The Redband Revival

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  • Fly Fishing for Stillwater Brook Trout with Damselfly Nymphs: Tactics and Tips

    Mike and I had planned to swing flies for steelhead on the Deschutes last weekend, but time got the better of us. Instead, we opted for cooler weather and a partly cloudy day exploring one of the Cascade Lakes for stillwater brook trout. Brookies are known for their stunning coloration and aggressive takes, and these ones were no exception. Here’s how we approached the day and found success fishing damselfly nymphs.

    Few lakes are as beautiful as the ones high in the Cascades along the Cascade Lakes Highway.

    The Lake in Question

    This lake sits at about 5,000 feet above sea level and has an interesting history. Until the mid-50s it was a bog full of carp, later treated and restocked to support an Atlantic salmon sport fishery. When the salmon failed to thrive, the program was abandoned in favor of planting big redbands and brook trout. The lake now offers numerous chances at a robust brook trout population, cutthroat, and rainbows up to several pounds. 

    Today, the lake is among the richest in Central Oregon. Its clear, shallow water averages 3–4 feet deep and is lined with bullrushes and water lilies. Sight-casting opportunities abound, and despite the daily “paddleboard hatch,” the trout here are willing to eat a well-presented fly. Thanks to the abundance of aquatic vegetation, damselfly nymphs are often the most reliable option.

    This is a damselfly as featured on Wikipedia. Note the small, slender profile compared to a dragonfly.

    What is a Damselfly?

    Damselflies are essentially smaller, slimmer cousins of dragonflies. Here in Central Oregon, the adults are bright blue and thrive in plant-rich waters. For fly fishing, we usually focus on the nymph stage. Adults are bulky and awkward to cast, while nymphs are abundant and trout key in on them heavily.

    Damselfly nymphs are slender, usually olive, and poor swimmers. They spend two years feeding underwater and molt about a dozen times before migrating to shore, climbing up the bullrushes, and emerging as adults. Because they’re such weak swimmers and so plentiful, trout hunt them aggressively. Any stillwater with healthy weed beds and shoreline vegetation will support a strong damsel population.

    Damselfly nymphs migrate from the vegetation along the lake bottom to emerge on the bullrushes.

    Fishing the Damselfly Nymph

    Fishing damsels is one of my favorite ways to approach lakes—it’s active, visual, and effective. The best window is usually mid-morning through early afternoon, when the nymphs migrate from the lake bottom toward the shoreline vegetation.

    Rigging is straightforward. A floating fly line paired with a long leader on a 5- or 6-weight rod is all you need. I like the Scientific Anglers Anadro floating line because it handles indicator rigs, balanced leeches, woolly buggers, and lightly weighted damsel patterns without fuss. Whatever line you prefer, run a 12-foot leader tapered to 3X tippet. The heavier tippet helps turn over weighted flies and withstand aggressive strip-sets. You can also run a hover or intermediate line (1-2 in sink/second) with a shorter leader, but it isn’t entirely necessary in a shallow lake like this. I don’t own one of these lines but might end up with one by next summer. I’ll be sure to write a review when it happens.

    For presentation, I fish a single fly tied on with a non-slip loop knot to maximize movement. Cast along the edge of the bullrushes or slightly beyond into open lanes near vegetation. Let the fly sink a few seconds, then retrieve slowly. My go-to is a figure-eight hand-twist retrieve with occasional pauses, though long, slow strips also work. The key is keeping it subtle—mimicking a clumsy, slow-moving insect. When a brookie eats, strip-set firmly.

    The Flies Themselves

    At its core, a damsel nymph is just a slim olive woolly bugger in size 12–14. If you don’t have damsel-specific patterns, a small bugger will do fine. Tan, brown, or mottled olive variations can be equally effective.

    My favorite pattern features an olive marabou tail, olive marabou body, chartreuse wire ribbing, a wood duck wing case, and a partridge collar. (Check out John Kreft’s recipe for a step-by-step tie.) A small bead helps with sink rate—enough to hover in the water column without giving it a jigging action. Some tyers opt for a tiny set of dumbbell eyes for realism and light weight. I think it might be overkill, but it definitely doesn’t hurt. Just keep the fly light and alive; too much weight kills the presentation.

    This brook trout was fooled by a damselfly nymph retrieve with a slow hand twist.

    A Day on the Lake

    Stillwater fishing is one of the best ways to break up summer. There’s something about loading the canoe or float tube, packing a cooler of Rainiers, and settling into the slower rhythm of lake fishing.

    Lakes like this one in the Cascades are a sight to behold. Towering ancient volcanoes, clear waters with plenty of sight fishing opportunities, and an overwhelming variety of bug life paint an incredibly vivid picture of what a healthy ecosystem looks like. Whether I’m on the river or a high lake, I’m always reminded of the same truth—trout live in beautiful places.

    -T

  • Euro Nymphing Magic: The Complete Guide to Fishing Jig Streamers on a Mono Rig

    I’m not sure there’s a single fly I’ve tied that’s accounted for more hookups than the humble jig streamer. It’s a quick, easily tied guide fly that truly comes to life on a mono rig. This fly changed the game for me, and it only became more effective as I learned its versatility. In this post, I’ll show you how to tie it, how to fish it, and why it shines on a mono rig.

    Jig streamers such as Lance Egan’s Poacher are highly effective in a variety of situations.

    What is a Mono Rig (and Why It Works for Streamers)

    I’ve written a quick guide to the mono rig before (click here to read it). But for those who haven’t seen that post, here’s the skinny:

    A mono rig is a long, stiff leader made of monofilament that connects to your fly line and allows you to euro nymph with precision. It’s removable, easy to tie, and incredibly versatile. The idea is to remove fly line from the system, since it sags in the guides and drags in the current.

    My jig streamer mono rig formula:

    • 30 feet of 12lb Maxima Chameleon
    • 3–4 feet of 2X sighter material
    • Tippet ring
    • Fluorocarbon tippet (long enough to match the depth you’re fishing)

    Some anglers prefer Maxima Ultragreen over Chameleon. I choose Chameleon because it’s stiffer and has less line memory. Both work fine. For fluorocarbon, I use Seaguar or P-Line because they’re more affordable than tippet spools. Fluoro is key here—it’s more abrasion-resistant and stealthy than nylon, and it absorbs water, helping it sink faster.

    The mono rig is especially effective for jig streamers because it keeps you in direct contact with your fly through the entire drift. You get more control, less drag, and an easier time fishing a variety of depths. One of my favorite tricks is fishing the streamer over a shelf, then lowering it off the drop into the strike zone—something much harder to do with a standard indicator rig.

    Why Jig Streamers Are Perfect for a Mono Rig

    The heavy bead gets the fly down quickly, and the upturned hook point avoids snags. The jigging action mimics injured baitfish or leeches, while the squirrel zonker tail waves tantalizingly in the current. A soft hackle collar adds movement and gives the impression of a sculpin.

    When should you use a jig streamer? Honestly—almost anytime.

    • Swing it into back eddies and retrieve it through the foam.
    • Drop it behind boulders or log jams for ambush predators.
    • Use its weight to sink another fly quickly in pocket water.
    • Retrieve it upstream along undercut banks to coax fish from cover.

    In cold water, the jig streamer is an easy, slow-moving snack for lethargic trout. In warmer months, it can get deep into the cool undercurrent where more active fish are holding. The versatility of this fly is matched only by the versatility of the mono rig—it’s a killer combination.

    A heavier Euro rod, like my 4wt Diamondback Ideal Nymph, is the perfect tool for fishing heavy jig streamers.

    Gear & Setup

    I recommend a 10–11 ft, 3 or 4 wt euro nymphing rod. The length helps with stealth, reach, and the power needed to cast a heavier streamer. The sensitivity of a euro rod also helps protect lighter tippets and detect subtle strikes. (Check out my review of the Diamondback Ideal Nymph to see my personal setup.)

    Use the mono rig formula above and attach it to your fly line. For tippet, 4–6lb fluorocarbon works best—skip the taper, as level line cuts through the water more efficiently.

    Streamer colors: Match your local forage. My box includes olive, brown, tan, and grey variations. The fly itself is simple: squirrel zonker tail, Arizona SimiSeal body, and a collar of soft hen hackle or partridge. You can finish with a thread hotspot (I’ve had good luck with red).

    If you don’t tie, most fly shops stock euro-style streamers. Check the streamer bins for jigged slumpbusters, poachers, or leeches.

    Presentation Techniques

    1. Tight-Line Dead Drift

    Use the same method you would with other euro nymphs. A tuck cast gets the fly in place, and you guide it through the strike zone. Stay in contact for the entire drift.

    2. Jig-and-Lift

    Start as you would for a dead drift, but add subtle rod tip pulses to make the fly hop. Many fish will eat on the drop, so keep tension at all times.

    3. Swing & Dangle

    At the end of your drift, let the fly swing slowly toward the bank and hang there. A gentle lift of the rod tip with light twitches can trigger strikes.

    4. Strip Retrieve

    Best when fish are aggressive or the current isn’t imparting enough action. Experiment with retrieve speed and cadence—strip through deep pools or along cut banks, and match your retrieve to whatever bait you’re imitating.

    Common Mistakes & How to Avoid Them

    • Not getting deep enough – Make sure your fly reaches the strike zone before the drift ends.
    • Overworking the fly – Long, fast strips often look unnatural for leeches or sculpins. Bigger patterns can handle faster retrieves; smaller ones need more hang time.
    • Losing contact – Start each cast with your rod tip up to keep tension from the beginning of the drift. Dropping the tip too soon means you’ll miss takes.

    Mono Rigs + Jig Streamers = A Match Made in Heaven

    Few setups give you more control over your streamer’s movement. This style adds variety and excitement to standard euro nymphing and adapts easily to many fishing situations. The system is simple, efficient, and—most importantly—fun. Tie up a few, or grab some from your local shop, and give them a try. I promise you won’t be disappointed.

    —T

  • Why I Chose the Diamondback Ideal Nymph 4wt as My Everyday Euro Rod

    I’ll start this off by saying I am not sponsored by Diamondback rods and they don’t send me any free gear. I spent my own hard-earned $550 on this rod because there are certain features I look for in a solid Euro nymphing rod—and this one has them all. Thanks to Jeff and the team at The Fly Fisher’s Place for special ordering this rod for me.

    The Diamondback Ideal Nymph configured as a 4wt.

    How My Euro Nymphing Journey Began

    My Euro nymphing journey began suddenly one morning on the Metolius while fishing with my buddy Lucas. He was crushing fish on his Sage Euro rod, and I wanted to give it a shot.

    I quickly built a mono rig (here’s the formula) and threw it on my 9’ 5wt Echo Carbon-XL. Not ideal, but a good place to start. Within minutes, I was Euro nymphing for the first time and cleaning house on a run that usually only produced a couple of fish for me. I was convinced.

    Next, I borrowed Lucas’s backup Euro rod—a 10’ 3wt Moonshine. It was a step up from my fast-action 5wt, but honestly, I didn’t like it at all. Everything about it felt cheap, from the cork to the ferrules that kept coming loose.

    I knew if I was going to stick with Euro nymphing in Central Oregon—chasing strong fish in strong rivers—I needed a rod built for my style of fishing. Enter the Diamondback Ideal Nymph.

    What Makes a Good Euro Nymphing Rod?

    A great Euro rod needs:

    • A sensitive tip to detect subtle takes and protect light tippet, without collapsing during the cast.
    • A strong backbone to land 16”+ fish.
    • Lightweight construction, since your arm is up all day.
    • Length for reach, while staying accurate.

    Here in Central Oregon, there are a few extra factors:

    • Our rivers—like the Metolius and Deschutes—are pushy.
    • Average trout run 14–16 inches, with the power of fish twice their size.
    • Heavy beadhead nymphs (3.5–4.6mm) are standard to get into the strike zone.

    On these rivers, 1–2wt rods struggle. Most of us run 3wts or 4wts for the backbone and weight-casting power. Strong fish will dog you if you let them run into strong currents.

    First Impressions of the Diamondback Ideal Nymph 4wt

    Right out of the tube, I was impressed:

    • Matte finish for stealth.
    • Smooth, fresh cork.
    • Consistent energy transfer through the taper.
    • Guides that stand proud of the blank to prevent mono rig wrap.

    On the water, paired with a Maxima Chameleon mono rig, it casts heavy nymphs and jig streamers with ease. The 10’10” length is a huge advantage when reaching over microcurrents on the Metolius.

    The tip is sensitive enough for light takes yet stiff enough for accurate tuck casts. The butt section has the muscle to wrestle trout from heavy current—and even handle a 6lb bull trout without folding.

    My 4wt Diamondback Ideal Nymph is paired with a Danielsson Reels f3w, the 4seven model to be precise.

    Why I Chose the 4wt Over the 2wt or 3wt

    For most trout fisheries, a 2wt is plenty. Even here, I’ve been guilty of launching 6-inch Crooked River fish into orbit on the 4wt.

    But my style is big water, jig streamers, and heavy beadhead nymphs. The 4wt:

    • Doesn’t collapse when jigging streamers.
    • Handles all-day casting without wearing me out.
    • Has the backbone for larger fish.

    Plus, I fish waters where I could hook bull trout or steelhead. A 4wt may not be the perfect tool for them, but it lands them faster and healthier than a 2wt ever could.

    What I’d Change or Watch Out For

    • No hook keeper — I like them, and I wish this rod had one.
    • Length — At 10’10”, it can feel unwieldy and tip-heavy without the right reel to balance it. Check out my post on Danielsson reels to see what I use to balance out my Ideal Nymph.
    • Specialized use — While you can fish dries with it, the soft Euro tip isn’t built for casting fly lines all day. If you insist on dry fly fishing with it, use a double-taper dry fly line.

    If you fish small creeks with overhang, this probably isn’t your rod. But for big water? It’s a weapon.

    Final Thoughts: A Core Tool in My Kit

    Would I buy the Diamondback Ideal Nymph 4wt again? Absolutely. In fact, I’d grab the 2wt as well to cover all my bases.

    It’s purpose-built, priced fairly, and holds its own against rods twice the cost. It also blows the bargain bin Euro rods out of the water. If you can, demo one at your local shop—you’ll see why it’s my go-to Euro stick.

    – T

  • The 8 Essential Fishing Knots You Should Know (And When to Use Them)

    A lot of anglers out there use a clinch knot for everything. And while that’ll get you by, it’s by no means the best way to fish effectively. Each knot shines in its own way, and the unique properties of each can be used tactically to be a more successful angler. I’m here to break it down as simply as possible.

    These knots are categorized based on their purpose: attaching a fly, connecting tippet to leader, or creating a loop-to-loop connection.

    🔗 Knots for Attaching Fly to Tippet

    1. Clinch Knot

    It’s quick, easy to tie, and reliable. The clinch knot is the one most of us picture when we think of a “fisherman’s knot.” The small barrel shape is unobtrusive and gets the job done in most scenarios when you need to attach a fly to your tippet.

    I personally prefer the classic clinch over the “improved” version — it’s easier to tie and may even be slightly stronger. Rio Products did a great video comparing knot strength that backs this up.

    2. Non-Slip Mono Loop

    This knot is almost as easy as the clinch, but it gives your fly more freedom of movement than any other knot. I reach for this one when fishing streamers and nymphs, especially when I want the fly to swing or drift naturally.

    3. Turle Knot

    A recent favorite of mine — the Turle knot has been a go-to for diehard steelheaders tying traditional wet flies for decades. It’s small, strong, and quick to tie.

    What makes it unique is that your tippet exits straight out of the hook eye, whether it’s upturned or downturned. Just remember to thread your tippet in the same direction as the eye: up through the up-eye, or down through the down-eye.

    I’ve started using this knot for dry flies as well — it really helps with proper fly alignment.

    Garoutte Hitch Variation:
    A twist on the Turle used for skating steelhead flies or “skittering” caddis dries. Tie a Turle as usual, but thread your tippet up through a down-eye hook. This forces your fly to ride higher and carve a nice V-wake on the surface — no riffle hitch needed.

    🧵 Knots for Connecting Tippet to Leader

    4. Blood Knot

    The blood knot has a reputation for being hard to tie — but it just takes practice. It’s not complicated, just a bit more dexterity-intensive.

    This is my go-to when connecting leader sections of similar diameter (within ~.003”). When tied properly, it creates a smooth, strong barrel that passes cleanly through your guides and doesn’t snag easily.

    If I’m building a leader from scratch, I’m tying blood knots.

    5. Triple Surgeon’s Knot

    The surgeon’s knot is faster and easier to tie than the blood knot, and it handles dissimilar diameter materials better. That said, it’s a bit bulkier and can snag in the guides or on the bottom.

    If you’re fishing a dropper off the tag end, tie it from the bottom tag.

    6. Orvis Tippet Knot

    An underrated alternative to the surgeon’s knot. I use this one quite a bit — it’s a bit smoother and more refined for the type of fishing I do.

    If you’re nymphing with a dropper, tie your second fly off the top tag. The stiffness of the tippet helps kick the fly away from your other nymph, reducing tangles.

    🔄 Knots for Loop-to-Loop Connections

    7. Perfection Loop

    The go-to for creating small, strong loops in leaders or backing. Use it for a clean loop-to-loop connection with your fly line.

    Pro tip: Keep the loop small. Oversized loops create slack and reduce sensitivity.

    8. Albright Knot

    The Albright is perfect for connecting fly line to backing, or for attaching a leader to fly line when no welded loops are present.

    I use this knot when welded loops break or when I’m using a line that doesn’t come with one. A dab of super glue on the finished knot keeps water out of the fly line core and helps it glide smoothly through guides.

    ⚠️ Just remember: The Albright works best when one material (like mono) can “bite” into the other (like fly line). It’s not ideal for mono-to-mono connections.

    🎣 Final Thoughts: Know Your Knots

    Knowing how to tie reliable knots is one of the foundations of being an effective fly angler. Practice at home until you can tie them without thinking — it’ll pay off when you’re knee-deep in the water with the wind blowing and fish rising.

    Try different knots in different scenarios, and see what fits your style of fishing. Tie better knots, and you’ll land more fish. Scout’s honor.

    – T

  • Pedal to the Pools: Biking to Unpressured Fishing Spots

    Pretty much all of the water in Central Oregon is highly pressured. I remember one morning when I arrived at Mecca Flats on the Lower Deschutes at 6 a.m., hiked downstream, and started casting. Within an hour, there was one guy fishing above me and three others within 50 yards below. That’s the price you pay when fishing world-class fly water.

    The solution, sometimes, is to bike or hike into remote locations in search of less-pressured water. This past weekend, I hopped on a bicycle and rode into the remote Metolius Basin in search of bull trout that might be receptive to a streamer.

    Spoiler: I didn’t find any bull trout—but I did find something much more special.

    Why Bike to Fish?

    It’s no secret that less pressure = more fish. Fish that haven’t seen many flies are more opportunistic than ones that’ve seen 400 bad drifts in the past two hours. The truth is that some of the best fly water lies beyond locked gates, rough roads, and remote wilderness trails.

    Most fishermen are lazy—and for good reason. Hiking in is reserved for the foolhardy angler who doesn’t mind 25 lbs of gear on their back, steamy waders, and heavy boots. Whether you hike or bike, it pays to pare down your kit to the bare essentials so you still have the stamina to make good casts and thoughtful drifts.

    Biking into remote areas brings a few added challenges:

    • You need to lock and stash your bike securely.
    • Multiple rods can be awkward unless stowed properly.

    I made the mistake of carrying two fully rigged rods once. Never again. Do yourself a favor and keep your rods in their tubes, packed safely, and rig them up streamside.

    Bull trout are large, predatory fish. I found this one a couple winters ago.

    Fishing for Bull Trout is a Different Game

    Bull trout aren’t actually trout—they’re a type of char, similar to their cousin the brook trout. You can spot them by their red, cream, and pink-colored spots and the milky white ridges along their fins.

    Like most char, bulls are serious predators. On the Metolius, anglers chase them with streamers as big as 8 inches. I’ve personally seen a bull trout chase down a 14-inch rainbow I was reeling in.

    I approach bull trout lies a lot like I would brown trout:

    • Slow water with structure is the name of the game—deeper pools with boulders, log jams, or undercut banks.
    • I fish streamers with just enough weight to get down but not so much that they plummet into the woodpile.

    If you can keep your fly within 18 inches of the bottom and hold it there, you’re in the zone. Sinking lines are your friend—as long as the handling section floats. Nothing’s more frustrating than a full-sink line wrapping around your boots and boulders while you’re trying to double-haul.

    A good kokanee streamer features a red body, olive head, and light underbelly (at least during the spawn).

    Matching the Season with Streamers

    On the Metolius, what works changes with the seasons:

    • Rainbow trout and whitefish patterns do well year-round. Think olive-over-white for trout or tan/brown-over-white for whitefish.
    • During the kokanee migration, the game changes. Bulls follow the kokanee upriver from Lake Billy Chinook, and a red or pink streamer with an olive head becomes the hot ticket.
    • If stripping isn’t your style, dead-drifting a nuke egg during the spawn can account for both bulls and redbands.
    One of my latest concoctions is a double-deceiver tied with fluorescent pink rubber legs and an ostrich tail. Leads wraps on the rear hook keel the fly and impart motion in the tail. I tie this fly in several lengths, colors, and weights.

    Stripping Streamers: My Sunday Recap

    My tool of choice that day was a 4–5″ rainbow trout imitation, stripped through pools at a blistering pace. I wanted to mimic an injured baitfish darting into cover. The streamer was a Double Deceiver-style pattern—bucktail, fluorescent pink rubber legs, and tied on heavy saltwater hooks. I added some lead wraps on the back hook to keel the fly just enough and make it whip through the water erratically. Otherwise, it was unweighted and fished on a 7 IPS full-sink line. I like my streamers to be just heavy enough to get down since I prefer the action of unweighted streamers, at least for wounded fish patterns.

    The fly accounted for one solid fish.

    I cast upstream into a seam and let the fly sink for a few seconds. Then I began a quick strip through the pool and across an underwater shelf. From under a submerged log, a hefty redband—maybe 15 or 16 inches—shot out and T-boned the fly. I strip-set, picked up the slack, and quickly brought the fish in with my 8-weight.

    The rest of the day was spent alternating between stripping streamers and following up with a jig streamer on my euro rod. As usual, the jig streamer pulled its weight, and I finished the day with one of my most productive sessions on the Metolius.

    Lessons Learned: Biking Into the Backcountry

    Biking into the wilderness is always a gamble. Sometimes you find prime water. Sometimes you find nothing but rapids.

    Most of the water I hit this weekend was the latter—either unfishable whitewater or banked in by brush thick enough to snag your soul. But when you do find that pocket of water that looks fishy and actually is, it’s pure gold. The fish are unpressured and eat with reckless abandon.

    Add in a few miles of pedaling, some backcountry solitude, and maybe a couple wildlife sightings—and it all just feels more earned. The silence out there? You don’t get that when you park next to ten other rigs at the trailhead.

    In the end, no matter how many fish you catch, a day that costs you some sweat equity just feels better.

    – T

  • Mastering Depth: Streamers, Steelhead, and Stillwater with a Full-Sink Line

    The default line in most fly anglers’ arsenals is usually a full-floating line—and for good reason. Floating lines don’t get wrapped around rocks while you’re wading and tend to be the most versatile for the wide variety of angling situations you’ll encounter. Outfit that same floating line with a set of sink tips and you’re off to the races, fishing just about every water type and presentation you can conceptualize.

    As valuable as sink tips are, they aren’t ideal for a specialized set of situations where depth mastery is the key to success. Let’s dive into three common scenarios where a full-sinking fly line truly shines.

    The Sonar Titan 3D by Scientific Anglers is a fantastic sinking line that gives the Rio Outbound Short a run for its money.

    What Is a Full-Sinking Line?

    Exactly what it sounds like. A full-sinking fly line is a long, continuous sinking taper that may or may not include a short floating or intermediate “handling” section near the running line. Many of the best modern full-sink lines replace that floating portion with a low-buoyancy intermediate to maintain a better connection with the fly and reduce drag.

    These lines exist for one purpose: getting your flies down and keeping them down.

    A common misconception is that full-sink lines are simply heavier than floating lines. Not true. The overall weight matches your rod’s line rating—but the density is much higher, which compresses the weight into a thinner diameter. That slim profile cuts through water and allows flies to sink fast and stay deep. These lines are often paired with bulky streamers or weighted patterns, so the front taper is usually loaded with extra mass to help cast large flies efficiently.

    Challenges of the Full-Sink Line

    Let’s be honest: full-sinking lines aren’t the easiest to fish. Here are a few trade-offs to keep in mind:

    1. Snags: When wading, the line can wrap around rocks or logs on the riverbed.
    2. Casting Difficulty: You can’t pick the line up off the water like a floating line. Instead, use a roll-cast pickup to bring the line to the surface before your cast.
    3. Misconception of Sinking Too Fast: Full-sinking lines don’t plummet to the bottom like a rock. In fact, your retrieve speed and cadence greatly influence how the fly behaves in the water. A steady retrieve keeps the fly at a consistent depth and slows the descent. Always choose an appropriate sink rate for the depth and current.
    Full-sink lines help buoyant marabou streamers get down and stay down.

    Use Case 1: Streamer Fishing

    This is the most common application for full-sinking lines in moving water. While floating lines and sink tips often struggle to keep big flies down, a full-sinker gets into the strike zone immediately—and stays there throughout the retrieve.

    Tips for success:

    • Match your sink rate to the water:
      • Type 3 for moderate flow and depth.
      • Type 6 or 7 for fast current or deep holes.
    • Use a short leader (3–4 feet) for better connection and fly control.
    • Perfect for swinging or stripping flies across ledges and undercut banks.

    Gear I Recommend:
    I personally favor the Scientific Anglers Sonar Titan, which I’ve found more durable than the Rio Outbound Short. I’ve seen the Rio crack and expose the mono core after limited use, whereas the Sonar Titan’s braided core and coating hold up to abuse. Tie on a 3-4 foot Maxima Ultragreen leader and there ya go.

    Use Case 2: Steelhead in Pocket Water

    Pocket water can be deceptively tricky. Fast surface currents rip past calm holding lies in front of, next to, and behind boulders. Traditional floating lines often skate or pull the fly out of the zone too quickly.

    A short cast with a full-sinking line dives quickly and keeps the fly swinging through these tight windows. We use this tactical approach to steelheading during summer runs when we know that the fish aren’t as likely to hold in long, deep pools.

    Why it works:

    • Delivers a precise swing through small seams.
    • Cuts through micro-currents and avoids surface drag.
    • Keeps the fly deep but under control during short swings.

    Pro Tips:

    • Fish a single-hand or switch rod for maneuverability.
    • Stack mend upstream to help the line sink more effectively.
    • Keep just enough tension on the line to control the fly throughout the swing without bringing it up to the surface.

    This technique is especially effective on smaller rivers and canyon streams during low water conditions, where fish tuck into fast-and-shallow pocket water.

    Use Case 3: Stillwater Fly Fishing

    In lakes, depth is everything, especially during the height of summer. Floating lines are perfect for hatches close to the banks or fishing a bugger through some shallow weed beds, but the sinking line is your best friend for most Stillwater applications.

    How to fish it:

    • Use the “countdown method”—sink rates are measured in IPS (inches per second), so count down before retrieving.
    • Retrieve styles vary:
      • Slow hand-twist for leeches.
      • Erratic strips for baitfish patterns.
      • Hang the fly at the end of your retrieve to tempt followers.

    Ideal for:

    • Fishing drop-offs, deep ledges, or the thermocline.
    • Slow retrieves with damsel nymphs and chironomids.
    • Fishing from the boat.

    Add the Full-Sinker to Your Arsenal

    Full-sinking lines are essential tools when depth and control matter. If you’ve only ever fished floating lines or sink tips, you may be missing out on a whole world of fishable water.

    I used to think my 15-foot sink tips were enough—until I picked up a full-sinker and saw what I was missing. Depth control, better swings, and consistent presentation changed the way I fished.

    Grab your own full-sink line and experiment – you just might find your new favorite setup.

    – T

  • Why Danielsson Reels are a Must-Have for Anglers

    This not-so-secret gear find is the result of hours spent combing forums for a solid Euro-nymphing reel that doesn’t break the bank. Guess what? I found my answer on SpeyPages.

    As it turns out, there’s a brand with a cult-like following in the Spey community. They make reels that are thoughtfully designed, classically styled, lightweight, and fully caged.

    That brand is Danielsson.

    Danielsson offers great quality reels at a competitive price point.

    History of the Danielsson Brand

    The Scandinavian brand came about in the 1980s as a collaboration between Tomas Danielsson and Loop Tackle Design. You might recognize Loop from their robust line of Spey gear. During that partnership, Danielsson developed and manufactured reels for Loop, which are credited with popularizing the large-arbor design that’s now standard in modern fly reels.

    The large arbor design revolutionized fly reels with quicker line pickup and reduced line memory.

    In the early 2000s, Danielsson and Loop parted ways. After the split, Danielsson launched his own company, reclaiming his designs and continuing to manufacture reels under the Danielsson name.

    Fast-forward to today: Danielsson is known for direct-to-consumer pricing and a focus on performance over branding. When you order a reel, it’s shipped directly from the factory in Sweden to your door—no middlemen.

    Danielsson Makes a Damn Fine Spey Reel

    The Danielsson H5D as seen on my RB Meiser spey rod.

    Danielsson has a loyal following on SpeyPages, and for good reason. These reels are strong, offer customizable drag for fighting large fish, and feature a large arbor for fast backing retrieval. The fully-caged design helps prevent tangling or line slipping and avoids weird design quirks that can catch your line at the worst moment.

    Their focus is clearly on performance and value:

    • Sealed, maintenance-free drag (saltwater rated)
    • High-precision machining with zero spool wobble—seriously, zero
    • Clean, utilitarian styling with no gimmicks

    Danielsson Reels for Euro-Nymphing

    The Danielsson F3W 4seven as seen on my 4wt Diamondback Ideal Nymph.

    Danielsson doesn’t specifically market a Euro-nymphing reel, but I’ve been using the F3W 4seven on my 4wt Diamondback Ideal Nymph, and it balances the setup perfectly.

    Why I love it:

    • Fully-caged: no chance of thin mono-rigs getting caught
    • Lightweight: balances modern nymph rods well
    • Quiet click: subtle and satisfying
    • Satin black finish: stealthy and sleek for spooky fish

    I actually love the F3W series so much that I’m slowly converting most of my reel collection to Danielsson. It’s that good. The F3W delivers phenomenal value and thoughtful design in the same price range as Lamson—but feels more refined.

    As of writing, the F3W sells for ~$234 USD based on current exchange rates.

    Notes on Ordering Danielsson Reels

    Since the reels ship from Sweden, there are a few things to keep in mind:

    • You’ll need to pay via PayPal (unless you do business in SEK).
    • Set the website currency to your local currency before checking out.
    • Make sure the site knows your country, as VAT is included or excluded based on location.
    • Shipping takes a little longer than domestic brands—but not bad.

    My orders to rural Central Oregon usually arrive in under 2 weeks.

    A Quick Note on the Original Series

    Not my favorite—but not bad, either. It’s still a good reel!

    I’ve landed big fish with the drag-less Original-series reel. My gripes?

    • No click sound when a fish runs—kinda anticlimactic.
    • You need to loosen the spool-lock during storage (a small but annoying chore).

    Again, these are nitpicks. But for me, hearing that reel sing is half the fun when a fish rips line.

    Final Thoughts

    In short:
    These reels are the shit.

    Seriously—they’re awesome. Incredible value. Impeccable quality. Not flashy. Just solid. I’d even argue that their elegant simplicity makes them feel more luxurious than many high-end American-made reels.

    Try one out—you won’t be disappointed.
    – T

  • Woah, That Fly is HUGE!

    I was making my weekly rounds through The Patient Angler Fly Shop earlier today and got on the topic of flies for the Crooked River. Peter, the shop proprietor, shared a recent experience:

    He pulled up to his favorite hole, only to find it crowded with a group of anglers. Peter patiently waited as the group eventually packed up and headed back to their cars.

    “Did you catch anything?” he asked.
    “Nope,” they said. “There aren’t any fish in this run.”

    Peter made his way down… and proceeded to pull 10 fish out of that very hole.
    The difference? Tiny bugs.

    Bigger Isn’t Always Better

    There are plenty of reasons anglers reach for big bugs. Maybe they see caddis hatching and grab the first one they see in their fly box—laziness. Maybe they believe that bigger flies catch bigger fish. Or maybe they think a larger fly is just easier for a trout to see.

    Sometimes, it’s a simple case of misjudging size. A skittering caddis looks a lot bigger on the water than it does resting on a leaf near the bank.

    Matching the hatch doesn’t just mean using a dry fly labeled “mayfly.” There are dozens of different species of mayflies in any given stream. Some are big—like Hexagenia—while others, like tiny BWOs, are barely visible to the naked eye. With such a wide range of bug sizes, we need to look more carefully at what trout are actually eating.

    Why Small Flies Work Better (Most of the Time)

    My buddy Lucas and I were talking one morning about using large vs. small stonefly nymphs on a local river. The conversation drifted into insect lifecycles—and how much their size varies throughout the year.

    A stonefly nymph doesn’t just become that big overnight. It grows over time. And since they can take multiple years to mature, there are multiple generations of nymphs in the water at any given time, each at a different stage. The adult bugs we see crawling along the rocks? They’re the survivors—the minority, not the majority.

    This is one reason I lean toward smaller flies, especially on pressured rivers. Most anglers throw huge stoneflies because they’ve seen adult salmonflies on the banks and assume that’s what fish want. But I’d rather tie on a smaller, more immature stonefly to imitate the broader biomass of nymphs drifting below the surface.

    In general, there are simply more small bugs in the river. Not every insect makes it to maturity—far from it. The ratio of eggs laid to adult emergence is massive. So while adult insects may look uniform in size, the subaquatic buffet trout feed on is made up of countless smaller stages.

    Your size 12 or 14 stonefly likely looks more natural drifting through a riffle in October than a size 6 salmonfly. (Remember: salmonflies hatch in May on the Deschutes.) A smaller fly draws less suspicion, especially in clear water.

    Matching the Natural Forage

    As fly anglers, we should always aim to imitate what the fish are actually eating—not just what’s easiest for us to tie on.

    Many rivers in Oregon (and beyond) are loaded with midges, micro-mayflies, and other tiny aquatic insects. It may not be as fun to tie on a size 22 midge, but doing so will often produce better results.

    When Peter was on the Crooked River, he noticed the trout were nosing up just below the surface—not quite rising. They were feeding on emergers. Using his decades of local knowledge, he tied on a size 22 emerging midge and absolutely cleaned up, fishing the same water where the previous group got skunked.

    How to Fish Small Flies Effectively

    1. Use lighter tippet.
    Yes, thinner tippet can be harder to fight fish on—but if you’re playing fish properly, 5x to 6x will hold. Thicker tippet has two major downsides when fishing small flies:

    • It’s harder to thread through tiny hook eyes.
    • It reduces the natural drift due to increased stiffness.

    2. Fish longer leaders.
    Small flies tend to shine in softer currents with swirling micro-eddies. A long leader gives your fly the slack it needs for a true drag-free drift and helps you stay stealthy in tight seams and backwater pockets.

    A Final Tip on Fly Size

    A guide once told me:

    “Pick the fly that matches the hatch, then go one size smaller.”

    It’s a simple rule, but one I follow constantly. When I compare a drifting spinner or caddis on my hand to my fly box, I always go one size down. That small change often makes the difference between fooling a wary trout and going home empty-handed.

    And don’t worry about whether fish can see your fly—they can.
    Fish spend their entire lives watching food drift toward them. Between their visual acuity and their lateral line sensitivity, they’ll find that size 22 midge long before you even spot your own indicator.

    Fish On, and Fish Small.

    —T

  • Oregon Outback Adventure: Bass on the Fly and the Biggest Steak of Your Life

    The Oregon Outback is a different kind of Oregon. Compared to the Willamette Valley or the Oregon Coast, this place feels wild and untamed. Think sagebrush, arid terrain, and a step back in time to the golden age of ranching in Central Oregon. We did an overnight camping trip here to escape the crowds and disconnect—even if just for one day.

    My fiancée Kate and my buddy Mike at Crack in the Ground — a volcanic fissure over 2 miles long and up to 70 feet deep in some places.

    The Oregon Outback: What and Where

    Most people outside the state think of Oregon as heavily forested, rainy, and infested with hippies and vanlifers. That couldn’t be further from the truth. In fact, the entire area east of the Cascade Range is dry and considered high desert. Southeastern Oregon is even drier and predominantly flat, with the exception of a few volcanic formations.

    The Oregon Outback is sparsely populated and probably has more cattle than people. Hay farms are sprinkled throughout the sagebrush ecosystem, alongside the occasional abandoned singlewide trailer. The region is better known for its geological formations and volcanic legacy than for its fishing. Think landmarks like Fort Rock, Hole in the Ground, and Crack in the Ground.

    Waking up at our campsite in the Fremont-Winema National Forest.

    The Camping

    We set up camp near one of the few lakes that dot the Oregon Outback. These bodies of water—and the surrounding marshlands—serve as oases and sanctuaries for birdlife. Our campsite was in a developed USFS campground in the Fremont-Winema National Forest. From our campfire, we watched deer stop in for a drink and Forster’s Terns diving for minnows lurking in the reeds.

    The road in was covered in cinder and flanked by basalt rimrock, as much of Central Oregon is.

    One thing to note is the overwhelming quiet in this wilderness. We were many miles from the nearest town and even further from any notable population center. No humming motors, no rumble from the highway—just birds chattering and splashing in the nearby reservoir. The cherry on top? No cell service—a feature I specifically seek out when choosing where to camp.

    That’s a bigass bass!

    Bass on the Fly: Fishing in the Desert

    When we first arrived at the lake, an algal bloom was in full swing. The water was so green we were convinced there might not be any fish at all. It didn’t help that the most recent fishing report was nearly ten years old and mentioned a lake drawdown that had killed most of the fish.

    Still, we gave it a shot. That afternoon, we hopped on paddleboards and trolled the muck with a couple of woolly buggers. The mission was mostly to explore and see if anything was alive out there. We saw nothing. As dusk rolled in, we scanned the lake with binoculars for signs of fish—also nothing.

    The next morning felt different. Waking to birdsong is always a privilege. Over a crackling fire and sips of hot black coffee, we scanned the lake again. There were bugs on the water. Maybe some fish activity further down the shoreline? It was hard to tell.

    Mike and I finished our coffees (and a couple of Miller High Lifes) and rigged up again. Hiking along the shoreline, we stumbled across some shattered obsidian—ancient arrowheads? Who knows. Eventually, we emerged from the weeds and took up stations on rocks lining the marshy edge.

    We both tied on poppers. Mike used his 6wt, and I stuck with my trusty St. Croix 5wt. A few casts later, Mike convinced a largemouth bass to investigate his fly. I switched back to a dark woolly bugger for confidence’s sake. An hour of casting yielded a bass every five casts. The fish weren’t fazed by the algae matting the surface.

    Then it happened. One cast in, my line suddenly drew tight. I strip-set into what I thought was a rock—until the “rock” started moving. This was the first fish of the day that put a serious bend in my 5wt. It thrashed in the shallows, displacing water like a wake. A few minutes later, it was in the net: a bigass largemouth bass.

    Cowboy Dinner Tree is a step back in time.

    Cowboy Dinner Tree: The Real Reason for the Trip

    The other reason we came out to the arid wilderness—besides camping—was a reservation we made a month earlier at the Cowboy Dinner Tree. This place holds an almost mythical presence in Central Oregon and is an experience every Oregonian should have at least once.

    Cash only. No cards. No checks. No KIDDING!

    The restaurant is unlike anywhere I’ve ever eaten. Old wood, low ceilings, and dusty western memorabilia everywhere. The building was converted from an old cowboy bunkhouse in 1992 by a local couple hoping to preserve the history of cattle driving in the Outback.

    The site had been used for decades by cowhands pushing cattle to the Sycan Marsh—halfway there, it was a spot for shade, biscuits, and beans from a chuckwagon under a big juniper tree.

    Dining here is by reservation only, served family-style, and beautifully simple.

    You start with a bowl of salad for the table and warm yeasted dinner rolls. Then comes the largest bowl of beans you’ve ever seen—easily 2–3 quarts. But the main event is the entrée: you choose between a 2-lb steak or an entire roasted chicken, each served with a baked potato. Kate, Mike, and I all opted for the massive steak.

    Cooked perfectly to medium rare and well-seasoned, we each made it about a third of the way through before admitting defeat. Then, out came dessert: strawberry-marionberry shortcake.

    Pure bliss.

    Thankfully, they provide to-go bags—we left with enough leftovers to fill a cooler.

    You won’t go hungry at the Cowboy Dinner Tree! And yes, those are full-size dinner plates.

    Rugged Hospitality

    The Cowboy Dinner Tree embodies the spirit of the Oregon Outback: rugged, wild, and nostalgic. People don’t come to this part of Oregon for fine dining or Instagrammable waterfalls. They come to experience life as it once was—surrounded by the warmth of family and friends.

    They come for the taste of the Old West, to gather around a fire after a long day—not unlike the cowboys did generations ago. Only now, the fires are accompanied by s’mores and a couple of beers. The laughter around the flames? That part hasn’t changed.

    – T

  • My First Wild Steelhead: The Fish That Hooked Me

    The first time I brought a wild steelhead to hand on the swing changed my life.
    For the better? I’m not so sure.

    I was perfectly happy fishing for 14-inch redbands before that fish rattled me to my core. The bend in my 8wt, the line flying off my reel uncontrollably, the heft of a specimen that had overcome unthinkable adversity—only to be fooled by some purple feathers. This fish changed something in me, and now I’m going to tell you about it.

    Muddlers are typically swung in the surface film or on the surface as a waking fly.

    A Synopsis on Steelhead in the Deschutes

    Steelhead and Columbia redband trout are genetically the same fish. The difference? Steelhead are anadromous—they migrate to the ocean where they gorge themselves before swimming upriver to their natal streams to spawn.

    It’s unclear why some redbands stay in freshwater their whole lives while others head to sea. Some trout born to steelhead parents never migrate, and some redbands end up making the journey to the ocean. What is clear: the tremendous size and power of a steelhead is directly tied to its time spent in saltwater.

    All Deschutes steelhead are considered “summer run”, meaning they begin migrating upstream in summer, while river levels are dropping. They stage at the mouths of their home streams until fall and winter rains raise water levels—then make their final push upstream. Unlike salmon, steelhead can survive spawning and return to the ocean to repeat the process.

    Young steelhead in the Deschutes typically spend 1–2 years in freshwater, feeding in the nutrient-rich river before heading to the Pacific. In the ocean, they bulk up for 1–2 years, preparing for the long journey back. Once they re-enter freshwater, they stop eating—laser-focused on one goal: spawn.

    The Challenge of Fly Fishing for Steelhead

    Because steelhead don’t feed during their migration, we rely on other instincts to provoke a take. Swinging a fly in front of a resting steelhead evokes a territorial or predatory response—we’re not exactly sure which. Either way, the fish lashes out. No hands? No problem. They use their mouths.

    It’s well-known that swinging a fly is the most challenging way to catch a steelhead. Gear anglers use plugs and spinners that cause serious disturbance. Some fly anglers turn to dead-drifting egg patterns and nymphs—even though steelhead aren’t feeding. Still, the easy snack of a nuke egg or stonefly often gets more grabs than a traditional swing.

    My buddy Lucas prefers Euro nymphing with his 6wt Diamondback Ideal Nymph. Using a heavy egg-sucking leech, he keeps the fly in the zone, dancing in the soft current near the boulders in the heads of runs. It’s technical, effective, and satisfying for him.

    The Streetwalker should be a staple for any Deschutes steelhead box. I like to tie mine sparsely.

    My First Steelhead on the Swing

    Being a fishing masochist, I prefer a swung fly on a dry line. I love casting a two-handed rod, feeling the tension as the fly sweeps slowly across the current. While I appreciate a visible V-wake on a skater, I’ve had more success on traditional wet flies swung a foot or two below the surface.

    One morning, I launched my raft downstream of Buckhollow. I was solo and late to launch, rigging up while the rest of the crowd hit the water. It was going to be hot—I knew I had just a few hours before the bite turned off.

    At the time, I didn’t own a two-hander. I was still learning how to swing flies on a floating line with my single-hand rod: an Echo Ion XL 9’ 8wt, usually reserved for chucking heavy nymphs or bull trout streamers. That morning, I tied on a size 5 Streetwalker with a 12-foot tapered leader.

    I pulled into my first run of the day. The current was even, with a couple of boulders and depressions in a 100-yard stretch I knew held fish. The tall grass behind me made casting tricky, but the weight-forward line handled roll casts well. My double-haul overheads rocketed the line out.

    Just 10 yards down the run, the line went tight. I dropped the rod to the side and set the hook. The reel screamed.

    Steelhead on!

    The first run peeled off 100 feet of line and another 50 feet of backing. For such soft current, I knew this was a big fish. After a few minutes of back-and-forth, I saw her jump—maybe 8 to 10 pounds, large for a Deschutes summer-run fish.

    She ran again, almost into the backing. Eventually, she rolled over, exhausted, and I slid her into the net. A bright, wild hen, about 30 inches long and close to 10 pounds. I took a video instead of photos to keep her wet. Supporting her in cooler water just off the bank, I let her recover.

    Then, with a strong kick of the tail—
    She was gone.

    What a way to land my first steelhead on the swing.

    My first Deschutes fish on a swung fly. A beautiful wild hen.

    A Special Fish

    Steelhead numbers are in rapid decline due to river mismanagement and broken promises. Dam operators continue to violate water quality standards, and conditions grow less hospitable for these incredible fish. Though large, steelhead are fragile—and we’re pushing them to the brink.

    But these fish are too special to give up on.

    If we want future generations to experience the joy of releasing a steelhead, we must speak up now. Not later. Not next season.
    Now.

    —T