It doesn’t bother me that July and August make for some of the years best combat fishing, what bothers me is I know you and your ilk spent the winter hunkered in crisp flannels reading McGuane and Gierach––tying bushy cadis not miniscule midges––and that’s if you sun dogs tie at all. But I bet you gave that glossy Orvis catalogue a good fingering. Did you find some crap you think will make you look official?

I bet you picture yourself some sort of John Wayne getting out here an hour early just to bang that two-bit drift. Well…it do and it don’t––you’ve got more gusto then most who are seasoned, but gusto only goes so far, and when shoulder to shoulder with any of these local guides you’ll find out just how painful that can be.

Come out in January when your chestnuts become…well…chest-nuts. Use your jacket pocket as a ten-minute reel-coozy and then blow out your drag on the next fish that hits. Instead of photographing that eager brown you just yahoo’d, try taking home a snapshot of your car thermometer. “Yeah, can you believe it honey, zero degrees today.”

Winters aren’t for organizing your fly boxes and soaping your waders in the tub. And don’t tell me you can’t find the time just because you’re a “skier” too. I know you’re not a dry-fly purist, because purists can cast. And you’re not selling me on poor road conditions with that Range Rover parked twenty-yards back.

The water’s low, the fish are finicky. You’ll swear uncontrollably and rock back and forth in the front seat as you search for leftover digits. You’ll miss that 26-eye a dozen times before threading it. You’ll stomp your feet and go Jack Lalanne just to stay warm. Ahh…but you’ll love it, and for the same reason you’re loving this 70-degree weather today—you just don’t know it yet. Don’t take this trash talking too seriously––I mean, it’s not like I called you a pussy or anything.

- James Robles

Reviewing gear can be tricky because there are a million different angles of approach depending on the user’s expectations and point of view. Think Rashômon. Everyone has a different take on the same thing and they’re all accurate in their own way. We’re a fly fishing magazine, so it seems natural for us to approach each item from that perspective. Duh. We’re not going to delve into chromatic aberrations, sample rates, or coefficients of friction. That’s all interesting, and we’re scientifically and technologically savvy enough to go there, but we won’t. Our reviews give you practical information based on thorough testing; everything you need to inform and enlighten yourself on all things gear.

So much gear from so many phenomenal companies comes onto the scene every year that we could devote ourselves to nothing more than gear reviews and still just scratch the surface. Instead, we pick items that are worthwhile, innovative, or both. We put to the test the newest, most relevant gear (and some obscure toys as well), at a variety of price points.

As you read more reviews from us, you’ll notice an absence of write-ups for items we deem junk. We don’t intend to waste your time or ours by reviewing gear that we sense, Dionne Warwick style, will be duds. We know how important gear is to you because it’s just as important to us.



What we won’t do is pretend to be an inscrutable authority with the final word. Nor will we take lightly the responsibility of reviewing gear. What we will do is always be fair – to the product and to you, the reader. If there’s a drawback, we won’t hesitate to point it out, but it will often come with a caveat because one angler’s drawback can be another angler’s nirvana. If Kurosawa were alive today, I think he’d agree that reviewing gear is a subjective exercise with as many different points of view as there are people involved. For this reason, our aim isn’t to tell you what to buy. Our goal in matters of gear is to give you our informed impressions based on hands-on time with each product, then let you derive your final opinion for yourself.

We’d want to be treated that way, so we figured you would too. Welcome to Blood Knot.

Everyone’s doing it. Tom Rosenbauer, Oprah—whistleblowers. The LAPD blogs and an unrelated Police Brutality Blog-blogs about them. Travel blogs share stories about running with the bulls in Pamplona while PETA’s latest post, “Top Six Animal Payback Stories of 2010”, celebrates those animals that killed people and seriously injured others—it’s appalling.

But it’s the behind the scenes-blogosphere I’ve fallen for—the stories that revolve around the blogs themselves. It’s fascinating that, for example, in 1999 during the dot-com boom, three friends created Blogger.com on a whim and then sold it to Google just a few years later.

We take blogs for granted. Barbra Streisand’s made one of Forbes magazine’s famed lists, and The Huffington Post, the world’s most widely read blog, utilizes more than 3,000 bloggers. You can even go to blog school in India.

Like so many other freedoms we enjoy in the Western world though, blogging isn’t tolerated everywhere. Blog publishing services have been blocked for significant time periods in China, Cuba, Iran, and Turkey, just to name a few. In 2008, Saudi Arabia began arresting bloggers for critiquing its government, and at the time of those arrests Egypt had already locked up two of its own. Bloggers continue to be arrested in certain parts of the world, and ironically, many have to be blogged out of jail.

Most bloggers are men, and it isn’t surprising that, according to Technorati’s annual blogosphere report, 60% are between 18 and 44. It is surprising that just under half hold graduate degrees and about 70% have been blogging for at least two years. Another one in five hopes to go unnoticed by their employer and 6% have confessed their personal relationships suffer from blogging. That kills me—relationships “suffering” from blogging. But then again, I’ve been taking blogs for granted.

Some blogs have become too big to ignore. The phenomenon itself has become too big to ignore. After more than ten years of bloggers-gone-wild, in 2011 California will become the first US state with laws against using blogs and social networking sites for maliciously “e-personating” others.




Perhaps no other sport or activity matches the quality and intimacy of fly fishing’s realm in the blogosphere. Even the fly industry embraces our sport’s independent bloggers—Brodin Landing Nets promotes fly fishing’s history and the artistic elegance of their nets on one webpage and Moldy Chum’s often crass, but always entertaining humor on another.

Blood Knot’s first annual “Blogger Issue” is our own tribute to these creative voices. We’ve selected about 25 blogs that regularly post about fly fishing whose content shouldn’t be taken for granted, and we’re excited to promote another 25 next year. Discovering them and the nuances of the fly-blogosphere was just as rewarding as compiling an issue that celebrates them all.

So yes, Tom Chandler, we hope to see you and your fellow bloggers online next year, and for many more years after that. And we hope that each one of you enjoys this issue as much as we’ve enjoyed celebrating your hard work.

At Blood Knot Magazine, we’re excited about finding our own way and focusing on our own unique approach. We’re not interested in similarity, overlap, or following in someone else’s footsteps.
Tom, if you’re out there, our using “Emergers” was entirely coincidental and we apologize for the mix-up. I have the greatest respect for you and your publication, and it is our wish to preserve The Drake and its originality. 

We will correct for this mistake on our website immediately, and those changes will be further reflected in our next issue. 

Sincerely, 

Matt Coudayre

There’s nothing like waking up at 4:30am after a restless night’s sleep in anticipation of a day filled with heart throbbing saltwater fly fishing action.  Feverishly stumbling out of bed to grab a cup of coffee, you drive like Burt Reynolds to the boat ramp and load up your gear.  Then it’s a short run at a cool 45 mph, in only a couple feet of water, to search out tailing reds, pelagic torpedoes, finicky pompano, or perhaps even giant tarpon.  Oddly enough, the other boats all seem to be passing in the opposite direction, and most are offshore charter boats loaded to capacity with more beer and Dramamine than tackle. You put up your hand to salute as you cross in each other’s wake, chuckling to yourself a bit, but it’s all just part of the local flavor.  

Soon you reach the back country and begin scanning the horizon to locate a promising spot and formulate an approach. From a poling platform, you quietly slide the boat into position:  “Look, over there!” you say, pointing out a school of feeding reds to your buddy who’s standing off the bow.  “Drop it right out in front of ‘em.” Then it’s strip, strip, pause…strip, strip, pause…Fish on!  This is saltwater fly fishing—the basis for many an obsessed angler. 

I read somewhere that saltwater is the last frontier for fly fishermen.  While that sounds very poetic and everything, I think it’s safe to say that ship has sailed.  Lefty and his crew charted those waters long years ago.  A far more accurate statement would be to say, sadly, saltwater is the last frontier for some fly fishermen.   

I give full credit to all the dedicated anglers out there who passionately stalk wary trout season after season on heavily pressured streams—that said, I find that fly fishing enthusiasts often place needless limits on the application and query of this sport.  In my experience, fly fishing by nature begs to be multidimensional.  

If you ever hope to be a well rounded angler, you must be willing to break through the stigmatic routine.  Ever caught a 30lb carp on a fly rod?  How about an 8lb largemouth?  What about slab sized bream or even catfish?  With every new species and venue, you find a different and exciting challenge.  

One of the best examples for me is fly fishing in saltwater.  The gear and tactics always seem to break the rules of convention once the water turns hot and salty.  Trade out those prized bamboo rods and silk lines for a 10wt stick of rebar, forget the trout net, basket creel, cute pocket vest, neoprene waders, and boxes of size 14 – 20’s.  No dinky line hangers either—stout drag systems are mandatory to withstand the abuse of fish capable of getting into backing in a matter of seconds. 

Saltwater is a real break from the routine, not to mention a shot-in-the-arm adrenaline rush every bug slinging junky
should attempt at least once.  But just a word of warning: saltwater can be crazy addictive.  Once you get a taste of it, you might have better luck eating just one Lay’s Potato Chip.   

Just a few weekends back, I was down at Mobile Bay, AL for the annual Dauphin Island Race.  As usual, I was packing my 4pc inshore rod.  With high hopes of squeezing in a little fly fishing action, much to my dismay, a huge storm system moved in and the wind made it difficult to stand upright—

“Seek refuge in the unconventional.”

casting would be nearly impossible. In the middle of the night, once the storm passed, a buddy of mine walks out to the dock at about 2:00am and knocks on the forward cabin hatch of the boat to wake me—“Hey man, fish are out here smacking glass minnows under the lights around the dock.  Grab your rod!” And why the heck would he do this without fear of getting punched in the face for it?  Because he knew the depth of the obsession; he knew I’d rather be fly fishing than sleeping.

The point is, as much as I love fly fishing, it surprises me how with so many wonderful ways to pursue the sport, it remains stubbornly synonymous with mountain streams, trout, and dry flies.  The stigma is so deeply entrenched that most people outside of our sport don’t even realize fly fishing can be applicable in any other way.  It doesn’t help that ideologues tout their traditionalism in hopes of compelling newcomers to adopt their narrow minded view—namely snubbing certain styles, venues, gear, or species. “Real fly fishermen don’t use sinking lines, weighted flies, or graphite rods”—they might say.

While I can appreciate the lofty dogma, the truth of the matter is “all the romance of trout fishing exists in the mind of the angler and is in no way shared by the fish.”* Any limits on the application of fly fishing are your own unfortunate delusion.  Those who can successfully target fish of any species, in any condition, at any time of year are the real purists in my book.  Leave anything that detracts from this essence to the elitist yuppies.

Seek refuge in the unconventional. Saltwater isn’t the last frontier for fly fishing, but it might be for you.  When the water turns hot and salty, so does the action!  I have a bloodline running down my backbone and my beard has salt crystals forming in it. Some of the hooks in my box still have a barb and I’m not above chumming while casting flies to spanish and sharks.  I throw sinking lines and flies that might otherwise be used as an anchor for small craft.  I’ve probably broken all the rules and you know something?  I’m looking for new rules to break, because that’s what makes a hot and salty fly fisherman. 

* Quoted from Harold F. Blaisdell

I‘m increasingly perplexed by the lack of motivation of my fellow anglers to get out on the water when the weather isn’t all blue skies and sunshine, and gain the proper fishing education for the day. I’m at a point in my fishing career where I view all different weather patterns, tides, and conditions as angling opportunities rather than reasons to stay at home. As a backcountry fly fishing guide in Boca Grande, Florida from October through the end of July, and as an outfitter in southwest Montana during the late summer and early fall, I find myself faced with all sorts of challenging conditions.

In the July 2004 issue of Sports Illustrated, Tom McGuane wrote about his experiences fishing with me in Boca Grande and said, “I hoped this was merely the grim joke it appeared to be, but I was ambivalent about our prospects and my pessimism increased as Austin powered his Hells Bay skiff over an angry gray chop. Austin anchored the boat, and we got out… I lost count of all the snook we caught and released. It wasn’t really a story you could tell without ruining your credibility. Angling often requires eluding your fellow anglers and discovering opportunities others don’t want, and here was another lesson I’d learned from Austin: go fishing when only a fool leaves his house.”

Fishing success is measured in so many different ways: the number of fish you catch, how great your cast is, how beautiful the weather is for the day, etcetera, etcetera. As a career fisherman, I look at each day as if I know nothing and try at all costs not to make generalizations about things as complicated as fish. I’ve heard some great fisherman make statements about fish behavior as they relate to weather and tides, and I hear things like, it’s too windy for fly fishing—the tide is too high for fly fishing—you can’t see the fish on cloudy days—redfish don’t tail in the wind—tarpon won’t lay up when it’s rough—snook don’t bite when it’s cold—or fish don’t bite around the full moon.

In my early career, I was always skeptical about these assumptions, so I decided to learn what the fish will and won’t do by subjecting myself and my clients to fishing through most conditions and tides. In doing so, I have found there are always surprises, and just when you start to think the fish aren’t doing what you think they should be, you’re probably looking in the wrong places.

Optimism and humility are the best keys to success on the water, but it’s hard to convince people that fishing in inclement weather is often the most productive. Wind, rain and cold quickly change many discerning anglers’ attitudes about fishing for the day. This negativity inevitably turns anglers into couch potatoes, and all the experience and learning are lost. Pessimism and arrogance are the enemy in fly fishing. Believe in yourself, believe in your fly, believe in the fish, believe in your guide, and remember the old saying, “You don’t know unless you go.”

Humility and confidence in fishing may not seem like they can coexist, however, if you put your time in on the water, you’ll gain an insight that will bring the two together. With an optimistic approach, you’ll certainly catch more fish, have more fun, and stay in tune with Mother Nature’s control of fish movements and feeding behaviors. Otherwise, while you’re at home watching the Weather Channel, I’m out on the water hammering fish, and I’ve got the tales to prove it.

Nothing’s guaranteed on the water, but what happened yesterday probably won’t happen again today. But by being an eternal optimist, I definitely relish in the possibility that it could happen again today. And chances are the worse the weather, the better the fishing will be. Take it from me.

Lots of poetry comes our way,
Stories with verse to describe the day,
Sounds, sipping trout, peace each say,
“Standing knee deep” has become a cliché.
So much of it’s worn out, little is new, something akin to Pabst original brew.
Too many stories can’t escape it,
So many writers seem to embrace it!
We’ve read about bare roots, the glimmer of water, the feel of the rod—can’t we do better?
Why has poeticizing the sport fallen victim to rut?
So much of this shouldn’t be making the cut.
The best stories use literary element, beyond the same setting, words chosen carefully—fresh writing.
A great fly fishing story is entirely graceful,
The whole experience makes the sport beautiful.
What if we took out the mountains, lost the crisp air, stood beside buildings with mud in our hair?
Standing on old soda cans in front of a head gate,
Hooking large carp we’d celebrate.
It’s an experience eloquent writing should narrate!
The sport’s inherent joys aren’t dependent upon oft-used themes, or anything else found solely on streams.
So much happens off the water,
How was conversation on the drive over?
The anticipation of fly fishing can inspire,
The duration on the road can set us on fire!
I drop the windows, crank the Stones, Can’t You Hear Me Knockin’ settles my bones.
Our rituals have become poetic,
Habitually poetic.
We leave a resort, we gift some flies,
We had a great trip, these are for you guys.
The sentiment of fly fishing with a loved one rivals the awe of a sweet pool!
And upon its reflection others should drool!
Rather than glorify a unique experience,
Exhausted descriptions run interference.
We must also write of this other beauty.
Much of what’s beautiful is due to humanity,
Let’s challenge ourselves to convey it poetically.

Love the list. I’ve always been a fan of the Reef sandals with the bottle openers on the soles…and then I found the version that has flasks built into the heels. Now that’s what I call innovation.

The Reef Sandals are game changing… I mix match mine, left foot flask, and right foot bottle opener, being prepared for any activities of libation.  Now if they could come up with a place for my aspirin and Alka-Seltzer.

Self-reflection
Greg via e-mail from Hatchless.com on What Fly Shops Will Never Tell You

I kind of hate when I read these things and see that I might have a little bit of some of those guys in me. I have always hoped that I would be cooler than that. It sucks to see that I’m not!

Gary er um, Greg, I mean, you’ll always be cooler than Mr. and Ms. Caddis People! Just pay for those fins.

Lessons From Willy
Chris via e-mail from Fishindog.net on Simms Headwaters Waste Pack Review

A great piece for sure, I’ve gotten tons of use out of mine (designated carp pack) but I can’t rely on the magnetic closure. It’s fine walking or standing in place, but take a spill and anything heavy in there can pop the magnets given the proper jostle. Simms might need to take a lesson from Willy J. on the magnet setup but otherwise it rocks.

Anything heavy, eh?  Make sure you’re releasing those carp, and might we suggest investing in a beer leash?

Blurry Lines
Ed via e-mail from Foulhooked.blogspot.com on Hard Rock Mines and the American Fishery

It’s true that irresponsible mining and especially abandoned mines contribute to various environmental and safety issues, but your article blurs the lines between the various, distinct segments of the mining industry and their similarly distinct impacts. Particularly, the article is titled “Hard Rock Mines…” but much of the information presented above applies primarily to metals and coal mining. Although not without its own fallibilities, hard rock (aggregate and dimension stone) mining rarely affects surface water chemistry significantly to the negative in the ways described above.Thanks for the article, abandoned mines are certainly a serious issue. Could you provide references/examples to the “good samaritan” issue you highlighted? Perhaps some of the more problematic sites could utilize superfund designations…?

Uh, you lost us man. All we got was “Ed” and “your article”.

It Isn’t Too Small
Cindy via e-mail on Size Does(n’t) Matter

Dave, this brings back so many memories of the joys of fishing. Yes, catching the big one is always good for competition, but catching any fish at all is good for the soul.

It’s the little things in life, isn’t it? No pun intended….okay, pun intended.

I think we can all agree that, without question, size absolutely does(n’t) matter.  Therein lies the heart of the issue…and the heart of the sport. In my streamside wanderings from points north, south, east and west, no one has ever described himself (or herself) to me as a Lunker Bum. It’s never happened. Sure, we’ve all met size snobs (and if you are one, that’s okay!), but I have a sneaking suspicion that this phenomenon has more to do with primal male posturing—cue chest-pounding Lowland Gorilla—and less to do with actual enjoyment. 

When have you ever seen a fishing buddy not get Christmas-morning-happy-eyes at a flamboyant dry fly take or even a barely perceptible nymph bump? Exactly. So much of fly fishing has nothing to do with the fish. The leisure, the challenge, the meditation, the exertion, the camaraderie, the solitude; what lures us to endure the wrath of family and the elements is not the size of the prize but the sum total of the experience that culminates in a fish sipping the fly drifting above it. So, that’s resolved. Size doesn’t matter. 

But it does. After the body’s initial reflex, jerking the rod tip skyward to set the hook, the next sensory input the brain automatically and involuntarily seeks is the load of the rod—the forearm check. Your forearm tells all, and at the moment the brain registers a significant load in the rod—that lovely discomfort as the rod butt digs firmly into that meaty part below your wrist—a special exuberance floods the senses. It is an indescribable upwelling of nerves and joy that cannot be found with the more diminutive of our subsurface friends. Plus, the aforementioned factor of primal posturing cannot be dismissed. If you want to impress someone with your perceived mastery of the fish world, would you rather have a perfect but tiny 6-incher or would you rather pull out a massive two-hander? (Yes, we’re still talking about fish.) A basic instinct, for sure, but eons of genetic hardwiring predispose us to believe that bigger is better. 

Where does that leave us? As I see it….wait for it….size is the icing on the proverbial cake. Not essential, but nice. Plain cake is still delicious. We all love it, and few would turn it down. But, there are days when we want (dare I say, need) our fare share of icing. Flashback to those childhood



birthday parties where every fidgety little hand is grabbing for that extra piece of icing—even the globs crusted with nasty, pink candle wax are tantalizing us from the edge of mom’s razor-sharp knife. Who cares! You want some icing! And at some of the parties, little Johnny or Jane grabs it first and you’re left with the lame center piece with barely any icing. After a few quivering breaths and a couple of stealthy eye wipes, you suddenly realize, “Wait a second, I’ve got cake! Nice!” And so it goes. We all want the big one, but a fish fooled, hooked, and brought to net, big or small…well, it just feels good. See, size really does(n’t) matter. 

Dave Román is a multi-subject teacher by trade, but pursues his love of the outdoors on every possible occasion. Whether he’s streamside, riding a trail, summiting a peak, or exploring the terrain below, don’t hesitate to stop him to say hi and chat about whatever you find him doing at the moment.