by Ben Kryzinski - Tuesday, Oct 12th, 2021
It’s full-on fall across most of America, and that means it’s the best time of year to be out on the water if you’re a trout angler. Yes, you might have to wear an extra layer, or, if you’re like me, you’ll have to drag your waders out of storage because you’ve been wet-wading all summer, but these are mere annoyances. This is arguably the best time of year to chase trout, cooler temperatures and all.
And here’s why.
by George Daniel - Monday, Oct 11th, 2021
When I was learning nymphing in the 1990s, it was commonly said that 50 percent of all strikes went undetected by the angler. In other words, half the time a trout ate your fly, you didn’t know it. Given the tools and approaches most often employed back then, I’d wager that estimate probably held water.
by Chris Hunt - Friday, Oct 8th, 2021
It was hot the last day on the flats. Muggy. Still. Severe clear. We were miserable as we slowly steeped in our own sweat, covered up in light, quick-dry fabric to protect ourselves from the worst of the sunshine.
And the fish seemed to feel the same way. The plentiful bones of the prior day had seemingly failed to crest the lips of the flats this day, choosing instead to stay in deeper, cooler water. As we motored around, prowling for bones and maybe, if we were lucky, a permit, we came to realize that this just wasn’t the day to be out there.
by Chad Shmukler - Thursday, Oct 7th, 2021
During a press conference yesterday, Chile’s Undersecretary of Public Health, Paul Daza, told reporters that Chile will fully reopen its borders to international travelers beginning November 1, 2021. The announcement brings Chile’s reopening in line with neighboring Argentina, which formally announced last week that it would also be reopening its borders to international travelers effective the first day of November.
by Tom Davis - Monday, Oct 4th, 2021
In my memory it was early fall, the leaves in Sioux City just beginning to turn. I must have been twelve or thirteen. Dad and I were tossing the football in the yard and talking about my grandfather, Les Davis. He’d died in 1966, when I was nine. Thankfully I’d had the chance to fish with him the summer before his death on a trip to Lake of the Woods in Ontario—my first-ever Canadian fishing trip—and to this day I’ve never seen his equal with a bait-casting outfit.
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