Sorry, I couldn’t resist the cheesy title. October brings shorter days, cooler water, and trout that are hungry enough to devour some spooky-looking flies. But this isn’t just about a playful theme—darker patterns really do trigger aggressive eats that are harder to come by during other times of the year. Below is a collection of streamers, with a few wet flies mixed in, that consistently produce when fall rolls around. These patterns aren’t just for fun—they catch fish.
October Is Great for Fly Fishing
As water cools and clouds return, trout bounce back from the dog days of summer. They feed more aggressively, packing on weight before winter sets in. Brown trout, in particular, are famous for their fall aggression, and summer-run steelhead add to the excitement with strong grabs and acrobatic runs. Fall also brings steady hatches of mayflies and midges, fueling feeding frenzies for resident trout eager to bulk up.
The “Scary Good” Trout Flies
Galloup’s Boogieman – A sculpin imitation that moves serious water. The wool head pushes current, while the mallard flank back helps the fly whip tantalizingly through runs. Big browns can’t resist this meaty snack. Olive is my go-to, but I favor white when targeting hungry bull trout.
Vampire Leech – A deadly stillwater pattern with a hotspot bead and dark, swimmy body. Simple but effective. I once fished a larger version under an indicator on the Deschutes and even hooked a steelhead.
Black Ghost – A classic streamer from Maine dating back to the 1920s. Its slim profile—black floss body, yellow accents, and white feather or marabou wing—still fools fish today, especially in moving water. Northeasterners fish this fly for predators with a slight twitch or a dead-drift.
Undertaker – A timeless steelhead wet fly that earns its place in any fall box. Its fluorescent tricolor butt, peacock herl body, and black hackle/wing keep things simple yet effective. As the saying goes, steelhead will take any fly—as long as it’s black.
The Black & Orange – Forever a fall favorite. This pattern features an orange floss body and black tail. The wet fly version adds a black schlappen throat and wing, while the soft hackle uses black-dyed partridge. Both shine during an October Caddis hatch, but trout will eat them year-round.
Final Thoughts
Streamers excel at dawn and dusk when predators are most active. Leeches remain productive all day, especially in off-colored water. The Black & Orange works year-round but really shines in autumn when dark, contrasting colors take over. The Undertaker continues to hook summer steelhead when swung properly.
Whichever pattern you tie on, remember presentation is everything—match your technique to the conditions and fish with integrity. And when October chills set in, don’t be afraid to tie up something a little spooky.
Food with a view. A simmering cauldron of chili on the riverbanks.
Chili is one of my favorite things to eat after a long day on the water. It’s hearty, protein-packed, and basically involves throwing a ton of ingredients in a pot and letting it ride. Chili is also the food that keeps on giving—for days on end. Have you ever been able to make just two servings of chili? I’ve determined that it isn’t possible. Whenever we make it, we have leftovers for the next couple of nights. And leftover chili always tastes the best.
Chili is simple, hearty, and forgiving. It doesn’t demand precision, and it doesn’t need to be babied. I like to prep all of my ingredients at home and put them in Tupperware until cooking time. The best part? You can clean out that same Tupperware later and fill it with leftover chili. One of my favorite things about chili is that once it’s going in the Dutch oven, it’s hands-off. That means more time to fish your camp water, B.S. with friends, play cards with the old lady, or read up on Bob Arnold’s Steelhead Water.
It All Starts with a Solid Fire
I cook this recipe in a Dutch oven suspended from a metal tripod over a bed of coals, but you can just as easily go the traditional route and place the pot directly on the coals. My little brother is a blacksmith and made me the tripod I bring on every camping trip. Thanks, Todd.
You’re going to cook over coals, not open flames. Start your fire early and add plenty of wood so you’ve got a steady supply of fresh coals. If you don’t want to burn through your campfire wood—or you just want consistency—add charcoal once your fire is going.
When you lay out your bed of coals, gauge the heat by holding your hand above them at cooking height:
2 seconds = high heat
3–4 seconds = medium-high heat
5–6 seconds = medium heat
7–8 seconds = low heat
Bloody beers pair well with food that isn’t ready yet. They’re also best enjoyed with friends.
A Base Recipe to Build On
This isn’t a chili cook-off recipe with 20 ingredients and three kinds of heirloom beans. And it sure isn’t some influencer recipe blog. We keep camp cooking simple here on The Redband Revival.
You’ll need:
1 package of ground meat
1 can of beans
1 can of corn
1 can of Muir Glen Chili Starter (pre-seasoned tomatoes for chili)
Chili powder, about a tablespoon
Cumin, about a tablespoon
Coriander, about half a tablespoon
A couple bouillon cubes
At home, prep in Tupperware:
1 chopped onion
As many chopped jalapeños as you dare
Directions:
Crack a beer. This is for the chef, not the chili.
Get your Dutch oven nice and hot.
Brown the meat, then add onions and peppers.
Once the onions and peppers are soft, dump in everything else. Add a splash of water—just enough so nothing burns while simmering.
Season to taste with salt.
Serve with cornbread or tortillas if you’re feeling frisky. Yes, it’s that easy.
What It’s All About
Chili by the fire is one of those things that sparks warm memories for most of us. Whether it came from a can or was made from scratch, we all know the comfort of wrapping our hands around a steaming bowl with cornbread crumbs all over our shirts.
It’s about the ritual—settling in around a fire with family and friends, swapping stories from the river, and reliving the memory of “the one that got away.” You know, when that 15-pound steelhead hit so hard it nearly ripped your shoulders out, only to throw the fly a jump later.
It’s about sitting back, full and content after a long session on the water, knowing tomorrow you’ll do it all over again.
This wild buck was swung up on a small black leech attached to 12.5 ft of T-8.
I’ve Googled this topic countless times over the past few years of learning how to swing flies for steelhead. What I’ve found is that there are very few solid resources on how to properly set the hook when a steelhead grabs your fly. Too often, articles simply say “don’t trout set” without breaking down the nuances of effective hook setting depending on your presentation.
As it turns out, the best discussion of this subject comes from The Complete Steelheader by John Larison. I’ll do my best to summarize what I’ve learned from John, and hopefully give you more than just another reminder of what not to do.
The Importance of a Solid Hookset
I shouldn’t have to explain why a good hookset matters. After everything we put ourselves through to catch these fish—waking up at 3 a.m., driving hours, braving the cold darkness to be the first to swing a piece of water, casting the perfect presentation in anticipation of the one grab we might get all day—it could all be wasted if you trout set at the first sign of a pluck.
Regardless of presentation, setting the hook requires patience and discipline. Steelhead often tap, pluck, or mouth the fly before you feel solid weight on the reel. The key is waiting for that moment, then setting the hook in a way that matches your presentation.
Swinging With a Floating Line
When a fish takes the fly mid-swing, it usually strikes and turns back to its lie. Ideally, it turns downstream, driving the hook into the top jaw or corner of the mouth. But often, the fish will move across the current and slip the hook.
To improve your odds:
Maintain tension and stay in contact with the fly through the entire swing.
Hold a loop of about two feet of line so you can feed slack when the fish takes, allowing it to fully turn.
Once you feel the weight on the reel, raise your rod smoothly but firmly toward the bank. The fish’s own weight will drive the hook home.
Swinging With a Sinking Line
Takes on a sinking line are often subtler than on a floating line. Sometimes, you’ll just feel tension slowly build. When this happens, a solid strip set is your best move. If it’s a fish, you’ll drive the hook home. If it’s a snag, your fly will keep swinging.
Don’t jerk the rod back. Even if you free the hook, the fly will rip unnaturally through the swing and force you to recast.
Once you hook a fish:
Raise the rod tip slightly to lift your sink tip off the bottom and away from rocks or wood.
After the first moments of the fight, lower the rod tip to keep steady pressure on the fish.
Be sure to keep the rod angled towards the downstream bank, no matter how high you have your rod tip raised.
Muddlers are some of my favorite flies to fish on a greased line. You can adjust the density of the hair wing and the trim of the head to make the fly dip into the film or skate on the surface.
Greased-Line Presentation and Skating Dry Flies
Watching a steelhead rise to a skated or greased-line fly is electrifying. The problem is that the adrenaline rush makes it almost impossible not to trout set.
The right move:
Continue the swing as though nothing happened, even if the fish grabbed your loop of slack.
Avoid imparting any extra movement. A willing fish may come back.
If it refuses, try the same cast again. Still no? Downsize to a smaller hairwing and fish deeper.
When the fish commits, you’ll feel steady tension build. At that point, give a smooth, firm pull to seat the hook.
Dead Drifting Dry Flies
Catching a steelhead on a dry fly is one of the most challenging and rewarding experiences in fly fishing. But again—resist the trout set.
Unlike trout, steelhead often miss the fly or just nip it. The best way to time your hookset is to force yourself to wait—say “God save the Queen” or “I raised a steelhead!” before lifting the rod.
Keep in mind:
A fish may take upstream, mid-drift, or downstream.
Set the hook in the opposite direction of the fish. Usually, that means angling the rod towards the downstream bank.
Tying It All Together
If you remember nothing else, keep these rules in mind:
Stay in contact with the fly through the swing.
Hold a two-foot loop of line for the fish to take.
Be patient—wait for solid weight before setting.
Angle your rod toward the downstream bank.
We put so much effort into chasing these fish, and often only get one chance. Make it count. Setting the hook on a steelhead requires patience, persistence, and mental toughness—the very qualities that define steelheading itself.
Nothing matches the peace and solitude spent on unpressured winter water.
Frosty mornings, frozen guides, snow on the boots. The dedicated set of anglers who know fishing doesn’t stop in the winter are all too familiar with cold conditions. During the colder months, I’ll admit I often shack up with a hot toddy, a bowl of soup, and my trusty fly-tying vise. But no amount of flies tied can substitute for getting out on the water—and sometimes the urge is too much to ignore. Dressing for winter fishing is a system that, once you get it down, is foolproof.
An Anecdote on What Not to Do
One fateful Sunday morning in January found me loading up the truck at daybreak, coffee in hand, staring at a frozen windshield. The 45-minute drive out to my favorite spot on the Metolius felt extra long as I watched the dash stubbornly hold at 4°F. It was cold as balls out.
I got to the river, threw on my Simms waders, and laced up my bargain-bin felt boots. That day made me decide never to skimp on boots or waders again. My buddies rolled up and we hiked through the snow to our winter hole. The hand warmers we brought were useless, and with every step my felt soles collected more snow—by the time we got to the river there was a solid 4-inch layer of compacted ice on the bottom of my boots.
I kicked off the snow, took a swig of whiskey, and made my way down to the water. As luck would have it, I tripped and landed in a thorn bush. With my first step into the 40-degree water, my waders instantly filled up. Oddly enough, that water felt warmer than the air—for a moment, I was almost comfortable. That didn’t last. My fly line froze to the guides with every single cast, forcing me to dunk my reel to break the ice, only for it to refreeze seconds later. Once I stepped out of the water, I was miserably cold. It didn’t take long before I trudged back to the truck in defeat. Never again.
Be sure to wear layers when winter fishing. I always wear a synthetic or merino wool base layer and then build on top of that as conditions dictate.
The Layering System
Besides investing in good waders and boots, layering is the right way to dress for winter fishing. Several light layers will keep you warmer than one heavy jacket and give you the flexibility to adjust as conditions change. Sweat and moisture are the real enemies. Here’s the formula:
Base Layer (next to skin)
Wicks moisture away.
Best materials: merino wool, synthetics.
Avoid cotton at all costs.
Mid Layer (insulation)
Traps body heat.
Options: fleece, down, synthetic puffies.
Match thickness to conditions.
Outer Layer (protection)
Shields you from wind and water.
Best bet: waterproof, windproof, breathable shells.
A good rain jacket or wading jacket is essential.
Covering the Extremities
Most anglers stick to thick socks and hand warmers, but that’s rarely enough.
Hands: Fingerless wool gloves are my go-to. Wool stays warm when wet, and the open fingers let me tie knots without taking them off.
Feet: Either one solid pair of merino socks, or thin synthetic liners under loose wool socks. Avoid anything tight—it cuts circulation and makes you colder.
Head/Neck: A wool beanie or balaclava paired with a hooded jacket locks in warmth. Don’t overlook a neck gaiter or buff.
Some of the best opportunities present themselves when the temps start dropping.
Boots: Korkers Darkhorse with interchangeable soles let me adapt year-round. In winter, studded Vibram soles beat felt, which ices up quickly. If you only own one sole, make it studded Vibram.
BOA vs. Laces: BOA systems outperform laces in winter—wet laces freeze, making adjustment nearly impossible.
Shell Jacket: Always wear it over your waders to block splash and heavy rain from sneaking in.
My Personal System
After a lot of trial and error (and frozen gear), here’s my go-to setup for winter fishing:
Base Layer
Smartwool Intraknit Active Base Tight (under fleece bottoms)
Smartwool Active Fleece Tight
Random Costco thermal shirt (surprisingly solid)
Mid Layer
Button-up flannel
Columbia puffy jacket
Shell Layer
Outdoor Research rain jacket
Grundens Vector waders
Hands & Feet
Fingerless wool gloves my fiancée crocheted (sentimental + functional)
Darn Tough socks (thickness/length depending on temps)
Wrapping Up
Winter fishing can be magical if you dress for the conditions. The quickest way to ruin a beautiful snowy day is with the wrong clothing—or one bulky jacket that leaves you sweating and freezing. Thin, versatile layers are key, and maybe a hip flask of rye whiskey for morale. With the right system, you’ll stay comfortable and enjoy some of the least-pressured fishing of the year.
What are your go-to cold weather hacks? Share them in the comments—I’m always looking to steal a good idea.
I choose to pair a Danielsson F3W with my euro rod due to the full-cage design and low startup inertia.
It’s no secret that I don’t like paying a lot of money for fly reels. At its core, a fly reel basically exists to store your fly line. Yes, drag helps to stop runs from powerful fish, but I’d hesitate to buy a reel just because the drag is top-tier. Plenty of anglers run click-pawl reels that sound amazing but have no drag beyond the palm of your hand.
A good fly reel should have style and features that resonate with the angler — at the right price point. At the mid-$200 price range, the Danielsson F3W is my favorite reel. In fact, it might be my favorite all-around trout reel.
History of the Danielsson Brand
The Swedish reel manufacturer came on the scene in the 1980s as a collaboration between Tomas Danielsson and Loop Tackle Design. Loop is well recognized for their robust line of spey rods and reels. Throughout the partnership, Danielsson developed and manufactured reels for Loop and is now credited with popularizing the large-arbor design — a standard feature in most fly reels today. Large arbors allow quicker line pickup and reduced line memory.
In the early 2000s, Danielsson and Loop parted ways. Danielsson launched his own company with a focus on direct-to-consumer marketing and performance over branding. He reclaimed his designs and began shipping reels directly from the factory in Sweden — no middlemen.
Overview of the F3W Series
Because they are shipped from Sweden, pricing is determined in part by exchange rates and subject to change. Shipping charges are waived depending on your order size.
The F3W comes in three sizes: 2six, 4seven, and 7ten. The sizes correspond to the range of fly lines each reel can store. Across the lineup, you’ll find the same key features: lightweight design, large arbor, full-cage construction, and sealed drag.
The braking system uses clutch plates that can be custom-configured to produce various levels of drag — though you’ll probably never need to adjust them. All reels are precision-machined from corrosion-resistant aluminum and pressure-tested to ensure waterproof drag systems up to 100m.
The design is minimalist and bulletproof. Each reel comes in a satin-black finish. Not flashy, not obnoxious — just understated and beautiful in its simplicity. I’ve fished my F3W every single week for over a year, and it still hasn’t shown a hint of sand rash. The drag is just as smooth and subtle as the day I unboxed it. Then again, I’m diligent about taking care of my gear.
On-the-Water Performance
For those who care about drag performance, the F3W delivers. Startup inertia is low, and the drag is silky smooth. The range of settings is impressive: at the low end, you can palm the reel, while at the high end, you’ll struggle to turn it.
I’ve had no problems putting the brakes on hot redbands in pushy Deschutes and Metolius currents with the F3W 4seven. While I don’t own it myself, I don’t doubt that the 7ten — paired with a single-hand rod — could stop a running steelhead. If you want a reel for your two-hander, look to the L5W and H5D series.
The click is subtle but satisfying. It’s not the same classic song of a Hardy Marquis, but it has its own voice.
The Value Proposition
This reel offers high-end features at a mid-level price point. It’s built for anglers who value performance and reliability over bells and whistles.
If you’re looking for a reel with wild cutouts, bright green anodization, or brown-trout spotting patterns, this isn’t the reel for you. If you want fancy wood accents or a status-symbol brand name, again — not for you.
But if you’re a utilitarian angler who just wants a reel that works every time, the F3W is exactly that. I firmly believe it’s a buy-once, fish-forever piece of gear. And unlike a lot of premium reels, you won’t “cry once” when you swipe your card.
Final Thoughts
I love the F3W series so much that I’m slowly converting my entire single-hand lineup to this reel. My Lamson Liquid has served me well, but it lacks the finesse of the Danielsson. The F3W is lighter, has a larger arbor, and pairs better with modern performance fly rods. For me, it beats out any other mid-priced reel — even the American-made ones. There’s just no substitute for Swedish engineering and solid fundamentals.
Would I love for Danielsson to sponsor me? Sure. But it’ll never happen. The company doesn’t employ salespeople, run influencer programs, or invest in flashy marketing. They don’t even have an affiliate program. And that’s exactly what makes them special. They stick to their values: offering the best reel for the fairest price.
If they ever moved into dealer partnerships, I’m confident we’d pay at least 50% more for these reels. But they won’t. And that’s a beautiful thing.
Summer steelhead season is a special time of year. Warm water for wet-wading, aggressive surface-oriented fish, and long days stepping through runs make for some of my favorite swinging conditions. The best part? The fishing only gets better going into fall.
Summer steelhead flies are different from winter patterns: they’re smaller and generally cast on Scandi or Classic Spey setups. Casting involves efficient touch-and-go strokes and tight loops that make your heart sing. And then there’s the thrill of raising a steelhead to a skated muddler — an experience that simply doesn’t compare to winter fishing. While summer fish tend to run smaller, the sheer level of action makes up for it entirely.
In this post, I’ll share three of my favorite summer steelhead flies and why they work.
What to Look for in a Summer Steelhead Fly
Summer steelhead patterns tend to be smaller — much smaller — than their winter counterparts. While we often swing big intruders and leeches with trailer hooks on sink tips during the colder months, summer fishing calls for size 5–7 flies tied on traditional steelhead irons or bomber hooks. On rivers like the Deschutes, these smaller patterns are the norm. On others, like the fast-moving North Umpqua, I’ll size up slightly for quicker runs.
I like to fill my summer box with three main types of flies: traditional hairwings, muddlers tied in different profiles, and small strip leeches for when the water colors up in the fall. The common thread is materials that breathe: soft hackle collars, bucktail and arctic fox wings, and buggy features that make a fly come alive in the water. Each fly type also lends itself to a slightly different swing technique.
Hazel’s Lum Plum
Amy Hazel has a special color of purple chenille that she uses to tie the bodies of her famous Lum Plum. I just use a purple chenille off the shelf.
This fly was born and bred on the Deschutes and has proven itself on summer steelhead rivers across the Pacific Northwest. At its core, it’s essentially a purple Green Butt Skunk. The touch of flash in the overwing recalls the Streetwalker, while the spotted guinea hackle adds a subtle fluorescent kick. It’s a fly I won’t hit the water without.
Green Butt Skunk Muddler
My take on a Green Butt Skunk muddler. You can adjust the size and thickness of the cow elk muddler head to produce a desired fishing effect. I’ll admit the wing came out a bit long on this one.
The Green Butt Skunk is ubiquitous and consistently effective. Credited to Dan Callaghan, who in the 1950s added a green chenille butt to the original Skunk on the North Umpqua, the pattern remains a staple. The bold black-and-white contrast, paired with the rear hotspot and red tail, continues to produce steelhead year after year.
My muddler variant is designed for skating on a floating line or fishing just under the surface with an intermediate tip. It features a fluorescent green butt, black ice-dubbed body, oval tinsel ribbing, and a red cactus chenille bolster. A white bucktail underwing and a black cow elk muddler head complete the fly. Adjusting the thickness of the muddler head changes how high the fly rides — cow elk, being more buoyant than deer hair, creates a more pronounced V-wake.
Strip Leech or Steelhead Matuka
This Steelhead Matuka is a super easy tie and super fishy. You can add an orange or pink hotspot head as your heart desires.
I believe every summer box should include a leech pattern. In fast, bouldery pocket water, a larger profile helps grab a fish’s attention. Sparse flies can be too subtle in heavy current. I also rely on leeches when the water goes off-color in the fall — their larger, swimmy profile dramatically improves odds. A light sink tip in the right situations will also increase your hookups, but I like fishing for summer fish on a greased line as much as possible.
For my Matukas, I keep it simple: tied on an Alec Jackson steelhead iron with a black bunny strip, ice-dubbed body, and a spotted guinea collar for fluorescence. For strip leeches, I lash a black bunny strip to a trailer hook, attach it with supple line like Spider Wire to a 25mm intruder shank, and finish with ice dub, a touch of flash, and a fluorescent hotspot at the head.
Bonus Fly: The Charlie Muddler
One of my variants on the classic Charlie Muddler. I subbed out the golden pheasant tippet for some fluorescent orange bucktail.
This little fly is a joy to fish. Sparsely tied and fished in the surface film, it’s inspired by Bill McMillan’s steelhead caddis and was created by Steve Szeliga during COVID. Steve Szeliga mentions one of his favorite ways to fish the fly is to get the fly down and let it come under tension in front of a known holding lie. The fly lifting to the surface will elicit an explosive grab.
I tie mine with a pheasant tippet tail, ice dub or floss body ribbed with flat tinsel, a bucktail underwing, and a goose/turkey overwing. A sparse cow elk muddler head seals the deal. You can also use a bit of STS trilobal dub or ice dub to veil the bucktail and goose/turkey butts. Adjust hook size and weight for different water types, and don’t be afraid to experiment with colors. These buggy muddlers also entice redbands and browns on the swing.
Closing Thoughts
I chose these flies because they cover a wide range of summer steelhead scenarios. Low, clear water calls for smaller, sparse ties, while stained or turbulent conditions benefit from larger, bolder profiles.
More important than the fly itself is how you fish it: cover water methodically, step down with integrity, and fish with confidence. Presentation and commitment always trump pattern. At the end of the day, steelheading is as much about patience and persistence as it is about hookups. Fish what excites you, and you’ll stay motivated for that next explosive grab.
September is my favorite time of year to fish in Central Oregon. Anglers are spoiled for choice and blessed with better conditions as the fall bite kicks in—right as kids head back to school. It’s the stretch of the season I look forward to most, and here’s why.
September Is Prime Fishing Season
You can’t beat September weather for fishing. Temperatures begin to cool, water stays clear, and the days are still long enough for a full outing. As fall storms roll in, we’re finally treated to overcast skies after months of blinding sun. These storms are a blessing—fish often gorge themselves during the sudden pressure drops before the wind picks up.
By September, trout seem fully recovered from the stress and blinding rays of summer. Cooler water holds more oxygen, and with winter looming, fish are eager to fatten up before bug life slows down. Hatches thrive this time of year: more mayfly activity, the first hints of October Caddis, the annual appearance of Fall Green Drakes, and even some small stoneflies.
The Waters We Fish in September
The Deschutes River The Deschutes is my top September river. Big redband trout paired with steelhead on the swing make for unforgettable days. I wait all year for steelheading here—September is when catch rates pick up. Fish move from the lowest reaches of the canyon, over Sherar’s Falls, and spread through the system. By October, action runs from the mouth all the way up to Pelton Dam. Quick tip: resident trout rarely key in on October Caddis. Rather, steelhead dry flies that mimic October Caddis tend to be quite effective for a couple of weeks.
The Crooked River The Crooked settles into reliable shape in September. While flows are often at the mercy of dam regulators, fall usually brings stability. Hatch activity is steady, with plenty of midges and mayflies. The evenings are still bright, making for great after-work sessions when the bugs pop.
The Metolius River The Metolius in September is pure fun. Local anglers await the annual Fall Green Drake hatch – a fleeting thrill. These large mayflies need optimal conditions to hatch, but when the stars align the trout go on a brief feeding frenzy. This is also kokanee migration season, and big bull trout follow, feeding on eggs and even the kokanee themselves. It’s the perfect time to put away the white-colored staples and swing large red and olive streamers. I like to break out my switch rod to throw the heavy stuff in tight quarters like the Met.
The Lakes Don’t overlook the lakes. As fall sets in, dry fly action returns on overcast days, and trout feed heavily before ice forms. Streamers work well, especially in waters with browns, brookies, and tiger trout. Cooler temps push fish into the shallows, spreading them out and making them more accessible to bank anglers.
September Fishing Considerations
Dress in layers: Cold mornings and warm afternoons call for thin, stowable layers. A light rain jacket or windbreaker is always worth packing. Bring your waders along too.
Be versatile: Hatches are strongest mornings and evenings, so bring both dry flies and nymph rigs to stay productive through midday.
Watch the weather: Overcast skies and pre-storm conditions often mean lights-out fishing. The trade off is that you might need to prepare to fish in howling afternoon winds.
Closing Thoughts
September is a special time for Central Oregon anglers. Get out while conditions are prime, and don’t miss the chance to experience some of the year’s best fishing. Winter will be here soon enough, but for now, enjoy every cast in these crisp fall days.
Bridge makes some seriously great fly lines. I fish the Tributary quite a bit.
Besides choosing sink tips, this is easily the most debated and researched question when setting up your first spey rod. For the uninitiated, the topic is complex and confusing. For those with experience, there’s a nuance that goes far beyond the effort most fly anglers put into selecting a single-hand line off the shelf.
I’ll let you in on a system I learned that takes a lot of the guesswork out of properly lining your first spey rod.
Why the Line Matters So Much
Just like a fly line for a single-hand rod, your spey line is the delivery system that casts your fly to the fish. There are even videos of master casters throwing fly lines overhead—without a rod—just to prove how much work the line itself does.
Of course, rods are still essential. But it goes to show that your line is the most important decision you’ll make when dialing in a two-handed setup.
Fly lines matter even more for spey rods, because two-handed casting is often about turning over big flies and heavy sink tips. One line probably can’t do it all. Heavy heads will slap the water and fail at delicate presentations, while long, light tapers won’t move a dumbbell-eyed intruder paired with 15 feet of T-14. Your line choice depends entirely on your goal.
The Two-Handed System
There are three main classifications of spey lines: Scandi, Skagit, and Full Spey.
Spey lines are measured in grain weight rather than the standard AFTMA line weights. This is because spey rods are designed to cast a wide range of line weights and tapers. Grain weight tells you much more than just matching “7 weight rod = 7 weight line.”
Some lines are designed to cast leaders up to 20 feet long, while others require a sink tip to perform properly. Once you know the line name, head length, and grain weight, you’ll know exactly how that line is intended to fish.
Scandi: For Lighter Payloads
Scandi (short for Scandinavian) lines feature relatively short front tapers and are designed for touch-and-go casting—where the line briefly kisses the water as the rod loads.
Casting Scandi is graceful and efficient, with tight loops and minimal effort. It’s satisfying to “cast off the tip” of the rod.
Best for: Summer and fall fishing, smaller flies like hairwings, skaters, and lightly weighted leeches.
Limitations: Struggles with heavy sink tips and large flies.
Rule of thumb for choosing Scandi:
Grain weight ≈ rod weight × 60 (± 50 grains).
Head length ≈ rod length × 2.5 (± a couple feet).
Tips: Up to 85 grains; never longer than your rod.
Skagit: For the Heaviest Tips and Flies
If Scandi lines are family sedans, Skagit lines are heavy-duty pickup trucks. They’re short, fat, and built to throw heavy sink tips and weighted flies.
Skagit heads always need a tip—floating or sinking—to taper energy into your leader. Without one, your cast will hinge and collapse.
Best for: Winter fishing, intruders, and heavy sink tips.
Casting style: Sustained anchor (letting the line fully touch down before the forward stroke).
Rule of thumb for choosing Skagit:
Grain weight ≈ rod weight × 70 (± 50 grains).
Head length ≈ rod length × 1.8 (± a couple feet).
Tips: Usually 125–150 grains, never longer than your rod.
I don’t personally love the clunky feel of Skagit casting, but when I need to punch a heavy fly and T-14 into the wind, it’s the only tool for the job.
Full Spey: For the Traditionalist
Classic mid- and long-belly spey lines are elegant, efficient, and rewarding—if you have the casting chops. These lines require excellent timing but reward you with smooth loops, delicate turnover, and long drifts without stripping in running line.
Best for: Big rivers, traditional flies, and anglers who love the rhythm of classic spey.
Limitations: Steep learning curve; not great for heavy sink tips.
Rule of thumb for choosing Full Spey:
Line length ≈ rod length × 4 (or longer).
Grain weight: About 100 grains below the top of your rod’s grain window.
Leaders: Use polyleaders, versileaders, or long tapered mono (15–20 ft). Avoid heavy sink tips.
For many anglers, the Bridge Tributary (a short-belly style line) is the perfect stepping stone into this world.
Choosing the Right Line for You
Most anglers eventually own multiple lines—because conditions, flies, and rivers change.
Tight quarters: Short Scandi or Skagit heads.
Wide open runs: Longer heads for efficient coverage.
Example: On the Deschutes, I’ll use a Bridge Tributary for skating flies in the morning, then swap to a Scandi with light sink tips to punch through afternoon winds.
The best way to decide? Try them. Attend a spey clinic, demo lines from your fly shop, or trade with other anglers. Forums like speypages.com are also great for buying and selling used lines.
Ultimately, it’s about your style, your water, and your goals. Personally, I love the feel of touch-and-go casting with my Bridge Tributary. Once I master it, I’ll move on to longer lines.
Whatever you choose—don’t leave those lines in your shopping cart. Get out on the water and cast them.
My R.B. Meiser Highlander CX paired with a Danielsson H5D reel.
This rod is my pride and joy. It’s my most valuable possession, and it sparks a strong emotional response every time I fish it. It was an engagement gift from my fiancée. When I asked her what my dream rod was, she listened.
Before I dive into the rod itself, it’s worth mentioning the importance of fishing a rod you have a personal connection with. As fly anglers, we experience the outdoors through a piece of cork, and that piece of cork should feel just right. That’s why I’m a big advocate for going to your local shop, talking to the staff, and handling different rods instead of just buying the “best value rod” from some forum thread. You’ll know which rod feels right in your hand—no matter the price point.
R.B. Meiser Rods Are Special
I was chatting with a guide at my local fly shop about $1,000 rods and how they’re generally not worth the money. We both agreed that a good rod doesn’t need to be expensive, and that many brands are overpriced because of hype. But when I mentioned my own high-end Meiser and how much I loved it, he nodded and said: “Meiser rods are a work of art. They’re on a totally different level than these other $1,000 brands.”
Bob Meiser and Nick Moses are humble guys doing the Lord’s work. Bob began crafting two-handed rods back in 1986, just as they were starting to gain traction in North America. His shop is credited with developing the first switch rods and the concept of a grain window for spey rods. There’s no denying the impact Bob and his team have had on the sport.
Fast-forward to today: Nick Moses has taken on most of the rod building as Bob eases into retirement. Each rod is made one at a time, with only a few hundred produced per year. Clients can choose standard options or go through a custom build process to create something unique. I opted for the latter.
The Process of Ordering My Rod
My rod is equipped with some custom features and styling that make it unique.
You read that right—it wasn’t as simple as entering a credit card number online. When I ordered my custom rod, it was Bob Meiser himself who picked up the phone. He was excited to hear what I wanted to achieve, and he gave me recommendations on lines that would pair well with both the rod and my style of fishing. After that, he passed the reins to Nick to bring it to life.
When Nick and I first spoke, he was in the middle of moving the shop while finishing a holiday batch of rods. We set a time for me to swing by, get a tour, and consult on the build. He walked me through hardware, reel seat, and colorway options. If you can dream it, Nick can build it.
My Highlander CX
My rod is a 13’ 7-weight Highlander CX, built in four pieces. Technically, it’s a 6–8 weight thanks to its wide grain window of 450–700 grains. I chose the Highlander because I wanted a versatile, all-around rod I could wield in a variety of fishing situations. From technical touch-and-go casting to chucking heavy sink tips, the Highlander does it all.
The rod has quick recovery speed balanced by a sensitive tip that picks up subtle strikes and swing changes. The blank features a uniform progressive taper, meaning power increases evenly from tip to butt. For how powerful it is, the rod feels light. Each cast has crisp authority, and each stroke responds cleanly. Casting off the tip feels effortless, while slowing down and leaning in engages the rod uniformly from butt to tip.
The cosmetics are stunning. From the feather inlay to the stacked cork grip to the impeccable thread wraps, everything is dialed in. Speaking of cork, I love the grip on this rod. Nick left a little extra bulk in the middle of the top grip after I told him I liked a more substantial feel. The result is a grip tailored to my hands. The lettering is another highlight—Nick hand-paints the calligraphy before the final coat of epoxy. My rod proudly bears my name near the cork.
I paired my Highlander with a Danielsson H5D 9thirteen—a reel designed specifically for steelhead and sea-run trout fishing with two-handers. At under $400, it’s a bargain for the performance. I’ll give it its own feature in a future post.
The two lines I use most are an SGS Scandoid and a Bridge Tributary. The Scandoid, designed by Steve Godshall specifically for the Highlander CX, casts up to 12.5 feet of T-11, with a 30-foot head at 525 grains. The Bridge Tributary is my go-to for fishing traditional flies on a floating line when it isn’t too windy. Designed by Tim Arsenault, it clocks in at 42 feet and 525 grains and feels equally dialed for my rod. If you want more info about rigging for summer steelhead, check out this post.
How It Stacks Up Against the Rest
Plenty of other high-end rods compete with the Meiser on pure performance. Thanks to modern composites and manufacturing, excellent spey rods can be made today for a fraction of what they cost a decade ago. But where most rods fall short is soul.
Not many rods today have it, though a few do. Kerry Burkheimer rods, for example, are handmade with soul in spades (and I hope to own one someday). Winston rods also deliver performance with hand-rolled blanks that carry their own character. But in truth, a rod’s soul is tied more to the angler than the rod itself. A soulful rod is one that speaks to you—one that complements your casting style and becomes part of the experience.
There’s no rod that will suit you better than a custom build from a master craftsman. While most anglers won’t have the chance to fish a custom rod, I encourage you to bite the bullet at least once in your life. Yes, they’re expensive—but worth every penny. If not for the performance, then for the experience of helping build the tool you’ll use to connect with the world around you.
If you’re looking to splurge on your next spey or switch rod, look no further than R.B. Meiser. You won’t regret it.
Looking upstream of the Camp Water towards Mott Bridge.
The North Umpqua is famed for its run of summer steelhead. Fame doesn’t come from abundant returns—far from it. The river is known as the finishing school for fly anglers hoping to shake hands with one of these special fish. While the summer run is modest, the ones that do make it to the Steamboat Creek confluence are spirited and cunning. They’ve survived gear fishermen wreaking havoc on the lower river and seen every type of fly swung through the 33 miles of designated fly-fishing-only water. This is my story of thousands of casts made over three years that led to me finally hooking my first North Umpqua steelhead.
The Challenge
Fishing regulations are strict on the North Umpqua to protect dwindling summer steelhead runs. No added weights or attachments to the line, leader, or fly—no split shot or strike indicators. Angling is restricted to a single, barbless fly. Between July 1 and September 30, flies can’t even be weighted. That means your only real shot is with a swung fly on a sink tip—and a lot of hope that you picked the right fly.
The fish are few and far between, and they hold in some of the most technical water you’ll ever swing. At the time of writing, only 1,671 summer steelhead had been counted at Winchester Dam. That’s just 27 fish per mile—about 891 fish in the 33 miles of fly water. The structure doesn’t make it easy either. Basalt bedrock channels create cliff faces and wicked current seams that whip your fly out of control. The river is complex, powerful, and unforgiving.
Year One – The Initiation
My first encounter with the North Umpqua came during a family camping trip to Toketee Lake in July 2023. Knowing the river held summer steelhead, I snuck away one morning with my trusty 8wt single-hand rod. A size 5 Mack’s Canyon brought a few cutthroat to hand, but no steelhead. A few swings with a skater? Same result.
I had no idea where the buckets were, what techniques worked, or anything useful that might put me on one of these fish. A couple weeks later the North Umpqua closed to steelheading for the rest of the season due to poor returns. Initiation complete.
Year Two – The Obsession Deepens
Summer 2024 gave me a couple more shots. With a switch rod in hand, I swung with a bit more insider knowledge. By then, I had more steelhead hours under my belt from the Deschutes and at least knew where fish should be holding. My technique had come a long way since the last time I fished these fabled waters.
I even ventured out during the winter with intruders and egg-sucking leeches, hoping a big fly would entice one of the winter fish. In January 2025 I picked up my RB Meiser spey rod and hit the North during February’s high water. A few bumps, a few plucks—but no dice.
Year Three – Perseverance Meets Payoff
Looking from Hayden’s Run towards the Steamboat Creek confluence.
2025 became the year of determination. In April I made a day trip for winter steel and hooked up—only to lose the fish after a five-second run. Brutal.
By Labor Day weekend, the fire inside me was raging. Spey rod in hand, I fished harder than ever. Thankfully Kate had Starlink for her CPA studying, because I was gone by daybreak every morning. Each day brought fish showing but not committing. A pluck in Hayden’s Run, a pluck in the Kitchen Pool, jumpers in the Boat Pool and Sawtooth. They were there—I just couldn’t seal the deal.
Sunday brought a glimmer. I was fishing Sweetheart near the Steamboat confluence when an older guy, Mike, hooked an eight-pounder in the Sawtooth tailout. I reeled in so he could land it, then snapped a few photos for him. Mike told me he’d been fishing the North for 30 years. He suggested I try a couple nearby spots the next morning. Sounded like solid advice—after all, that was the second fish he’d hooked above me that day.
Monday was my last chance. At first light I aimed for the famed Camp Water. I wanted to start at The Station, but another angler, Tyson, beat me to it. Instead, I slid down into the Sawtooth tailout and Hayden’s Run.
Fish were already jumping. I fished Sawtooth with integrity—nothing. Then I worked carefully through Hayden’s, swinging all the way under overhanging branches. The currents there are gnarly: fast cascades through bedrock channels clashing with slower turbulent flows near the bank. On the hangdown, under a branch, I got plucked—but couldn’t connect.
Running out of time, I crossed to the highway side to fish the same water from a new angle. Last five casts. I sent my fly 60 feet across, threw an aerial mend, and let it sit behind a basalt chunk. Then it started to swing. Suddenly—the line went tight. Fish on.
The fight was hand-to-hand combat. My 13’ RB Meiser 7wt bent deep but held firm, while my Danielsson H5D reel stopped blistering runs. The fish tried ducking behind shelves of sharp bedrock that threatened to cut my leader, but I wrestled it out. A jump, an upstream dash.
Advantage: angler.
Finally, I coaxed the 6–7lb fish into softer water at my feet. The battle was won. I lifted my rod to net my prize—when a sharp head shake slipped the hook. Slack line. Fish gone. No photos of this one, folks.
Three Years of Patience and Persistence
Thousands of casts. Gallons of coffee. Countless early mornings. Three years of persistence for one moment. That’s the reality of swinging flies for ghosts.
Fishing the hard way gives you a deeper respect for the river and its fish. It makes every grab unforgettable. Why fish this way when it means fewer hookups? For me, it’s the anticipation of the pull, the violent fight of an inherently aggressive fish, and the meaning behind the rare hookup.
Some fish take years to catch. That’s exactly what makes the chase unforgettable.
