo waders and jackets continued to line both sides of the stream.

We bumped our offerings of egg-sucking leeches and glo bugs along the rocky bottom of the tinted river, hoping to bonk an opportunistic trout on the nose and trigger a strike. We saw one fish caught by an angler on the opposite side just before Brendan, another member of our group, arrived. Matt felt a fish in the muddied water, either running his line across it or getting an actual strike, but other than that it was quiet.

My hands were cold, red and nearly numb by the time we ventured down to the mouth of the river to view the lake shore and streak a few streamers through the rapids leading to the lake. We decided breakfast and a warm-up was in order and headed back to the cabins. There we met with Jesse, the youngest of the group, and the four of us planned to head north through Two Harbors in search of fish.

Again at breakfast, the talk was of big fish, historic trips and my barrage of questions regarding this fishing that seemed so foreign to me. I rode with Jesse the rest of the day, and he provided me with insight on each stream we passed over in his red GMC pickup.

Many of the rivers we crossed warranted only a viewing from a bridge or scenic overlook, as the melting of recent snowfall had significantly increased their flows and made them turbid. Passing over the Stewart and the Encampment Rivers we made our way north in search of clearer waters.

We visited Gooseberry Falls, the flow of which exploded from a normally peaceful waterfall. It was there I learned that Jesse was a coyote hunting buddy of my law school roommates. We talked of his adventures with the Brandborg brothers, and related some funny stories, marveling at what a small world it was. From the park we headed to the Split Rock River and after a quick look over the sides of the Highway 61 Bridge, we kept moving north to the Baptism River.

Running high, the Baptism lacked the sediment of the other rivers we had passed. The tannin colored water was clear, and it churned beneath the wooden footbridge. We trekked to the mouth of the flow, and the hike was a short one through a pine and birch forest trail, which every fifty yards allowed a vantage point where I could look upon sheer lichen-covered cliff faces which formed the banks of the river. Pines grew out from the tiniest rock outcroppings, and the continued rainfall gave the area the feeling of timelessness, as rain once again became runoff, and runoff pooled in the ancient glacial lake.

We fished for an hour in the cold water. A silent older angler joined us and he worked a spawn bag down the river, hooking into a 21-inch jack steelhead. Upon release, the fish beelined down the stream toward me and beached itself on the gravel bar where I stood. I set my rod down and righted the fish, inspected the unclipped adipose fin indicative of a north shore steelhead, and not a hatchery-raised Kamloops strain rainbow trout, and watched it swim downstream toward the lake.

From there, we headed to the tiny Cross River. My first cast snagged and I broke off at the dropper – time to retie for the tenth time. As I climbed on the shoreline ice shelf to find a seat, I heard Jesse shout.

“I’ve got one,” he yelled.

I turned and saw a massive rainbow trout break the surface of the bend pool. It was at least 28 inches, maybe 30, decked in silver and a shade of purple-pink that reminded me of a November sunset on the plains. It was bigger than any trout I had laid eyes on, including the monsters in the aquarium at the East Grand Forks Cabela’s store.

I scrambled up the embankment to find the other half of our party and the landing net, but they were gone. As I hurried back down, I saw the fish one more time, struggling mightily in the cold water to free itself from the peach glo bug in the top of its mouth. As I was about to set foot in the water to hand land the fish, the hook popped loose, and Jesse let out a sigh of defeat. The fish immediately reversed direction with a flip and headed for the lake.

“That was the biggest I’ve ever had on,” Jesse said, “I deserved it though, I was already taking the picture in my head, I just horsed her too much trying to beach her in the shallows.”

“That was the biggest I’ve ever seen,” I responded, “and though it didn’t end right, just seeing that fish made my day,” I continued in consolation.

That fish convinced me that the place to find monster trout was the north shore. As we examined a few other rivers and creeks on our way to the turning point of the Cascade River and its majestic falls which spilled out of the rock streamed at the barrier, I had caught nothing, froze my hands and toes, and enjoyed every moment of it thoroughly. I was assured by my guides that night that there were many successful trips in my future. From pink salmon and coaster brook trout in the fall, to a shot at steelhead and kamlooper rainbow trout when things settle down in a couple of weeks, the north shore held great fishing and a shot at some true trophies whenever I should venture back again.

I am certain I will later this spring. Hopefully then, I will find more idyllic conditions to tangle with a trout of my own. But as for now, the memory of the scenery, my introduction to the north shore and my hopes for future success will linger in my thoughts of this unique area… in our outdoors.

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Tying a Globug fly

In my quest for steelhead knowledge, I have found some interesting patterns, from complex streamers to simple nymphs. Stocking the fly box has been both rewarding and exciting as my arsenal takes shape for my trip to the shores of Lake Superior this spring.

The most enjoyable box to compile has been the one containing various egg flies. This is due in part to the simplicity of the egg patterns and their bright hues of pink, orange and yellow. What follows are three of my favorite egg flies learned this off-season, which are simple, fun and proven patterns for the North Shore, which I have been told no angler should be without.

Glo Bug

Thread: 3/0 or 6/0 to match pattern, or white
Hook: Curved hook such as a Scud or Egg Hook size 10-14, 2X strong
Body: McFly Foam to match the spawn, from pink to peach to chartreuse

Of all the patterns, this one has been the most engaging. How a simple material turns from stringy mess into a perfect pom-pom is beyond me, but it sure produces some great looking egg flies. McFly Foam is inexpensive and is available in multi-color packs for under five dollars, meaning you can tie dozens of eggs in a variety of colors for what you would pay for five of them from a catalog!

Anchor your thread on the hook shank and build a small base. Select a length of McFly Foam, and separate it into halves or thirds and surround the hook shank with it. Secure the material to the hook with a wrap over it, clinching tight on the pull down, and on the way back up. Make another wrap exactly on top of the first wrap, and then a third wrap on top of that one.

Lift the foam out of the way and advance the thread toward the bend of the hook making two tight wraps under the material, as close to the tie-in point as possible. Then move the thread back in front of the material and make two or three wraps. Whip finish and tie off.

With your thumb and forefinger, grasp the McFly Foam and pull up, making sure all of the material is pulled up from the shank. Keep tension on the material while taking your scissors in your other hand. Trim the McFly Foam while still applying pressure. If you cut high, the egg will be big, if you cut near the hook shank, it will be smaller in diameter. Many Glo Bugs use a 90/10 color mix, with the lesser color acting as a yolk or blood spot to add some realism.
Thread: 6/0 color to match body
Hook: Nymph or curved nymph hook, size 10-14, 2X strong
Body: Medium Estaz in pink, orange and chartreuse
Tail: 10-15 strands of Krystal Flash.
Weight: 6 wraps of lead wire

Tying an Estaz Egg fly

Estaz Egg

This simple pattern looks like a shooting star and adds some sparkle to the standard egg presentation. Start by wrapping the lead wire in the center of the hook. Then secure the lead with your thread. Advance the thread to one hook-eye length behind the lead wraps. Here you can tie in a Krystal Flash tail, about one hook-shank in length. Next, tie down a three-inch length of estaz material at the back end of the lead wraps and advance your thread to the front of the lead wraps.

Cover the lead wraps with the estaz material, forming a round profile by wrapping back over the center a couple times. Once the egg reaches a round proportion, tie off the estaz near the front of the hook, whip finish and trim. Add a small bit of head cement. The weight will get the fly down in the column, and the flash should trigger strikes in all egg-seeking fish. Thread: Red 6/0
Hook: Scud hook, size 10-14, 2X strong
Body: Medium pink chenille
Weight: 6 wraps of lead wire

Tying a liamna pinky fly

liamna Pinky

Named for the renowned Alaskan lake that is as famous for its trout and salmon fishery as it is for the monster that is believed to live beneath its surface; the Iliamna Pinky is a simple egg pattern that has been proven on big steelhead in Lake Superior. While it may not necessarily look like an egg, it is hard to deny this fly a spot in any egg box.

Start by securing the six lead wraps to the shank with your thread. When you reach the back of the lead wraps, tie in a three-inch strand of pink chenille. Vary the colors to cover the whole spectrum, but pink is a must-have.
Wrap the chenille forward with an edge-to-edge palmering that covers the lead wraps entirely. Make one final turn of the chenille in front of the lead wraps, and secure it. Trim the chenille and tie a small thread head in front of the body. Whip finish and cement, and you are done!

These flies are fast, fun and fill the box quickly! From the words of one adviser, if you don’t have at least five-dozen eggs in your North Shore box in a variety of colors, you’re probably under-stocked. The patterns work on more than just steelhead too. Try them out in the spring on your favorite trout pond, when ice has just lifted or in the fall on spawning-run browns. Make it an egg-cellent season this year…in our outdoors.

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Ice fishing with your significant other can be a very rewarding experience, but don't expect her to approach ice fishing the same as you

In my journeys into fly fishing and fly tying, I have not found a more enjoyable fly to put together on the vise and put under the water’s surface than the woolly bugger. The beauty of this streamer comes from its simplicity, both in how it is tied and how it is fished.

The woolly bugger is essentially a three-material fly, and for that reason is often the first pattern a novice fly tier learns. A bushy marabou tail, a chenille body and a wrap of saddle hackle make this bug the original five-minute fly, though lead wraps for weight and strands of flash, wire ribbing and bright beadheads for attraction are often added to increase the utility of the pattern.

Generally tied in dark or earthy tones to mimic naturally occurring aquatic prey, buggers are popular in black, browns, and olives. However there are times and places where brighter buggers are the go-to fly; many salmon and trout offerings incorporate purples, oranges and pinks. When baitfish are present, gray and white buggers are viable options.

With the wide variety of materials available to anglers today, from synthetic ultra-hairs to sparkly substitutes for chenille, there is more than one way to skin a bugger. Try adding in some estaz to give the pattern more glitter or replace the marabou with a rubber curly tail for added wiggle in the water. Adjust the pattern for the species you pursue, or just to see what it looks like on the vise. No matter how the pattern is tied or fished, it will most likely catch whatever you’re angling for.

The woolly bugger can be used for any species. I’ve caught trout, bass, panfish, walleye and even a thirty-inch carp with one form of the fly or another. The reason for this variety lies in the bugger’s ability to look like something on every fish’s diet; whether it is a leech, a crawfish, a sculpin, a dragonfly nymph or a fathead minnow. Fish cannot resist the subtle undulation of the saddle hackle fibers around the chenille body, and the pulsating marabou tail has a proven action that has fueled the tackle industry for decades.

There is no wrong way to fish the woolly bugger. On running waters, it is best to cast it upstream, let the fly sink, and work it back with slight twitches of the rod tip and small strips of the fly line to impart action as the bugger tumbles down with the current. On still waters, the fly can be fished in almost a dead-drift or as rapidly as the fish require. As long as it is in the water and out of the branches of shoreline trees, there is a good chance a fish will take it.

Whether you are stocking a fly box for spring trout fishing or planning to keep company with some smallies this summer, a few dozen woolly buggers will have you prepared for the season. Tie them in various sizes and colors and you will already have a good start on your next fly fishing adventure…in our outdoors.

(For some great woolly bugger patterns and the new Fly Files video podcast, log on to OurOutdoorsOnline.com)

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As hunting season hits full stride and the first few birds are placed in the pouches of my upland vest, I can’t help but plan for two things – dinner, of course, and the number of patterns I will tie with the feathers attached to the birds I harvest. With the first partridge of the year comes one of the most ubiquitous materials in the hobby, the soft gray barred back feather.

A good fly for panfish

Popular in wet flies, known as soft hackles, the back feather of the partridge is most often tied around the collar of the fly. As imitators of legs, gills and fins the tiny barbs of the feather pulsate gently in the water, reassuring fish that the item is fit to eat. As both insect and fry imitators, the flies tied with these feathers are used for all major species and are simple to tie.

Partridge and Yellow

Named for the predominant materials in the fly pattern, the Partridge and Yellow is a classic trout fly and a prime example of a wet soft-hackled fly. From this pattern have come hundreds of variants, but the combination of the neutral partridge and bright floss body has been around for generations.

Materials:
Hook: Wet fly, Size 8-18
Thread: 6/0 Brown
Body: Yellow Floss
Collar: Barred Partridge Feather

Start the fly by anchoring the thread and tying in a piece of yellow floss. Then wind the thread to a point just behind the hook eye. Next, wind the floss evenly up the hook shank so that no part of the hook is showing. Tie off and trim the floss about one hook-eye length back from the eye. Then tie in a partridge feather with the curvature facing back. Wrap the feather around the shank one or two times, forming a collar by using a hackle pliers. Gently stroke the feathers back and tie off the feather, trimming the excess. Build a small thread head, and whip finish.

Partridge feathers are great for tying flies for panfish

The Partridge and Yellow is easily modified and provides a start in the category of soft hackle flies. Use your favorite colors to imitate hatching insects, such as black for caddisflies or green for mayflies. Add a dubbing ball in at the point where you tied off the floss to give the fly a fuller look. Another popular partridge pattern is the Partridge and Orange, and a box of floss will give you access to every color in the rainbow. These flies work great for panfish and trout.

GRHE Soft Hackle

One of my favorite things to do at the vise is try new twists on classic patterns, and patterns don’t get any more classic than the Gold Ribbed Hare’s Ear nymph. My favorite spin-off of the GRHE is a soft hackle version which provides more motion and more attraction than the standard pattern. Replace the hare’s ear tail with a few of the soft hackle fibers from a partridge feather for a barred look and add in a soft hackle collar for a balanced look.

Materials:
Hook: Wet fly, Size 8-18
Thread: 6/0 White
Tail: Partridge Fibers
Body: Hare’s Ear Dubbing
Thorax: Gold Bead
Collar: Partridge Feather

Place a bead over the hook point and slide it up the hook, one bead-length back from the eye. Secure it with thread, if desired. Tie in a small clump of partridge feather fibers as a tail. Then tie in a small piece of gold tinsel to form the rib. Follow this by preparing dubbing made from hare’s fur, or use a commercial dubbing to form the body. Whichever you choose, form a tapering body up to the bead thorax. Then palmer, or wind, the gold tinsel to that point. Tie the tinsel off and trim it.

Snug the bead thorax against the dubbing body, and wrap over to the front of the bead. There, tie in a partridge feather, curvature facing back again, and make a collar with a couple of wraps. Tie the feather off, trim, and build a small thread head. Whip finish and apply head cement as needed around the head and bead. This modified GRHE is flashy and is an exciting nymph to fish at the local bluegill hole. The obvious shine and subtle motion are two triggers many panfish cannot resist!

If you are considering giving fly tying a try and are an avid hunter with a reliable shot, everything you need for these patterns and others can be found on the wing, right now…in our outdoors

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