The Redband Revival

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  • The Rivers We Fish in Central Oregon

    No, I’m not going to tell you exactly where to fish. That’s part of the journey, and you’ll need to learn that for yourself. This is a high-level overview of the rivers I love to fish and have the privilege of living near. Sometimes I take it for granted that I live just a cast away from world-class water full of native redband trout.

    It’s hard to capture the vastness of the Deschutes canyon on camera.

    The Deschutes River

    This is the holy grail of fly water in Central Oregon—and easily the most well-known stream in the region. The Deschutes originates from Little Lava Lake in the Cascades and travels 252 miles north before emptying into the mighty Columbia River. The last 100 miles, below Lake Billy Chinook, are considered world-class fly water, home to vast numbers of wild trout and sensitive runs of steelhead and salmon.

    The upper reaches of the Deschutes hold aggressive brown trout and brook trout—wild, but not native species. The Middle Deschutes through Bend transitions into a redband trout and mountain whitefish fishery before emptying into Lake Billy Chinook, held back by the Pelton and Round Butte Dam complexes. Below the dams, the Lower Deschutes widens, gains power, and cuts through an untamed landscape. It’s the quintessential Western river.

    The biggest draw on the Deschutes is the legendary salmonfly hatch in May. Between early May and Memorial Day, giant salmonflies and golden stones emerge en masse, covering the banks in the hundreds of thousands. While some consider this the main event, savvy anglers know that the fishing only improves from June through fall.

    The Crooked River

    The Crooked originates high in the Ochoco Mountains before emptying into Prineville Reservoir—a solid bass fishery. Below Bowman Dam, the river winds through a canyon with exceptional roadside access and well-maintained day-use areas. It has an unrivaled fish-per-mile count compared to other Central Oregon streams. Just don’t expect to land any trophies.

    Unfortunately, the Crooked is poorly managed and suffers wild swings in discharge and persistent algae blooms. Agricultural runoff promotes a slick layer of algae that becomes a brown slime under the summer sun. Winter and spring bring erratic dam releases that flood the river and nearby farms. The only upside? A short window of clean rock and clear water after the last major release. Thankfully, the trout seem to bounce back quickly and take full advantage of these brief clean spells.

    The Metolius stays frosty as it rapidly descends into Lake Billy Chinook.

    The Metolius River

    The Met is my favorite stream for winter fishing. As a spring creek, it flows steadily at 40–45°F year-round. Its pristine waters create a stunning landscape of crystal-clear currents and healthy aquatic life. Resident bull trout migrate up from Lake Billy Chinook to ambush spawning fish.

    There’s something here for every style of fly fishing: chuck streamers for big bulls, euro nymph fast seams and deep buckets, or present delicate dries in back eddies and soft pools. Dry fly fishing here is a game of finesse. The hatches are diverse and fleeting, and the fish are educated and cautious. The common wisdom is that if you wait to see rising fish, you’ll be waiting a long time. But if you can read the water and match the hatch—like a sulfur emerging—you just might fool one with a transitional dry. Just don’t forget your 15-foot tapered leader.

    The Fall River

    I’ll admit this river isn’t my favorite, even though it’s undeniably beautiful. The Fall is a cold, clear spring creek flowing through the Sunriver–La Pine area, winding through a picturesque forest just 20 minutes from Bend. The issue? Almost all the fish here are hatchery stockers. And I prefer wild redbands.

    Because of its beauty and easy access, the Fall gets crowded year-round. Most anglers congregate near the hatchery or campground to sight-fish to a seemingly endless supply of stocker rainbows. That said, the Fall is a bipolar river—some days the fish are dialed in and eat everything, while other days they’re tight-lipped and uninterested. Dry fly fishing can be fun here if you downsize your fly and show them something different. Just be ready to run a 15-foot tapered leader and approach with stealth.

    The McKenzie River

    Drive west along Hwy 126 toward Eugene and you’ll find yourself winding alongside the McKenzie—a river rich in history and deeply embedded in the lore of fly fishing. The McKenzie River drift boat originated here, likely because wading is downright treacherous. Slippery rocks, dense forested banks, and a pushy current demand respect. If you value your safety, do yourself a favor and float it. Cleats and a wading staff won’t cut it.

    The Mac is cold. Very cold. Snowmelt from the Cascades feeds this river and helps sustain rich habitat for native redbands, bull trout, cutthroat trout, and anadromous fish. The upper river, above Leaburg Dam, offers a wild and scenic experience, while the “town section” near Eugene slows down and gives you the chance to swing a fly close to a lively college town.

    I’ll be honest—my experience on the McKenzie is limited, but that’s changing. I fished the town section a bit during my time at the University of Oregon, and now I’m working my way upriver by raft, exploring its more remote reaches. Expect to hear more about the McKenzie as I get to know it better.

    Bonus River: The North Umpqua (2.5 Hours from Bend)

    No other river has captured my imagination quite like the North Umpqua. Its breathtaking beauty is matched only by its storied legacy. The river’s modern reputation was shaped in part by Zane Grey, the famed steelheader and novelist, who began exploring the river in the early 1930s after Major Mott’s passing—another name etched into North Umpqua lore.

    Most fly anglers view the North Umpqua as the capstone of their fishing journey—and with good reason. The regulations in the famed Fly Water section are strict: single barbless, unweighted flies only, with no strike indicators or split shot. While aggressive cutthroat will smash your fly, that’s not why most are here. The real draw is the legendary summer-run steelhead.

    These fish are, sadly, on the decline. Landing one is rare, and closures are becoming more frequent. But I don’t mind the restrictions. Conservation comes first—and the difficulty of the river only enhances its mystique. A steelhead on the North Umpqua isn’t just a fish. It’s the culmination of a lifetime of dedication, ten-thousand unanswered swings, and the humbling reminder that the fish don’t owe you a thing. I’ve never met a desperate steelhead. When a summer-run fish explodes on a waking fly, it evokes something primal—an emotional high that no other river can replicate.

    Final Thoughts

    Living in Central Oregon is a privilege. I’m surrounded by rivers that demand time, skill, and respect—each one offering a unique window into what makes this region so special. Whether you’re just starting out or have fished these waters for decades, there’s always more to learn. That’s part of the draw.

    -T

  • Sunday-Funday on the Mac

    The drive to the McKenzie river was windy and brief—only about 90 minutes outside of Bend. It’s always a drastic shift crossing over the Cascades. The arid, sunny climate in Central Oregon feels like the antithesis of the wet, mossy green of McKenzie Bridge. But today we lucked out with a light breeze and clear skies, a pleasant surprise in late May.

    Nobody at the boat ramp when we put in. Water temps were in the low 50s. Not a bad start to the morning, especially with a Red Bull in hand. My younger brother, Todd, and my good friend Mike helped load the raft with all the essentials—Rainier, High Altitude Lager, more Red Bull, and a can of V8 bloody beer mix. There might have been some sunscreen thrown in the boat at some point, but I never found it.

    The McKenzie was scorched by wildife several years ago. The river endures and plants make their comeback in the charred landscape.

    The day started slow since my oar skills were a little rusty after a winter of mostly wet-wading. The first few turns downriver were clumsy, but I quickly found my rhythm. The McKenzie is a new river to me, and I had some fresh Cataract oars I was breaking in. They’re about a foot longer than my old, sun-bleached wooden ones. Turns out that longer oars don’t just give you more reach—they push a lot more water, thanks to the wider and longer blades. More surface area = more power.

    I bought the new set not just because the old ones were beat up, but because they were way too short for my setup. I row a 30-year-old Riken Pioneer commercial raft, patched and re-patched, measuring 12’6” long with a 66-inch-wide unbranded frame. And yes—it floats. The old 7’6” oars barely gave me any leverage. The new 9’6” oars are sized closer to proper specs (roughly 3x half the frame width) and have swappable blades. Since I plan on upgrading to a bigger boat with a 72” frame down the line, I sized up about a foot. Plus, my tall captain’s seat and habit of standing while scoping upcoming rapids call for longer oars than conventional setups.

    The McKenzie is no joke. It’s pushy, and keeping anglers in position is a real challenge. Wind, microcurrents, and a minefield of rocks make things interesting. While it’s not an advanced whitewater river (at least the section we rowed), it does demand your full attention. There are plenty of sweepers, exposed rocks, and hydraulics that can punish a lazy stroke. Some rapids have flipped boats and taken lives. Respect the McKenzie.

    It was about an hour in before we finally got into fish. At the second decent-looking run, we pulled off and found some eager trout holding about two feet under a turbulent seam, just a few feet to the right of a rock that would make any approaching drift boater sweat. Euro nymphing with heavy jig streamers turned out to be the ticket for this slot. About 40 feet downstream, the water slowed and the turbulent seam mellowed into a well-defined foam line about 18 inches wide. Even flows, cobbled bottom, scattered boulders a few rod lengths off the bank. It was beautiful dry-dropper water—3 to 4 feet deep—and the fish thought so too. While nothing took the dry, a size 18 olive baetis nymph picked off a few willing trout.

    Further downriver, we came upon the head of a riffle flanked by a monolithic rock face—easily a couple hundred feet tall. We stopped here mostly because the tailout above the riffle shallowed up fast and grounded our raft mid-river. We hadn’t consumed enough beers to lighten our ballast. It looked too fishy to pass up, so we dropped the anchor and waded out.

    This might be a good time to mention that it was Todd’s first time fly fishing moving water outside of practice casting. I had gifted him a 9’ 5wt Echo Carbon XL and an old reel in exchange for his 2004 Corolla with over 250K on the odometer—a fair trade. To be honest, the dulled finish on the Echo looked freshly buffed next to the Corolla’s peeling red topcoat. Todd had been working on his cast all day with minimal success—until now. A Sexy Walt’s Worm, suspended four feet under a Chubby Chernobyl, tempted three trout in just a few minutes. Triumph at last. Mike and I each cleaned up in our own corners of the riffle, while Todd’s confidence grew with every cast.

    It was as if the fishing gods had finally cut us a break. The rest of the day turned into a blur of action—trout no more than 10 inches long leaping out of the water to hit Chubbies, Hoppers, Green Drakes, X-Caddis—you name it. It was a perfect day to initiate my little brother to life on the river. This time of year, the fish like to hang tight to the banks under the alders, especially as the sun climbs. Overhanging branches drop a buffet of big bugs into the foam lines, and trout wait below in the shade to ambush them. The long boulder-strewn runs of the McKenzie offer prime habitat for a thriving trout fishery.

    Mike re-rigs some dry flies between rapid stretches. Moments of reprieve like this are perfect for stretching your legs or sipping your beer, which is probably warm by now…

    It’s worth noting that several miles of the McKenzie River corridor burned in the wildfires a few years ago. The first part of our float was ghostly—dead trees, log jams, no shade, and not much bug life. But further downriver, where the canopy still lives, the fish are still there, and the river still sings. While the river is making it’s recovery, it still has a long way to go.

    Final count: 12 cans of beer, sunburned flesh, a few busted knuckles, minimal flies lost, three big smiles. No idea how many fish we caught since I never keep count (that philosophy deserves its own article). I can’t wait to float this river again and make the McKenzie my second home. And if you’re headed to the McKenzie – bring some dries and mind the rocks.

    -T

  • Rant: You Don’t Need an Expensive Reel to Catch Fish

    There’s something to be said about a shiny new reel—the low startup inertia, the smooth drag system, the purple anodized aluminum. I’m guilty of buying nice reels, but I wouldn’t say I’ve ever purchased a fancy one—nor do I plan to.

    Let me be clear: you don’t need to spend your life savings on a Nautilus reel to go fishing (most of the time).

    The Lamson Liquid is a great example of a reliable modern reel that doesn’t break the bank. This one has seen its fair share of river miles.

    The Modern Reel Is Already Amazing

    Most modern reels are made from machined aluminum, with tolerances much tighter than even the priciest vintage reels. It’s a great time to be a trout bum—thanks to the marvels of modern manufacturing, you can score a decent fly reel for $40.

    With a few exceptions, the vast majority of reels you’ll find in your local fly shop will catch fish for many years to come—as long as you take care of them.

    Remember: the reel is mostly there to store your fly line. Don’t overcomplicate it.

    Most of the Price You Pay Is for the Color and Weight

    I’ve seen reels hit the market at $800+ just because they’re limited-edition lime green or feature laser-etched brook trout spots. Unless you’re an avid collector—or show up to the river in Balenciaga waders—I’d steer clear of the shiny objects.

    Now, weight does matter when choosing a reel. The expensive ones are absurdly light—some feel like they barely register on a scale. But don’t get too hung up on it.

    The best reel for your fly rod isn’t necessarily the lightest one.

    Let me explain: the reel plus the weight of your fly line and backing should balance your rod. Even that isn’t the full picture.

    Match Your Reel to Your Rod and Style

    If you’re fishing dries, streamers, or indicators:

    Your reel should either perfectly balance the rod or make it a little tip-heavy. That makes for a more responsive cast.

    If you’re euro nymphing:

    You want the rod to balance slightly toward your hand to reduce fatigue. You’ll probably also want a full cage reel.

    If you’re casting a spey rod:

    The reel should be on the heavy side to anchor your cast. A full cage is also ideal to prevent thin running lines from slipping between the frame and spool.

    But Trev, the Expensive Reels Have the Best Drag!

    Yeah, I’ve heard it before. But you don’t need a $600 drag system to stop the 0.2378-pound cutthroat that’s peeling backing.

    You don’t even need it for a 12-pound steelhead or a 30-pound chinook—though it might help.

    Don’t believe me? There’s an entire class of anglers chasing salmon and steelhead with 100-year-old Hardy click-and-pawl reels—which have no drag system at all.

    There’s even a newer company, Cubalaya Outfitters, that makes click-and-pawl reels designed for saltwater use. Hitting the flats without any drag? Count me in!

    It’s the Angler, Not the Drag

    Here’s the truth: a talented angler who fights fish efficiently—using their fly rod as the shock absorber—doesn’t need an expensive drag system. In most trout scenarios, the drag on a $35 Echo Base will do just fine. Most of the time the fish is in my net before I let it get on the reel. Most of your control fighting fish comes from stripping line, being tactical, and fighting using the butt of your rod.

    The Danielsson F3W series is a phenomenal large-arbor reel that is a pleasure to fish. What it lacks in flash it makes up for in elegance and finesse. This 4seven model is mated to my euro rod.

    Shoutout to My Favorite Reelmaker

    One night, while navigating a spey forum rabbit hole, I stumbled across a reel brand I’d never heard of: Danielsson.

    Turns out, this mystery Swedish brand is closely tied to Loop (a European name you may recognize), but they only sell direct-to-consumer from Sweden—so you won’t find them in your local fly shop.

    Two weeks later, I came home to a package from Sweden containing a Danielsson F3W that I snagged for $212.56 (shipping included). I instantly fell in love with:

    • The minimalist, full-cage design
    • The light weight
    • The satisfying click of the drag
    • The elegant machining

    If you’re ready to upgrade from your first reel, give Danielsson a shot. Not into waiting for international shipping? Swing by your local fly shop and pick up a Lamson Liquid—another great value.

    What’s Worth Paying For?

    Pay for nostalgia, the story, and the fitment.

    I know I’ll eventually spend a stupid amount of money on a click-and-pawl reel—just because I love how it sounds. I also know I’ll waste months and hundreds of dollars tracking down a vintage Hardy so I can imagine what it was like to fish the North Umpqua before the steelhead runs collapsed.

    Some people are just that into brown trout, and they want their reel skin to show it. I get it.

    A reel is an expression of your appreciation for the sport. And in that sense, spending a mortgage payment on one can make emotional sense.

    Just don’t let a bargain-bin reel stop you from being the fishiest person on the river.

    – T

  • The Rod Transport System I’m Constantly Asked About: Why I Swear by the Sumo Suction from Rodmounts

    Disclaimer: I’ve never owned or used an enclosed rod vault. I’ve never been able to justify the price tag—and let’s be honest, most of the river rats I run with can’t either.

    My favorite fly fishing accessory didn’t come from a high-end gear catalog—it came from my fiancée. I’d been on the hunt for a way to transport my rods without constantly breaking them down between spots. I wanted to hop from hole to hole along the Deschutes without rerigging or jamming gear into weird and unsafe positions inside my vehicle. Piles of broken-down rods suck. After seeing plenty of rod transport solutions, the Sumo Suction by Rodmounts has easily become my favorite.

    The Sum Suction by Rodmounts in action on my pickup.

    How It Works

    The Sumo Suction is a two-piece rod carrier that uses powerful suction cups to mount securely to your vehicle’s hood and windshield. It holds remarkably well—but here’s the key: clean the mounting surface with Windex and make sure it’s completely dry before you attach it. A clean, dry surface helps the suction cups form a tight, reliable seal.

    The bungee system stretches securely over your rod handles and has enough give to fit 3 rods per side. Not a suction cup believer? Rodmounts also offers a magnetic version for added peace of mind.

    Why I Love the Sumo

    1. It shows off my gear.
    There’s nothing quite like pulling into a riverside pullout and watching someone double-take at my Meiser spey rod strapped across the hood. Let’s be real—flaunting your gear is half the fun and it’s okay to let everyone else know how much fishier you are than them. And as everyone knows, if you see a 20-year-old Subaru parked at your favorite run with a Sumo on the hood, just turn around. That guy already caught all the fish.

    2. It’s damn reliable.
    I took the Sumo on a multi-state road trip across the western U.S. and never once took it off. I mounted my rods in Central Oregon, fished Silver Creek in Idaho, survived a rainstorm, passed through Park City, and drove 750 miles home—rods mounted the entire time. The top question I get is: Do you really trust suction cups with thousands of dollars of gear? After a 2,000 mile trip at highway speeds, my answer is a confident “yes.”

    3. It’s more affordable than a RodVault or RiverQuiver.
    Sure, enclosed systems have their place—especially in urban environments where theft is a concern. But at $170, the Sumo is a better value for most anglers than the $500+ enclosed racks. If you fish rural waters and trust your surroundings, you’ll appreciate the savings.

    4. It’s more adaptable.
    The Sumo holds up to six fly rods, while most enclosed systems max out at 2-4 rods. It mounts on nearly any vehicle—no roof rack required. Need to move it between cars? No problem. I can mount or remove my Sumo in under 90 seconds.

    5. It’s made by a local.
    Rodmounts isn’t owned by some faceless conglomerate. It’s a small, Central Oregon company run by someone who loves fishing as much as we do. No venture capital, no fancy headquarters—just a great product from someone who gets it. #supportlocal

    No more snapped rod tips. No more tangled backseat disasters. No more breaking down rods between every hole. The Sumo is sleek, efficient, and hands-down the best value rod rack on the market.

    Just remember: clean that surface well before mounting and you’ll get maximum performance. I can’t recommend this system—or supporting this local business—enough.

    -T

  • Build Your First Euro Nymphing Leader (Without the Confusion)

    I was first introduced to euro nymphing when my buddy Lucas showed up to the river one day with a Moonshine Vesper he’d picked up for a few hundred bucks. It didn’t take long for me to notice him vacuuming up fish, and I knew I needed to try the technique out.

    Problem was, I didn’t have a euro rod.

    Turns out, you don’t need a euro rod to tight line nymph.

    I grabbed my Echo Carbon XL—a no-fuss 9’ 5wt with a soft-ish tip—and threw a mono rig on it. A mono rig is basically a 40-foot leader made of straight monofilament. It’s a simple way to turn your standard setup into a euro rig without swapping out your fly line. As I quickly found out, you can definitely euro nymph on a regular 5wt using a mono rig—it just isn’t as graceful.

    But it works.

    Euro Nymphing Is Fun—And Damn Effective

    Personally, I prefer euro nymphing to fishing with an indicator. It’s more active, more effective, and it teaches you to be a more skillful angler. Nymphing on a tight line gives you ultimate control over keeping your fly in the strike zone.

    With an indicator, your leader length is fixed while you’re fishing a run that might vary drastically in depth and current. A tight line setup gives you more sensitivity and control, and makes it easier to detect subtle strikes.

    It also teaches you to approach the water more thoughtfully and stealthily—instead of splashing into the run and blowing it up before you even make a cast.

    I set up this Danielsson full-cage reel with a mono rig and a handling section of spey running line, just because I like the way it feels. No fly line in sight.

    Let Me Save You the Research, Time, and Confusion

    Euro fly lines are a waste of money. The mono rig is the simplest (and best) way to tight line nymph on almost any rod.

    If you want a multi-purpose system, just keep a mono rig on a spare tippet spool and attach it to your regular fly line using a loop-to-loop connection. This avoids sag in your guides, cuts through the water more efficiently, and increases strike sensitivity.

    Here’s a basic formula that you can adapt to suit a variety of fishing situations:

    • 30+ feet of Maxima Chameleon
    • A couple feet of sighter material
    • A tippet ring
    • Fluorocarbon tippet

    Fishing lighter beadhead nymphs? Use thinner diameter material.

    Casting big, heavy jig streamers? Use thicker stuff.

    Need to fish farther away, or your fly line is creeping up your guides? Just lengthen the Maxima section.

    The Leader I Use (and Why It Works)

    That long Maxima section prevents your fly line from entering the guides, which introduces slack—and slack is the enemy when you’re trying to detect subtle takes.

    I personally use Maxima Chameleon because its stiffness helps cast the heavy jig streamers I like to fish on large Western rivers. I use a blood knot to connect to Cortland Tri-Color Indicator Mono, then attach a tippet ring with a clinch knot. Check out my post on fishing knots if you want the extra details.

    I leave the tag ends about an inch long to make the sighter easier to see.

    From there, I attach fluorocarbon down to my flies. Pro tip: buy Seaguar or P-Line fluorocarbon—because, let’s be real, fly shop tippet is kind of a scam.

    Don’t believe me? I once witnessed the tip of a $1000 Sage break before the 4lb P-Line leader did.

    Sighter Material: Use What You Can See

    There’s a lot of debate about which sighter material is best. Honestly, I don’t think it matters as much as people say.

    The best sighter is the one you can see in a variety of light conditions.

    Some folks use blood knots to connect different colors of Sunset Amnesia and leave the tag ends. Some prefer bi-color, and others go with plain white sighters they customize with paint pens from the craft store.

    Bottom line? There’s no wrong answer—just use what works for your eyes.

    This Diamondback Ideal Nymph 10’10” 4wt is a purpose-built euro nymphing rod. The heavier rod weight is useful for throwing jig streamers and heavy beads on a mono rig.

    Build a Simpler System (That Actually Works)

    However you build your system, I have two rules:

    1. Use blood knots to connect pieces of leader material.
    2. Don’t taper down too fast—or too much.

    Blood knots slide through the guides better and leave visible tag ends. But they aren’t great for drastically different diameters—which is actually a feature, not a limitation. It forces you to build a more level leader, which sinks faster and drifts more predictably than a heavily tapered one.

    Simple Mono Rig Formulas

    For casting large jig streamers and heavy beadheads:

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

    For smaller flies and most other applications:

    • 30+ feet of 8lb Maxima Chameleon
    • 3–4 feet of 4X sighter material
    • Tippet ring
    • Fluorocarbon to match the depth you’re fishing

    Start with one of these simple setups, and adjust from there. Add complexity if you want—but don’t let a lack of a euro rod keep you from trying out this crazy effective technique.

    This streamlined approach cuts through the noise and gives you a strong foundation for euro nymphing success—without emptying your wallet or overwhelming your brain.

    -T

  • Do You Really Need a $1,000 Fly Rod?

    (Spoiler: It Won’t Catch You More Fish—But It Might Feel Nicer Doing It)

    I’m the proud owner of a $1,200 custom fly rod, and I love every second I spend fishing it. But do most anglers need a high-end fly rod to catch more fish? Probably not.

    Here are my thoughts—based on actual time on the water—so you can decide whether it’s time to splurge or time to stick with something more affordable.

    1. Expensive Fly Rods Don’t Always Perform Better

    I’ve been lucky enough to fish some premium fly rods—Winstons, Sages, and a few other rods that feel buttery smooth. They’re amazing tools, no doubt. But after a certain point, the performance gains start to taper off.

    What you’re mostly paying for past that $600 mark is build quality, finish, ergonomics—and let’s be honest—a bit of flex for your ego.

    Think of it like this: Toyota and Lexus both get you where you need to go. One just does it with leather seats and walnut trim. The Kia Soul also gets you where you need to go, but not for long. Same goes for rods.

    I picked up this St. Croix Imperial 9′ 5wt for $60 on Marketplace, and it’s seen more miles than any other rod I own.

    2. Mid-Tier Fly Rods Are the Best Value

    When you’re starting out, even the cheapest fly rod feels like magic. It gets you casting, learning, and (hopefully) landing fish. My very first rod was unbranded and found in the corner of a thrift store, of all places. But as your technique sharpens, your expectations change—and you start to feel where your gear falls short.

    That’s when we start upgrading.

    My first “real” fly rod was an Echo Carbon XL. Solid rod, great action, and only $200 brand new. But the cork on the handle? Trash. It broke down fast and showed its age in a single season.

    Approaching the $400–$600 range, you’ll start to see a real jump in materials and performance. Beyond that, you’re mostly paying for things like better cork, upgraded guides, or niche features like saltwater compatibility or Euro nymphing designs.

    If you’re looking for the best fly rod for the money, this is your zone.

    Let’s take a real-world example. I fish a Diamondback Ideal Nymph that set me back about $550. My buddy runs a Sage ESN, which retails for almost $1,000. Both rods are phenomenal performers with excellent ergonomics, great balance, and thoughtful features for tight-line nymphing. The Sage might edge out the Diamondback ever so slightly in feel and responsiveness—but only to a trained hand. What really sets it apart is the finish; it just looks like a high-end rod. That said, for the price, I’d still rather buy two Diamondbacks in different weights than a single Sage. That’s how much value you’re getting. And here’s the kicker: my buddy who owns the Sage? He also fishes an Ideal Nymph—and loves it. That says a lot.

    My Diamondback Ideal Nymph 10’10” 4wt has become a staple in my quiver.

    3. High-End Fly Rods Are a Luxury, Not a Necessity

    At the $1,000 mark and up, you’re buying premium craftsmanship, top-tier materials, and features tailored for specific fishing styles. And if you’re someone who truly appreciates those details, it can absolutely be worth it.

    My $1,200 rod is an RB Meiser Highlander. It wasn’t just a purchase—it was an experience. I got to tour the shop, talk with the builder, choose the blank and components, and even work with Steve Godshall to dial in a custom line that matched my casting stroke and the rivers I fish. Nick Moses outdid himself crafting my favorite fly rod.

    That kind of connection to your gear? It’s hard to beat.

    4. When Does It Make Sense to Drop Big Money on a Fly Rod?

    Here’s the thing—spending a grand on a rod doesn’t make you a better angler. But it can enhance your experience if you’re fishing hard and often.

    • If you’re constantly on the water, it pays to invest in something that feels good in the hand and holds up over time.
    • If you’re dialed in on a technique like spey casting or Euro nymphing, a purpose-built rod can help maximize performance.
    • If you value artistry and craftsmanship, a hand-built rod is something special. It’s not just gear—it’s part of your story.

    Final Take

    You don’t need a $1,000 fly rod. But if you’ve got the experience to appreciate it, the budget to afford it, and the obsession to justify it… why T.F. not?

    Just don’t expect it to magically catch you more fish. That’s still on you.

    -T

  • How I Rig My Spey Setup for Summer Steelhead

    I want to get something out of the way before diving in: you can spend as much—or as little—as you want on a spey setup for any time of year. I’ll explain my two core summer rigs and when I choose to use each of them. You can absolutely fish for summer steelhead on a single-hand rod very effectively—though I’m partial to the two-handed approach.

    Method 1: The Cheap Switch Rod

    • Rod: 11’1” Fenwick Aetos 6/7 weight switch rod
    • Reel: 7/8 weight Redington Behemoth
    • Line: 400gr Rio Scandi Body

    One of my favorite rods in my quiver is also one of the cheapest. I love the rod and hate the reel—even though the reel feels right at home in this configuration. I was looking for a compact two-hander that wasn’t too heavy and would balance with a Redington Behemoth that was gathering dust in my garage. The Fenwick Aetos switch rods aren’t made anymore, and you can only find them secondhand. I picked mine up for $135 on Facebook Marketplace, still wrapped in plastic.

    The rod is light, has decent action, casts well, and performs well above its price point.

    The Redington Behemoth? Ugly, graceless, heavy. But it takes a beating and delivers enough drag to stop a hot summer fish. I line it with a 400gr Rio Scandi Body, which has a 23 ft head. It throws light sink tips up to T-8, but really shines with intermediate VersiLeaders. It’s a blast to tie on a size 5 hairwing and let ’er fly.

    Method 2: My Dream Summer Run Setup

    This setup is my pride and joy. Nick Moses outdid himself building the rod.
    • Rod: 13’ RB Meiser Highlander 6/7/8 weight spey rod
    • Reel: Danielsson H5D 9thirteen
    • Line: Steve Godshall Scandoid or Bridge Tributary, depending on wind

    My favorite rod is a gift I received from my fiancée: a custom Meiser Highlander spey rod. The stick is a work of art, and I had the privilege of being involved in the build process. If you can swing it, reach out to Nick Moses at RB Meiser Rods—he’ll treat you right. I use this rod as my “daily driver” spey rod year-round. I did a deep dive in another post about why I love this rod so much.

    To balance this cannon of a rod, I ordered my favorite reel brand: Danielsson. Their reels offer incredible value, and I’ll probably write a dedicated article on why I love them so much.

    Line choice is where things get interesting. When it’s windy, I load up a 524gr Steve Godshall Scandoid line with a 30 ft head. I usually run 12–15 ft of 10 lb Maxima to my fly. When the sun’s overhead, I’ll swap in a 10–14 ft polyleader and fish a few feet deeper in the column.

    On still mornings, I switch to my Bridge Tributary line, designed by champion caster and line maker Tim Arsenault. It weighs 525gr and has a 42 ft head—and holy shit, it’s a dream to cast. I taper a 15–20 ft mono leader down to 8 lb Maxima and let the rod do all the work.

    Why All the Different Setups?

    I use two different rods to fish three different lines because, ultimately, the line fishes the fly. The switch rod excels in tight quarters under aspen trees, while the full spey rod provides unmatched casting efficiency.

    The longer belly of a proper spey line is a pleasure to cast and delivers delicate presentations to wary fish. Lines like the Bridge Tributary allow me to cover a run quickly—I don’t have to strip in 30 feet of running line every time I recast. Cast, swing, step, repeat. The Tributary’s 42 ft head is long, but still manageable. Its only real weakness shows in the afternoon on the Deschutes, when 30 mph canyon gusts make it hard to hold a tight loop. By then, I’m switching to an intermediate tip on the Godshall line anyway—so it’s not a big deal.

    The Business End

    This is the easiest part of steelheading, but the one anglers tend to overthink. Just tie on a fly you have confidence in. If you don’t have confidence in anything, you can always trust a Green Butt Skunk.

    If you’re fishing a floating line with a long head, taper a 15–20 ft leader down to 8 lb Maxima and call it good. Tie on a hairwing with a Turle Knot and start fishing. I have a separate post that talks about the nuances of different fishing knots.

    If you’re using a floating Scandi line, do the same thing but add a VersiLeader or polyleader and tie on 5 ft of Maxima Ultragreen before your fly. Again, use a Turle Knot.

    Don’t fish Skagit lines in the summer. Skagit lines slap the water. Summer steelhead are more likely to take a fly on or near the surface, and they’ll chase a fly that’s presented well. Skagit setups are made to turn over heavy tips and big flies—not weightless classics and long mono leaders.

    None of this matters if your fly’s not in the water.

    -T

  • Gear Upgrades That Actually Matter: 5 Fly Fishing Upgrades That Are Worth Every Penny

    Gear Upgrades That Actually Matter: 5 Fly Fishing Upgrades That Are Worth Every Penny

    If you’re new to fly fishing or just working with a budget (aren’t we all?), you’ve probably been told your first upgrades should be a $1000 rod and a $600 reel. That bad advice usually comes from Jeff Bezos or someone who owns a fly shop. I’m here to tell you otherwise.

    As someone who spends a lot of time on the water here in Central Oregon, these are the five fly fishing gear upgrades that actually made a difference for me—things that helped me fish better, stay safer, and enjoy the day more. Whether you’re just getting started or looking to level up, these are the upgrades that matter.

    A cheap rod and reel in the hands of a fishy hombre is much more effective than a $1000 rod casting tailing loops. This cheap setup has been well-loved, and the line was more expensive than the rod!

    1. Casting Lessons

    This is easily the most overlooked upgrade in fly fishing and trust me when I say your rod isn’t the bad caster, you are. Spend $60–100 on a lesson instead of buying a fancier rod. You’ll walk away with cleaner loops, better line control, and more confidence. Bonus: you might actually start to like that entry-level rod you thought you’d outgrown. Hit up your local fly shop for lessons. Fin and Fire is a great choice if you are local to Central Oregon.

    The Korkers Darkhorse wading boots are comfortable, easy to put on and take off, and offer unmatched versatility.

    2. Quality Wading Boots

    The first time you hit wet rock in cheap boots, you’ll wish you’d spent the extra money. I’m a big fan of Korkers with interchangeable soles. Felt with studs in summer, Vibram with studs in winter. Having options makes a huge difference, especially on the slick rocks of the Deschutes. If you can only afford one pair, rubber with studs offers the most flexibility. And get the boots with the Boa instead of the laces.

    IThe Grundens Vector are the best waders I’ve ever owned. They also make a Gore-Tex model, but I don’t think it’s necessary.

    3. Decent Waders

    Waders are the last place to cheap out. A good pair means staying dry, warm, and fishing longer. My first pair of cheap waders served their purpose, but now I run Grundéns Vector waders and have zero complaints. They’re built tough, warm, and haven’t leaked after a season of abuse. Just wear your damn wading belt. I did a deep dive on why I love these waders so much.

    4. Better Fly Line

    This one gets ignored way too often. Upgrading from a cheap or cracked fly line is a huge performance boost. A $150 rod with the right line casts better than a $900 rod with the wrong one. My St Croix 5wt rod cost me $60 on Marketplace but I put a $120 line on it, and it fishes beautifully. I’m not saying throw your combo kit in the trash, but the line that came with it is probably trash.

    5. Streamlined Storage

    Your kit doesn’t need to look like you’re packing for a week in the woods, unless you’re spending a week in the woods. One fly box, nippers, hemostats, floatant, a couple tippet spools. I personally rock a small Fishpond chest pack for quick and easy access. Less gear = more time fishing, less time digging.

    Final Thought

    If you’re just getting started or looking to upgrade, don’t get sucked into gear lust. Most of the time, you’ll get more out of upgrading your skills and comfort than buying another rod or reel. Fish what you’ve got, make smart upgrades, and get out there.

    -T

  • 4 Reasons I Fish Barbless Hooks — and Why You Should Too

    Better for the fish, your fingers, and your skills on the water

    It started because I’m a lazy angler. Read on and you’ll see what I mean

    1. The Regs Say So

    More and more, fish and game departments are requiring the use of barbless hooks—Oregon included. Getting hassled by a game warden cuts into my precious fishing time. If all you’ve got are barbed hooks, no worries—just pinch the barb down with your forceps and move on. Problem solved.

    2. It’s Better for the Fish

    You don’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure out that ripping a hook out of a fish’s face—especially with a barb—isn’t doing it any favors. Still not convinced? Try hooking yourself with a barbed hook and yanking it out. Not fun.

    Barbless hooks reduce damage and make catch-and-release what it’s supposed to be: less harmful for the fish.

    I love fishing barbless. These wide-gap jig hooks from Saluda Beads are an amazing bang-for-your-buck and definitely worth a look.

    3. They’re Easier to Remove

    We’ve all stuck a hook in our thumb at some point. With a barbless hook, it’s no big deal—it slides right out. It’s faster, cleaner, and less traumatic for both you and the fish. No torn-up fingers. No torn-up mouths. No urgent care visits.

    One time, my buddy got a size 20 two-bit hooker nymph buried in his finger. It was so small we couldn’t even push it through to crimp the barb. He fished the rest of the day with it still stuck, then went to urgent care. When I saw him later, he was missing a chunk of his thumb. True story.

    4. They Make You a Better Angler

    Barbless hooks force you to be sharper with your hooksets and smoother in your fights. You learn to keep constant pressure, let the fish run when it wants to, and land it fast. Once you get over the learning curve, your landing ratio will actually go up. You’ll realize just how much you were relying on that little metal bump.

    Final Word

    Going barbless makes life easier for you and the fish. It’s better for conservation, better for technique, and—if we’re honest—better for your fingers. Whether you’re doing it to stay legal or just trying to be less of a menace to trout, switching to barbless is an easy win.

    -T

  • Losing Fish, and Why That’s Sometimes the Point

    Every angler knows the sting of a long-distance release. You hook into something solid, your heart skips a beat—and then just like that, it’s gone. Lost fish are part of the game, but they’re also part of what makes fly fishing so addictive. Whether you’re chasing wild trout on your local stream or swinging flies for steelhead, losing fish is frustrating—and strangely, sometimes the humbling reminder we need. Let’s talk about why we lose fish, and why that’s not always a bad thing.

    I feel better about losing fish on beautiful days.

    Why do we lose fish?
    From a practical perspective, it’s due to a number of factors: dull hooks, a bad hookset, too much slack in the line, or hooking the fish in a soft spot of the jaw. As anglers, we have a lot of control over our technique and can adjust to increase the odds of landing a fish. But sometimes—just sometimes—I don’t mind losing one.

    Time on the river is a zero-sum game. Sometimes we win, sometimes the river wins. If we’re on a catching streak, we make up for it in lost flies. If we haven’t landed a steelhead in two seasons, then we pay our dues until the river decides to give one up.

    I love catching fish, but I don’t mind losing them either. At the end of the day, I’m on the river to escape the grind of my 8–5 life, and landing a fish is just the cherry on top. If fishing were only about catching, our spey rods would gather dust and we’d be drifting nightcrawlers through buckets.

    Fishing is about much more than catching. It’s about learning the habits of our prey, understanding the dynamics of an ever-changing river system, and spending too much money on tackle. It’s about setting up a perfect drift, setting the hook on something that isn’t a rock, and waiting to see if we’re fighting a 5-pound redband—or a 5-foot-long branch.

    For some anglers, it’s the fight that keeps them fishing. For others, the tug is the drug. For me, it’s about doing everything I can to put the odds in my favor—and leaving the rest up to the fish.

    If you’re out there to fill a cooler, fly fishing probably isn’t your game. But if you’re like me—someone who values the pursuit, the process, and the peace that comes with time on their favorite piece of water—then you know: not every fish has to be landed to make the day a success. Sometimes, losing a fish is a sign you did everything right. And sometimes, it’s just the river keeping you humble. Keep your hooks sharp, your drifts clean, and your expectations in check. The next one might stick.

    -T