Fly Punk - Issue 3

Issue 3
March - May 2017

WELCOME
CONTENTS
No tweed, wicker baskets or trousers tucked
into socks. Just a free digital magazine
aimed at the fly fishing punk
14
6
10
THOSE WHO WANDER ARE NOT ALWAYS LOST
Lee McSween takes us through an epic days
fishing for Arapaima in Thailand.
IF PICASSO WAS A FISHERMAN
Artistic flies which catch fish. Stan Freyheit
displays some new patterns.
Welcome to this, the third issue of Fly Punk.
We cannot thank you enough for reading the magazine, and even though we have only been in existence
for 5 month’s we are already gaining readers at an extraordinary rate (we had over 20,000 readers of the
last issue). Thank you.
In this issue, you will find an eclectic range of article and subjects, from the Far East fly fishing for
Arapaima, to Bonefish, Black-Tip Sharks and a real life fly punk. We also feature an artist who has some
stunning trout related designs using a very unusual canvas. Thanks to everyone who has submitted
article for us, we couldn’t do it without you.
In the last issue I mentioned an idea for guerrilla marketing. We attended the British Fly Fair International
back in February. We had some posters printed and challenged everyone who took one to display the
poster somewhere unusual and send us the photos. Well, as you can see below Fly Punk is spreading its
tentacles throughout the whole globe; from the middle of the Amazon rainforest, to the trams in Hong
Kong:
Stephen eder ―
BONE FISHING
IN FRENCH
POLYNESIA
14
18
22
24
28
BONE FISHING IN FRENCH POLYNESIA
Do you fancy fishing with Black Tip sharks
keeping you company - Stephen Eder did!
JUST ONE
Fishing with friends. Jeff Scoggin, takes us in
search of Redfish with his fishing buddy Rich.
NIGHT TIME IS THE RIGHT TIME
Take a trip Night fishing for Bass with Dagur
Gudmundsson.
EN FRANÇAIS
A season on the Dordogne river, with Francois
Goursaud (French & English)
TROUT WARS
Our editor muses over the coming trout season in
the UK.
30
THE LURE OF CARP
Jamie Sandford looks at the world of Carp
through a fly fishermans eyes.
Sarah Landstrom - Surrounded by her works of art (Page 32).
If you would like your own copy of the poster, you can download one from this link: www.fly-punk.com/
downloads/poster.jpg. Send us a photo of where you put yours, and so long as it's legal we will feature
it in the coming issues.
We are always looking for new angles to fly fishing. If you think you have a story to tell – something
that is innovative, out of the ordinary or just plain funny, please jot it down and send it in to us (email
address below). We are always looking for new articles and features – so long as it relates to fly fishing
and conforms to the “why we fish” ethos we would love to include it.
We decided to make this magazine a free publication to try and reach as wide an audience as possible.
If you don’t like it – please tell us why, if you do like it – please tell us (and your fishing friends) – we like
a pat on the back every now and then!
32
36
40
42
A FLOATING CANVAS
Our featured artist in this issue, Sarah
Landstrom explains her love of art & trout.
A SUIR THING
A real life fly punk. Dominic Garnett goes in search
of the river Suir.
OLD FLY PUNKS NEVER DIE
Glenn Roberts embraces the old guy with his
trousers tucked into his socks.
BOOK REVIEW
We review the latest book from Bill Stokes - Trout
Friends and Other Riff-Raff.
30
jamie sandford―
THE LURE OF
CARP
Anyway, please enjoy our third issue – there’s a fly punk in all of us …
Editors
Jack Fieldhouse
Richard Fieldhouse
Proofing
Aaron Good
Designer
Jack Fieldhouse
Contributors
Lee McSween
Stan Freyheit
Stephen Eder
Jeff Scoggin
Dagur
Gudmundsson
Francois Goursaud
Jamie Sandford
Sarah Landstrom
Dominic Garnett
Glenn Roberts
2 | 3
©fly-punk.com 2017
www.fly-punk.com

The Missouri River Brown
Artist: Sarah Landström

THOSE WHO WANDER
ARE NOT ALWAYS LOST
― Lee McSween ―
L
iving on an island in the middle of
the Irish Sea is where I grew up.
Inundated by Viking mythology the
Isle of Man was a place mainly for farming
and stories about sea gods that surrounded
the tiny rock in shrouds of mist
to protect itself from visiting enemies. I
started my fishing at the young age of
6 when all I had was a rod as thick as a
straw and some split shots with sand
worm for bait. Fishing off rugged shore lines
with endless beaches and piers I was
always trying to catch one of the monsters
that you’d heard the stories of when
you were a child. At the tender age of 13
my biggest fish stood me proud at a massive
3lb 10oz Coalfish and from that moment
on I knew all I wanted was to bank
something over that magic mark but little
did I know it would take me 20 long years
of trying to make this come true.
I picked up the fly rod and I began at 17 to
learn how to cast after watching various
TV programmes and ordering books from
the UK to show me how it was done.
Eventually after mastering the “roll cast”
and hooking myself umpteen times in the
head and legs I realised that fly fishing
had my heart more than the sea. It took
me a few years of mistakes, swearing
and patience to learn how to fly fish to a
standard I was proud of. I will never forget
the days of starting out with a gold head
buzzer with some mad knot I’d created
and trying to work out how you actually
fitted the braided loop but all this taught
me was that there was so much to learn
and I was eager to beat that record using
my fly rod.
I’d caught lots of trout over the years
ranging in various weights (and losing
some monsters) but still that 3lb 10oz
was eluding me and it was killing me
inside knowing that there was so many
monsters out in the world but none of
them were accessible to me. I went on
a holiday to Thailand a few years later
and begged my other half to have my
traditional “one day fishing”. I arrived
at the fishery and within minutes I was
staring at a guy standing in the water
with a Siamese Carp that looked like a
baby whale! Touching the scales at just
over the 100lb mark I was astonished that
things like this could come from a lake in
the middle of tropical surroundings, only
25 minutes from a beach where I’d ridden
an elephant and played with a baby tiger.
I beat my record that day with Siamese
carp up to 60lbs and several other species
over the 30lb mark and to me this was the
start of a new love……Thailand!
After becoming obsessed with “River
Monsters” and watching Jeremy Wade
catch things with teeth bigger than
Jaws, it was decided and I went back
to Thailand to try catch one species in
particular, the Arapaima. Two further
visits to Thailand and this fish had evaded
me like the 3lb 10oz Coalfish had over the
last few years. I began to think to myself
what do I need to do to catch this fish
and after a conversation with my avid fly
fishing friend Darren Hunt, we both come
to the idea that the fish must see bait
and pellets in front of their noses daily,
the only way to catch these leviathans
was on a fly. The idea sunk in and then
the planning started; for the reel and rod
that would take something up to 400lb
of sheer muscle with a head like a brick;
and to top it off……bullet proof scales. I
went for a 12 weight Fox travel rod and a
Orvis V Hydros reel with a very accessible
adjustable drag for the obvious reasons
of liking my fingers to stay attached to
my hand.
6 | 7
www.fly-punk.com

After several attempts to tie my own flies I
decided that the way they were flowing in
the water I couldn’t replicate what I had seen
on the rivers of the Amazon so I researched
some people in the Pike fly fishing world
and discovered an absolute gem in a chap
called Magnus Nygren, he tied me replica
Java Barb and Roach type patterns which
are native to the Thai river systems, and
also since it was Snake Head breeding
season I thought I should get some fry
patterns made up too. We ended up having
to go with salt water Giant Trevally hooks
simply because of the amount of material
on the fly; with a potential weight of 400lb I
didn’t want to chance losing anything over
a bent hook.
So I arrive at Exotic Fishing Thailand in
Phang Nga which is run by Mike Bailey, a
Canadian man who came fishing in Thailand
and decided to never leave. The place looks
stunning with shades of green foliage you
didn’t think were possible. An eagle slowly
circles around the never ending mountains
and the sounds of distant monkeys calling
to one another. You have to take a step
back and think to yourself are you really only
45 minutes from Phuket airport or in a land
forgotten by time away from the human
touch. I loaded my Orvis up with Rio GT
50lb saltwater floating line with weighted
taper and a good 300 yards of backing just
in case I got something that decided water
skiing maybe my next sport. I watched the
sun rise over the mountains and saw a
disturbance over by the floating hyacinth.
A mouth gulping air for a split second not
8 | 9
enough to be noticed but enough to make
my heart go into panic mode. I knew from
that point that the Ari were still cruising
the shallows looking for the individual fish
that stray from the shoal and make it its
first meal of the day. Twenty Nine years
of my fishing experience began to flash in
front of my eyes, all that learning, all those
hook-ups, lost fish and countless YouTube
videos all come back to haunt you when
you know what is in front of you could be
that one fish that you’ve flown 34944 miles
over 3 years for is potentially 30 feet to your
right looking for something resembling the
fly you have on your line……no worries right?
I had practiced with my line and rod before
I went so I knew the capabilities this travel
rod had and the ease with which could get
the line out but one thing I wasn’t 100% sure
on was how the reel would perform; after all
unless I’m going to get a 200lb man to start
running away from me with a fly attached
to him there was only one way to find out!
I spent several hours stalking the fish and
trying to even get a sniff of attention and in
32 degrees this wasn’t the easiest of fishing
sessions I’ve done. But like a wise man said
to me once, if it was easy everyone would
do it. I’d seen a fair few Arapaima that day
surfacing for air and I cast every direction
possible to try and lure them but I began
to feel that it was never going to happen.
Mike the owner said to try by the floating
hyacinth at dusk and slowly strip the line
maybe 3 foot from the edge of the bank.
My first thoughts were how can a fish that’s
potentially 6ft plus, and that weight, be in so
close; but after being told that they love the
shallows I was all over it.
Another hour went by and ‘bang’ my line
flew of and by the speed that the reel was
going at I knew that something was on the
end that literally was going to be the bane
of my life for at least the next hour. As the
fish approached the edge and a very tired
arm I produced an absolute stunner of a
Wallagu Attu whose picture now proudly
sits on my wall and with a weight over the
current IGFA, of a touch under 43lb. I sat
there thinking to myself if this is what this
can do….what seriously is going to happen
when it's 8 times the weight.
I got up the next morning to what I can only
describe as paradise and quietly began
to stalk the margins looking for clouds of
disturbed mud in the water, or ripples, but
literally nothing was stirring. I decided to
listen to Mike and again fish the margin. I
cast several times into the same spot and
decided to let the fly sink a bit. I went all
out for a long cast hearing the sounds of
the fibres whooshing through the air as
it passed me and with a delicate landing
it sat proud like a beaming purple and
black ray of sunshine gently sinking into
the ever darkening depths. I let the fly sit
for a few minutes until I knew it would
be as deep as it could get and I began to
strip the line with a slow figure of eight, I
even tried few twitches. When I look back
at what happened next my mind still can’t
really compute as I can only describe it as
a force like a huge vacuum, an easy 10ft of
line flew straight out of my hand. I lifted the
rod, rather than strike, and the rest was a
mixture of luck, panic and maybe a touch
of all those 29 years of fishing coming into
play. The line had disappeared before I
had a chance to grab it and I was into the
backing praying to whatever Viking god I
could think of that this knot was the best
knot that man had ever seen.
The fish stayed down deep for a good 15
minutes before I finally got a glimpse, when
it came up for air. All I saw was a plethora
of colour; greens, pinks, silvers and reds
and for a split second…I could swear my
heart stopped…finally I had an Arapaima!
The fight went on for over an hour with the
fish jumping out of the water like a Tarpon
and had me constantly bowing, hoping
she stayed on. I knew with using barbless
hooks I had to keep that tension otherwise
all would be at a loss. Finally I began to be
able to tighten the drag slightly and wind
some of the maybe 100ft of line back in and
then it all went wrong. The fish decided to
dart under the floating hyacinth. The exact
place I’d caught this monster from was
going to be the place that now became the
obstacle that could potentially cost me my
PB fish of a lifetime.
There was only one thing for it, I got in the
water and followed the fish down the bank
and spooked it out of the greenery and I was
back in the winning seat. I climbed back out
onto the bank and finally this old girl had
had enough as this 34 year old man and she
began to come in cursing like a prehistoric
dinosaur. I could see its mouth with my fly
just in the side and the silver and pink flash
shredded to pieces. I’d done it. I had finally
after all these trips, planes and taxis; I had
finally done it! The guides had one thing left
to do which was guide her into the net and
a few minutes later she was in. I sat down,
dropped my rod to my knees and took a
second to reflect on over 90 minutes of
almost 7ft, 330lb, and a girth that I couldn’t
fit my arms around if I wanted. I looked at
the fish glistening with its rainbow colours
fading into dark black and red and realised
that a tiny rod that fitted in my case and a
reel no bigger than a saucer had done its
job and I’d landed a fish of many people’s
dreams and a moment I can take to the
grave knowing that all that pain and worry
finally paid off.
By the end of the trip I had several Arapaima,
Red Tail Catfish, Asian Catfish, Pacu and
Snake Head all in the net. What I would say
is the red letter holiday of a lifetime and
all that was down to Mike Bailey at Exotic
Fishing Thailand for creating a place where
people can catch dreams and the myth of
a 14,000 year old prehistoric monster fish
becomes a reality.
Many thanks to the owner Mike Bailey
at exotic fishing Thailand (bookings
available on facebook or http://www.
exoticfishingthailand.com), Magnus Nygren
for tying stunning reliable flies available via
facebook and Thai Airways for a safe and
comfortable journey.
Lee McSween – https://www.facebook.
com/lee.mcsween
Mike Bailey - https://www.facebook.com/
Mike.bailey.EFT
Exotic Fishing Thailand - https://
www.facebook.com/Exotic-Fishing-
Thailand-427820143951674
www.fly-punk.com

IF PICASSO WAS
A FISHERMAN
― Stanislas freyheit ―
10 | 11
P
heasant tails are taking fish since
decades. Shrimps are killer nymphs.
Any kind of caddis pattern will bring
you a lot of fish if you perform the good
drift. But, wait a minute, have you ever seen
a real caddis or mayfly larvae on the river?
Haven’t you noticed that their body
was translucent? It means that light is
passing through the bodies of all the
beasties you can find in the river, and we
fish since decades with opaque materials
like feathers and dubbings...
I’m always playing with new tying
materials according to what I observe
on the river. One day, I decided to try to
produce luminous flies in a large range
of colours, from brown to dark green for
trout, to pink and flashy chartreuse from
grayling.
Then I started playing with seed beads,
consolidated with deeply polymerized UV
cure. The first results were encouraging,
because the nymphs where colourful and
translucent, but still, I wasn’t happy with
the general shape of the nymphs.
So I let this project aside for several
months, and spent more time fishing
than trying new projects on the vice. One
day, I decided to put more creativity in
this project, and decide to focus on the
wing bag. I have clearly seen that what
was missing in this new pattern was an
evocation of the wing bag. And finally, by
adding this simple hump on the back of
the fly, I finally gave birth to a minimalist,
but super catchy pattern of perdigon.
Since years, I was restrained by the
colours of the opaque material, and
then suddenly, I entered the luminous
world of seed beads, and millions of
combinations where possible to design
nymphs. But it’s not that simple, because
certain colour combinations are good
for fishing, whereas some don’t. I have a
strange feeling about that, but there are
colours I will never mix to fish for trout.
For example, the copper and blue colour
is a very bad mix to me, whereas a copper
body mixed with an orange spot is a
catchy fly.
So far, one of the best colour associations
I found was orange mixed with a silver
wing bag. The mix between chartreuse
bead an olive body is also a deadly colour
to trigger the attack of ambushed trout. I
am a grayling lover, and when it comes to
grayling nymphs, there’s no colour limit!
Although classic olive, copper and cream
nymphs a very good grayling nymphs,
you can allow yourself to have fun on the
nymph colour choice to fish for graylings.
Never forget that graylings are both
curious and greedy, and they love to see
new flies!
If you are looking for some more light
in your fly box, go for the luminous
perdigons, the trout and graylings of your
river will love to see more light in your
drifts…
www.fly-punk.com

VIDEO INTERLUDE ...
CONNECT
Another stunning creation from Matt Dunkinson. This video captures exactly what
fishing should be about. In Matt's own words "Nothing complicated, just some mates,
fishing and the outdoors ..."
The whole video was shot in just one day on the River Test (Hampshire, UK)
Published: 1st March 2017
12 | 13
www.fly-punk.com

BONE FISHING
IN FRENCH
POLYNESIA
(WITH SHARKS)
― stephen eder―
I
t all begins on the edge of a frozen pond
in Woodstock, New York. I’m standing
ankle deep in crusty snow whipping my
8 wt. in the 30° F breeze. Dude, I’m practicing
my double haul cast because I’m
about to go on a fly fishing trip of a lifetime
and I don’t want to blow it.
My destination is Rangiroa, located in
French Polynesia. Rangiroa is the worlds
second largest atoll. It was formed by
a lava dome that collapsed a gazillion
years ago. My mission: catch a bonefish
- and the ones in Rangiroa are among the
world’s largest.
Weeks earlier, I began researching
YouTube bone fishing videos. Boners like
the shallows where they forage for little
crabs and other goodies. Glib experts
warn that these shallow flats are often
raked by high winds. You have to have
a good double haul cast to get your line
out through these gales or the only way
you’ll ever catch one of these skittish
fish is if it dies of laughter watching the
wind send your fly into your face.
On my first back cast, the business end
of my line snags the windshield wiper of
my Subaru. When I climb up the snow
bank to free the tippet I try to act like this
was part of my plan.
Weeks later I arrive at toasty Rangiroa
airport. 93° F 1000% humidity. I’m here
directing a documentary film shoot
on sharks. Whenever I can, I get up
early to practice my double haul on the
ocean side of the atoll, hoping if I can
cast in the heavy winds there, I might
have a chance of getting the line out a
respectable distance inside Rangiroa’s
coral confines.
The shoot ends successfully and next
morning after the crew departs for
the States. I rush down to the dock by
Rangiroa Divers to join the one man who
can make my bucket dream come true:
Ugo Angely. Half Italian, half Polynesian,
Ugo served as the skipper of our camera
boat. A mass of muscle, stealthy
intellect and intensity, Ugo’s booming
voice cuts through the wind so cleanly
he almost blew out the eardrums of our
sound mixer one day. Using his marine
radio is a mere a formality.
Ugo knows “the flats and where are
the bonefish.” So far he only knows me
as a film director, but as far as fishing’s
concerned, he has no idea if I’m just
another careless poser who will plant a
fly in his neck.
Ugo’s boat, manufactured by Tahiti
Nautic Center, is operated from a cockpit
in the bow. Ugo can steer with one hand
and harpoon Mahi Mahi with the other.
As we clear the cement wharf , he puts
the pedal to the metal. Two hours later
we are on the far side of the 43 mile-long,
16-mile-wide oval-shaped atoll. The flats
where we anchor are breathtaking, and
the heat is intense. I thank the fish gods
that the winds are kind of manageable.
Ugo and I load my backpack with my
extra rod, some water bottles and a point
and shoot camera. We slip overboard
into what feels like bath water and
immediately we are dogged by a half
dozen, yard-long black tip sharks and
blue remoras. Ugo dials down his voice
volume from fortissimo to subito. “Steve
I don’t like the sharks, they are a pain
always.”
We wade a dozen yards from the boat
14 | 15
www.fly-punk.com

when we spot our first bonefish. “There
Steve, make a cast, queakly!” The fish is
barely thirty feet away and when I drop
a Strip Tease fly in its path-- BLAM, it
blasts off. I should have waited, wasn’t
really ready, maybe the drag was too
loose and the fish spat out the fly before I
could set it. I’m mad at myself for getting
caught with my pants down, but Ugo says,
“Hey Steve, don’t worry yourself. Many
bonefish here. Be patient.”
After a long wade we spot another
bonefish. I’m casting farther now, but too
hard.
I seem to be landing in the right spot but
the fish are uninterested. The reason?
@#!ing A. There’s no fly at the end of the
tippet. So much for my “special knot” so I
start tying Ugo’s preferred loops instead.
Then finally a nice cast to an incoming
bonefish. For a second I think I’m hooked
up when Ugo sputters, “ @#$ remora.”
The remora is hooked by the lip luckily.
Seeing its vivid blue flanks almost makes
up for its ugly sucker. At least the black
tips following us are not interested in
flies, only live or dead bait.
Another hour goes by and lots of bored
bones. Finally we see a customer about
12 yards away. I cast just right. “Steve,
come on, strip, strip, ‘ees following. Now
stop, strip one more time.” WHAM. It
was like catching one of Chris William’s
Vaal River yellows that mated with a Mark
48 torpedo. This time I had set the drag
correctly on my trusty Colton Terrapin
reel, and after a few breathtaking runs I
edge the bone to a very shallow spot. I
remove the fly gently and hold the 1.5 kilo
fish up just long long enough for Ugo to
snap a pic.
But instead of letting me
release the prize back to the
water Ugo says, “ Steve give
heeem to me now”. Ugo then
carries the bonefish several
yards away before letting it
go. He then begins shooing
away a pack of black tips as
the recovering fish leaves
the scene. He’s protecting
it from being mauled and
eaten. You dah man Ugo.
In spite of chugging liter
bottles of water, it’s all
getting a little hazy in the
high x-ray sun. But cloaked
in elastic handkerchiefs like
two shipwrecked terrorists,
we persist. Suddenly, Ugo
stops and raises his thick
arm. “Steve, there. Big
shadow. Fish very big I think -- 6-kilo
bone. Getting closer. Now cast to the
right. No good. Cast again now! ”
The huge bone inhales the fly and blasts
off for blue water stripping about 40
yards of line. I set the drag tighter and
manage to make the first turns on the reel
to work the fish in. I’m making progress
when there is an explosion of white water.
Ugo and I watch helplessly as a five foot
long lemon shark tears the fish to pieces.
I hear Ugo say, “That’s why the sharks I
never like. Not the first time I see this. Not
your fault.”
I am deeply grateful my two previous
catches got away. Losing the last one to
sharks dropped my adrenalized ego surge
down to a realistic level. The lemon shark
would never have eaten that big bonefish
had I not hooked it in the first place.
“It’s time we go back now. Getting late
Steve. We hadda a good day.”
Yes, Ugo is right. I had the best day of my
fishing life at Rangiroa.
16 | 17
www.fly-punk.com

F
all is my favourite time of the year.
It’s a fact. It’s the best time to be
afield, and it’s the best time to be
on the water. The marsh goes through
a predictable transformation every fall.
The spartina grass begins to brown off;
shrimp course the creeks like blood
through veins. The fish begin to school
up and feed heavily before the coming
winter, and the water begins to clear up a
bit. These things combine for the perfect
setup for sight fishing with a fly rod. My
good friend Rich Walker and I watch the
tides with a careful eye this time of year.
The week before thanksgiving I had a free
weekend. I hadn’t been on the water yet
this fall as I had been enjoying my oldest
son's first foray into the game of soccer
every Saturday morning.
Rich and I have fished together for many
years. He gave me my start in saltwater
fly fishing. He endured my less than
stellar poling while I was learning how to
manage a skiff in the wind and put him in
position for a shot at the fish. He willingly
shared everything he knew about the art
and sport of sight fishing. He’s one of my
friends that I no longer need to talk to on
the boat as its all automatic. So, when a
text came that week inquiring if I was free
to hit the low tides Friday and Saturday
the answer was also automatic. We opted
to camp and enjoy the cool fall weather,
a fire, and sleeping outside. We had both
been busy at work and dealing with life in
general and it was quickly agreed upon
that an immediate infusion of time on the
water was the only treatment.
JUST
ONE
― jeff scoggin ―
As my skiff backed down the ramp Friday
afternoon I hit the trim and turned the
key bringing the motor to life. Tucker,
our ever-faithful skiff dog, quivered with
anticipation and whined softly. I pulled
around and slid up next to the dock, Rich
stepped aboard, and we were off. Rich
took the wheel and the skiff jumped on
plane. We raced down a winding set of
creeks headed to our first spot. I had
tied up a few black and purple clousers
and was pulling my loop knot tight as
Rich shut her down. Without a word,
he grabbed the pole and ascended the
platform and Tucker and I made our way
to the bow. Rich pushed us along slowly
and methodically, and as we scanned
for signs of fish we caught up like good
friends do. We saw a couple of single
redfish but no dice. We had, had a lot of
rain recently and the water was semi clear
and tannic coloured. We made a quick
run to our money spot known to us as”
The Corner Store”. I had caught my first
redfish on fly here years ago, and we had
spent many great days there since. It's a
wide flat littered with oyster rakes at its
edges and divided by a couple of creeks.
We prospected for a bit without luck and
then Rich called out an orange popping
cork. He commented that it appeared to
be moving. Sometimes a fisherman will
break a fish off and their popping cork
remains in tow. After minutes of scrutiny
it became obvious that the float was
indeed moving. Rich gave a gentle push
and spun me into position. I hauled softly
and the line shot 30ft and laid the fly just
ahead of the cork. I gave a quick strip and
the cork plunged beneath the surface in
a scene reminiscent of the movie Jaws.
The fish charged the fly but I didn’t
connect. The cork resurfaced next to the
boat and I reached down and grabbed
it. The redfish bolted and snapped the
brittle monofilament line spraying me
with water as he made his escape. I rolled
over on the deck and laughed loudly. We
both did and it was good for our souls.
We caught a dejected look from Tucker
signalling play time was over and we
needed to get serious about putting a fish
on the deck.
With afternoon quickly fading into
evening, Rich considered our options. We
decided to hit one more spot we hadn’t
tried in quite a while. It was just a small
flat on the way back to the ramp, but it
had saved the day more than once. We
made the short run and went to work. It
quickly became apparent we had made
a good call. A small school was pushing
around the disappearing oyster mounds
and busting bait along the way. Rich
already had me lined up for the shot and
I tossed the fly, made a single false cast,
and sent the line on its way. The clouser
plopped a few feet ahead of where the
closest fished had swirled. I stripped
the fly slowly, felt a thump, stripped
hard and was hooked up. The fish dug in
and refused to give up surprising me by
doubling my 8wt. After a short fist fight
I slid him to the boat and into my hand.
He was a stocky, broad shouldered fish.
Tucker swiped his obligatory lick. Rich
took a few quick photos as I held the
fish high, the afternoons light shining
through his fins and illuminating his
turquoise tipped tail. I returned him to the
water, and Rich commented he couldn’t
believe we hadn’t seen more fish today.
I quietly watched the sky fill with a pallet
of pastels as the sun dropped below the
marsh grass. I turned to Rich and said,
“Just one, that’s all I needed”. Without
taking his eyes off the evening light show,
he rubbed Tucker’s head and nodded in
affirmation.
18 | 19
www.fly-punk.com

Exotic Fishing Thailand
Photo: Lee McSween
20 | 21
www.fly-punk.com

NIGHT TIME
IS THE RIGHT
TIME
― Dagur Gudmundsson ―
S
ometimes all it takes is one bump
against a branch to wake you up.
Sometimes it’s the plop of the popper,
almost sounding like a fish in that
delirious 3 am state you’re in. More often
than not though, it requires a hefty
bass pulling the rod out of your hand to
snap you out of your half asleep mindset.
Something about a fish pulling on
the end of your line in the darkest of dark
makes it seem about twice as big as it
is. Amidst the howls of coyotes and rustles
of skunks and snakes, you brave the
darkness, despite your fear of the dark,
in search of some of the biggest fish any
given body of water has to offer.
Bass are awesome predators. And
the night is the preferred stalking
time for the big boys that haunt the
ponds. They’ll move into the shallows
and slash at anything unsuspectingly
swimming by - hopefully a 2/0 mouse
pattern you tied up just hours ago.
When it’s so dark outside, you’ve got
to fish more with your ears than your
eyes: timing your cast by the sound
of the line, aiming by the sound of
the popper landing, and occasionally
losing your shit over the sound of a
massive fish crashing on the surface,
probably eating a frog. You’ve got to
memorize the structure of the reeds
from the daytime, knowing where the
drop offs are, and where that almost
invisible rock in a shallow cove is. It’s a
totally different ballgame when you’re
out there at night, you’re not there to
hunt the fish, you’ve got to find a way
to make the bass want to hunt you.
Sometimes that results in a delirious
mating dance with a turtle at 2 am, and
other times you make your mouse move
like you’d want it to if it was served up
to you at dinner in a fancy restaurant.
Most nights you come home fishless.
It’s too cold, not the right cloud cover,
too much wind, you were chased off
the water by a group of skunks, all
the classic excuses. But sometimes,
the stars align (maybe not literally,
since the best fishing is on cloudy
days) and you hook up with a monster.
Sometimes that monster turns out to
be a 8-inch crappie, but sometimes it’s
a four pound largemouth in a pond that
you’ve only ever hooked one pounders
in. Sometimes that fish runs you deep
into some reeds that you’d forgotten
about, and the feeling of a hooked
fish is replaced by the depressing
reality that he’s gone, and you have
to find some way to get your fly back.
But occasionally everything goes
right, and you land the fish, and have
to find some way to aim your finger
into it’s mouth in the pitch black, but
muscle memory serves you better than
eyesight, and that works out better
than you had dared hope. You estimate
the fish to be about five pounds, about
twice the size of any other fish you’ve
caught here during the daytime,
it's green sides reflecting devilishly
from the moonlight, and as you let
him go, the fish lets go of your finger,
only to lift itself back out and take a
final bite of your thumb as revenge
before swimming off. And you think to
yourself, “Damn, what a fish.”
22 | 23
www.fly-punk.com

EN FRANÇAIS
― Francois Goursaud ―
I
n
France, the Dordogne, is for me, one of
the most beautiful rivers. I have fished it
for 10 years and I do not weary myself
any. It takes its source in the volcanos of
Auvergne to go to join the Atlantic Ocean.
A granite river with water the colour of tea,
very broad and deep finds trout which can
become very large, grayling which can also
reach sizeable sizes. This superb river is
subject to unfortunately the influence of
the hydroelectric generators which block its
course. The water level can thus go up or go
down rather quickly.
This river produces specimens of a
beautiful size. The best technique to find
these large fishes undoubtedly remains
with the nymph (french nymph style) with
long drifts which will present your nymph
at the river bed.
However, at the beginning of season,
from March to April, you will be able to
find large trout swallowing the “March
Brown” when they are in great numbers
on the river. From May, the temperatures
go up, along with number of fishermen,
just like the blossoming of flies. It is then
possible to benefit from good “coups du
soir”. The more the season advances the
more difficult and selective the fishes will
become. In France when you fish the dry
fly, the golden rule is to avoid making your
fly drag, making sure that it follows the
current velocity perfectly, so that it derives
from the most natural presentation.
I remember an evening in June where
only the insects which moved on water
were took by the grayling. All the insects
without movement which followed
the current had a safe life, the fishes
were aware of the danger in which a
fly presented in a perfect way without
dragging. The trouts of the Dordogne are
brown trouts of Atlantic stock, they can
reach the size of 70/80 cm. Their gilded
dress is covered only with large black
spots (the younger subjects still have
some red spots), with a blue spot on the
gill plate. The trout is present in this river
since the night of times. When you catch
at trout of the Dordogne, their defence is
characteristic, of numerous head shakes,
fishes this powerful and enduring sell
their skin dearly. You will find it difficult
to use a tippet out of nylon larger than of
the 16/100 (4X) even if most fishermen
use tippets between 10/100 and 12/100
(7x/6X). The grayling, were introduced
by man and have adapted very well to
this large river. They are difficult to take
because the river is very fast, I do not
know a fish able yet to spit out a nymph or
a dry fly so quickly. They can then, reach
a size of more than 50 cm. The fishermen
call the Dordogne “the Beautifulone” (« la
belle ») which is appropriate to him with
wonder. If you come to France, outward
journey to visit it, many fishing’s guides
are on the stretch between Beaulieu on
the Dordogne and Argental in the south of
Corrèze.
In “Release” (available to view here:
https://vimeo.com/125041329), you will
see the Dordogne at the beginning of
season in April. The french leader remains
a sure way to catch these wild fishes with
the prehistoric dress.
E
n France, la Dordogne, est pour moi
l’une des plus belles rivières. Je la pêche
depuis 10 ans et je ne m’en lasse
pas. Elle prend sa source dans les volcans
d’Auvergne pour aller rejoindre l’océan atlantique.
Rivière granitique aux eaux couleur de
thé, très large et profonde vous y trouverez
principalement des truites qui peuvent devenir
très grosses, des ombres qui peuvent
aussi atteindre des tailles respectables. Cette
superbe rivière subit malheureusement
l’influence des barrages hydroélectriques
qui bloquent son cours. Les niveaux d’eau
peuvent donc monter ou descendre assez
vite ce qui peu caler les poissons et mettre
un terme à votre journée de pêche.
En ce qui me concerne je ne pêche que
les ombres et les truites, en recherchant
spécialement les spécimens de belle
taille. La meilleure technique pour trouver
ces gros poissons restent à coup sur la
nymphe au fil avec de très très longs bas
de ligne permettant de longues dérives
qui feront descendre votre nymphe au
fond de la rivière.
Cependant en début de saison, du moi de
mars au moi d’avril, vous pourrez trouver
de grosses truites gobant les « March
brown » lorsqu’elles se trouvent en grand
nombre sur la rivière. À partir du mois
24 | 25
de mai, les températures remontent, le
nombre de pêcheurs aussi tout comme
les éclosions de mouches. Il est alors
possible de profiter de bons « coups du
soir ». Plus la saison avance et plus les
poissons deviendront très sélectifs et
difficiles.
En France quand vous pêcher en mouche
sèche, la règle d’or est d’éviter de faire
draguer votre mouche, qu’elle suive
parfaitement la vitesse du courant
pour qu’elle dérive de la manière la plus
naturelle. Je me rappelle pourtant d’un
soir du mois de juin ou seul les insectes
qui se déplaçaient sur l’eau étaient gober
par les ombres. Tous les insectes dérivant
sans mouvement en suivant le courant
avaient la vie sauve, les poissons avaientils
conscience du danger que représentait
une mouche dérivant de façon parfaite
sans dragage ?
Les truites de la Dordogne sont des truites
farios de souche atlantique, elles peuvent
atteindre la taille de 70 / 80 cm. Leur robe
dorée est recouverte uniquement de gros
points noirs (Les sujets plus jeunes ont
encore quelques points rouges) , avec un
point bleu au niveau des ouïes. La truite
est présente dans cette rivière depuis la
nuit des temps.
Quand vous attraper une truite
de la Dordogne, leur défense est
caractéristique, de nombreux coup de
têtes, poissons puissants et endurant
elles vendent chèrement leur peau. Vous
pourrez difficilement utiliser une pointe
en nylon plus grosse que du 16/100 (
4X) même si la plus part des pêcheurs
utilisent des pointes entre 10/100 et
12/100 (7x / 6X).
Les ombres eux, ont été introduit par
l’homme et se sont très bien adapté à
cette grande rivière. Ils sont difficiles à
prendre car très rapide, je ne connais pas
encore de poisson capable de recracher
une nymphe ou une mouche sèche aussi
rapidement. Ils peuvent eux, atteindre une
taille de plus de 50 cm.
Les pêcheurs surnomment la Dordogne «
La Belle » ce qui lui convient à merveille.
Si vous venez en France, aller la visiter,
de nombreux guides de pêche se trouvent
sur place entre Beaulieu sur Dordogne et
Argentat dans le sud de la Corrèze. Dans
« Release », vous verrez la Dordogne en
début de saison au moi d’avril. Les eaux
sont froides et la nymphe au fil avec de
très très long bas de ligne reste une valeur
sure pour attraper ces poissons sauvages
à la robe préhistorique.
www.fly-punk.com

VIDEO INTERLUDE ...
MICRO
SKAGIT
Silja Longhust's video on the Micro Skagit technique. This demonstrates the ideal
conditions for this type of cast, i.e. no room for a back cast. Watch and learn with
Silja. Silja is using a 175gr OPST Commando Head, Lazar 25lb Mono Shooting Line
on an ECHO Glass 7'4" 4 weight rod.
Published: 4th December 2016
26 | 27
www.fly-punk.com

TROUT WARS
A NEW HOPE
― Richard Fieldhouse ―
A
s
the new trout season will shortly be upon us here in the UK (15th March for some, 1st April for me ). I thought I would put finger to keyboard
and jot down a few musing on what the new season will bring. It might be useful to look back at this article towards the close of the season
to see what I achieved!
Hopes & Aspirations
I know from experience that the beginning of the season is usually a cold and wet affair, we all look forward to the opening day with huge
anticipation and plan our strategy often weeks beforehand. Some anglers dutifully clean their rods and reels, buy new lines, flies and tippet. My gear
is generally thrown in the back of the car and hardly ever cleaned! However, the one thing I always do every season is buy new tippet (and throw my
old tippet spools away), I probably don’t need to anymore with the new advances in tippet technology, but I always do.
I’ve also found that those first few weeks of the season often amount to me returning home cold and wet, with hardly any trout tempted to the fly. This
season will be different!
Here’s my plan:
1. Limit my hopes for the first few weeks and just look forwards to days out on the river (after all its got to be better than not being at the river)!
2. Use those first few weeks to hone my casting skills and practice specialist casts in those tight spots where the fish hold up in the warmer months.
3. I’m also going to have a play with a Micro Skagit setup on an ultralight 2wt rod (article to come in the next issue). Now is the time to perfect the casting
and leader setups so I can get the best presentation possible.
4. I’m going to use poly-leaders this year (rather than tapered mono leaders), so now is also the time to experiment with setups. It’s one thing testing them out on
grass, but we all know that they cast differently when on the water.
5. The weather here in the UK can be very changeable at this time of year. I’ve always found that so long as my feet are warm, then I’m much more comfortable when
wading rivers. So, time to invest in some decent merino wool wading socks for those first few months.
6. Keep a fishing diary – Ok, maybe it will not be that detailed and recount my every move, but at least I’m going to try and note down the weather conditions and what
worked (and more importantly – what didn’t). I can then revisit my notes next year, and at least get some sort of head start!
Tactics
As there will be very little dry fly activity in the first few weeks (except for a few sporadic Olive hatches in the early afternoons), therefore I’m planning on going deeper for those
trout (which will not be so wary having had no real angling pressure for the last 6 months).
To do this I will be using spider patterns of varying weights and sizes fished down and across, with maybe two or three droppers.
Another of my favourite early season methods is to use the Duo method with a small (size 16 and smaller) nymph suspended beneath a dry fly (I generally us an Olive Emerger, just
in case the fish are looking up). I have always found the Duo method is a great way to search water when you cannot see any fish activity.
28 | 29
www.fly-punk.com

C
THE LURE
―Jamie Sandford ―
OF CARP
B
ased in the North-west of England I am very lucky to
have some superb fishing on my doorstep and only a
short drive from the house there is ample opportunity
for catching a variety of coarse and sea fish.
I've been an angler all my life and a big part of my fishing
has revolved around lure fishing – I've caught Pike, Perch
and I've even been lucky enough to catch Zander and
Catfish on lures abroad.
What's this got to do with Carp I here you ask? Well, What
if I told you that at the right time of year you can treat Carp
like a predator and strip lures for them? To watch a Carp
follow and turn on a Fly as it engulfs it before ripping the
backing off is a sight to behold, Intrigued!?
As a schoolboy some years ago I was fishing a local canal
for Pike, It was mid-summer and the canal was very clear.
The clarity enabled me to watch my Rapala Minnow bait
being twitched back at a healthy pace. To my surprise it
wasn’t a Pike that followed and attempted to take the Lure
that afternoon but a Common Carp of around 6lb's, and
with this image I bring you back to the present with my
findings and captures over the last couple of years.
As I have gotten older I have maintained my love of lure
fishing for Pike and many other species and in recent years
taken up Fly fishing.
The ponds local to me are stocked with a good head of Carp
30 | 31
and once again whilst fishing small soft plastics mounted
on Jig Heads intended for Pike and Perch I received a
follow from a Carp, This wasn’t a one off as it became a
regular occurrence over the summer.
Slowly this started to make sense and my mind flashed
back to memories I had from the canal all those years ago.
With a bit of research from the likes of YouTube I suddenly
became aware of what anglers in other parts of the world
were doing to catch their Carp and what really grabbed my
attention was anglers from the U.S. and Europe and their
use of the Fly rod, This led me on to buying great Carp
books by the likes of Dan Frasier and Barry Reynolds.
Some of you may have witnessed Carp harassing fry in
summer and blasting through their shoals devouring
anything that happens to be sucked into that vacuum like
mouth?
Here in the U.K. when we think of Carp fishing with a Fly
rod, Pellet/Bread Flies, Nymphs and Buzzers are the usual
patterns associated, However if you open your mind to how
predatory Carp can be there is a vast array of patterns that
will catch Carp, and on the right day stripping a lure can be
just as effective.
My first lure caught Carp came on a warm summer's day
where I had taken the Fly rod with an array of floating
patterns like G&H sedges', Egg and Pellet Flies.
This particular day the Carp weren’t playing ball and I
spent the morning chasing fish that were reluctant to
take a bait off the top, insisting on sitting just under the
surface. 'Do I go home, persevere or try something else'!?
I asked myself.
I reached into my jacket and took out my Fly box, I tied
on a Sz 8 Pink Fritz Goldhead, A lure I had in my box from
a previous session fishing for Rainbow Trout, and so I
decided that if the Carp wouldn’t come to me I'd go to them
and give them something they couldn’t miss.
I made several casts in the vicinity of cruising Carp
stripping it back fast as to intercept the fish as they swam
past. An hour or so passed with no luck until I noticed
a Common Carp follow the lure in to the margin before
briskly turning away at the last minute.
This gave me the confidence I needed to carry on
and continued to cast out, stripping the lure fast and
aggressively. This was to be the cast that changed it all!
As the Lure came into my sight a Common Carp swam
straight for it, Head down, gills flaring. As I continued to
strip the last few feet of Fly line the Carp turned on the
lure, engulfed it and swam off at lightning speed. That
Carp nailed the lure like a Pike or Trout with intent and
aggression, Amazing!
All my captures have been in conjunction with using bright
pink lures with lots of flash and although I have used other
colours it's been pink that’s worked best for me!
Interestingly, Although I have caught both Mirror and
Common Carp stripping lures I have found the Commons
to show a more aggressive behaviour often willing to
follow more than once and naturally being more keen to
follow in the first place.
The Tackle I use is a Greys 8wt coupled with a matching
floating line and lots of backing on the reel. I find a leader
length of around 5ft to be ample and I often smear this in
Muscilin – I use a hook length smeared in Muscilin as I
feel it stops the fly from sinking too fast and away from the
strike zone when the lure is in front of a Carps face.
This style of fishing is something I am very passionate
about and I feel that there is a lot of scope for people
becoming more aware of the alternative methods out
there.
For me its about having no rules and experimenting using
different patterns and styles and ultimately, having fun.
www.fly-punk.com

A
FLOATING
CANVAS
― Sarah Landström ―
B
eing a young female artist has made
entering into the fly fishing industry
anything but boring. I was told early on
that this year would be one of the most wonderfully-crazy
years I would ever experience.
And it absolutely has been. And it’s still not
over. The artist’s and fishing buddies, who
have helped push me along the way, are the
only reason I have had the confidence to share
my artwork. Basically a sink or swim scenario.
But specifically the women who have been
working in the industry before me, are the reason
I am welcomed as a woman. It’s no secret
that the sport of fly fishing is male-dominated.
Learning on the rivers in Montana, I was often
the only woman present. But that’s beginning
to change.
Going to the first Fly Fishing Show in
Denver CO, I was beyond nervous. I mean,
truly, so terrified that my artwork would
be completely rejected. But lucky for me I
was going to be part of the new Women’s
Section. The women were incredible,
32 | 33
constantly checking on one another, figuring out
ways that they could support one another, and
eager to share their experiences.
Hearing about the stereotypes and obstacles
these women have pushed through was humbling.
These incredible fly fishing women have done so
much work to make the sport more accessible for
women and young girls. One particular woman
spoke about sharing the sport with a grieving
widow, who was able to reconnect with her late
husband by learning on his fly rod. I was in tears.
I still think someone needs to write a screenplay
to tell that story.
Being a woman in a male dominated environment
can be challenging. But the support of those
with you, and those who have come before you
make the experience extremely rewarding. I
can’t begin to explain how energized I was from
speaking with not just the women, but the men
who were so excited about the growing interest
in women’s fly fishing. In fact, many men brought
up the distinctively positive vibe in the women’s
section compared to the main show. Everyone
felt welcomed there. People were excited to talk
and learn from one another.
This sport is so incredible. It brings communities
of people who care about sustainability, water
quality, and one another. And these are people
who never settle for what has been done. They
always look to better the sport and its impact on
the rest of the world. As an artist, and as a fly
fisherwoman, I am so excited to be a part of such
a progressive group of people.
www.fly-punk.com

Mike Bailey
Exotic Fishing Thailand
34 | 35
www.fly-punk.com
Photo: Lee McSween

― Dominic Garnett―
Still think fly fishing is a sport of toffs
and English chalkstreams? In this
excerpt from Dom Garnett’s book of
tales Crooked Lines, the author goes
in search of Ireland’s River Suir and
its original fly punk, Aidan Curran.
N
o matter how many times I pack
a suitcase or study the guide,
fishing trips in far off places
always sidestep expectations. From
the picture you build in your head to the
flies and even the weather, something
different always hatches. Things mutate.
Sometimes you expect easy listening
but you get punk rock.
Which is funny, because rather than
some grand Irish River, this particular
trip begins in a second hand car in
Tipperary. I hadn’t been to Ireland
for a good eight years, but the one
picture I found reliably true to life
was my host, Aidan Curran. A redmohicanned
punk with a taste for fly
fishing.
“I guess I’m not your typical game
angler,” he chuckles, as the car
rattles with loud music. No word
of a lie. The bands we are listening
to have names like Sick Pig, Crisis
and Runnin’ Riot. “Pike fishing is
definitely something that appeals to
punks, but trout or fly fishing? It’s not
such an obvious match is it? People
think you’re pulling their leg.”
Aiden’s dented car takes innumerable
turns down crooked country lanes as
we seek out the river. But behind his
wild appearance is the subtler, laid
back heart of an angler. In his own
unique way, Aidan is just the next
in a long line of colourful River Suir
regulars, or should I say irregulars.
Perhaps the greatest of them all
was Liamy Farrell, described so
beautifully in the writing of Niall
Fallon as a “rotund, stocky” bull of a
man with “rolling, limping walk.” Yet
in spite of his burly frame and a rod
that could have landed sharks, this
grizzled character could make his fly
land “like the kiss of an angel.”
A refreshingly frank Suir angler from
the present day is guide George
McGrath, who meets us in stately
looking grounds by the Ara, a pretty
little tributary of the Suir. “Are you
any good with a fly rod?” he asks, only
half teasing. “Because if yer shite you
won’t be ketching much round here.”
With a slightly despairing shake of
the head, George recalls an American
guest with a PHD in entomology. A
nice enough bloke with all the right
gear who sadly couldn’t hit the Rock
of Cashel at ten paces.
Quality water is abundant here and
in fact the Suir and its’ tributaries
offer the highest density of trout of
any river in Ireland and quite possibly
Europe. But that doesn’t mean “easy”
fishing, as George will testify. And
he’s fished these waters for so many
years I’m wondering if his folks had
a fly patch sewn onto his babygrow.
Lesson number one is in fly selection.
The typical advice for Ireland is so
often of the “big flies for big fish”
variety and yet a peek at George’s
box reveals a good deal of specials
in the size 16 bracket, with both little
olives and sedges prominent. I need
no second invitation to poach a few
of these.
Lesson two, about the legendary
fussiness of local trout, is dispensed
in the field as Aiden and I hop onto
the Ara for an initial foray. It looks
beautiful in the sun. Shallow waters
reveal trout by the dozen. They
multiply before your eyes and are
everywhere, flitting over the pale,
sandy bottom of the river. You feel
like you’ve stumbled upon paradise
until you actually try casting for
these little devils, which are among
the spookiest trout I’ve ever come
across in my entire sorry existence.
For the first two hours we try
everything: long, fine leaders;
tiny flies; longer casts. It’s simply
bordering on impossible to tempt
these fish, or more precisely to get
near them without raising panic.
When I’d previously heard Aidan’s
missives about the shyness of the
fish I had joked about him getting
his hair dyed green instead of bright
red. I now believe you’d need to be a
camouflaged midget, invisible or able
to levitate rather than wade to get
anywhere near the buggers. It is pure
agony to see such riches slip away at
every bend in the stream.
Nevertheless, revenge is almost
served as we have one final crack
in a bigger bridge pool where a few
more sizeable fish are lying and,
touch wood, with more water to cover
them don’t seem quite so desperately
spooky. With George joining Aidan on
the bridge I now have two extra pairs
of watchful eyes -and extra pressure!-
to try and end a frustrating afternoon
on a happy note.
“A little further upstream” or “Just in
that hole, there!” come the regular
words of advice. I can make out some
shapes that are way bigger than the
little runts we spooked earlier, but will
they show any interest? The moment
of truth comes as I manage to drop
a heavy nymph so it passes right
above a tempting little depression on
the stream bed; a dark shape shifts
across the current, there is a decisive
flash and all hell breaks loose. For
about five seconds the rod bends
dangerously as I pay out line; next
there is just slackness and a lone
swearword. George’s next declaration
has already been ringing through my
head: “He won’t be coming back any
time soon now.”
With a week of sultry-hot, distinctly
un-Irish weather ahead, most of
our fishing the next two days takes
place in conversations over coffee
or beer. Trips to pretty local towns
and crumbling relics appease our
curiosity and also our womenfolk
while we plot our next assault on the
Suir.
The area is full of spectacular ruins
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that, if they were in England, would
be continually assaulted by coach
loads of invading pensioners. But
here everything is peacefully vacant.
I admit to finding this slowly rusting
side of Ireland reassuring. Samuel
Beckett must have agreed when he
wrote that: “What constitutes the
charm of our country, apart from its
scant population, and this without
help of the meanest contraceptive, is
that all is derelict.”
The bones of old castles sit
splendidly idle, daisies growing from
their windows. Such are the torn
remains of what looks like a medieval
turret sitting by the Suir just outside
Cashel. The waters are sparkling
and, as is always the case when you
don’t have a fishing rod, we spot trout
moving in the stony runs and rushing
water.
An evening return is plotted, but
until that time we must be content
ourselves with fishing trips made
in books. Among all the advice on
Irish trout fishing are the accounts
of night fishing such as those from
Niall Fallon’s “Fly Fishing on Irish
Rivers” are especially bewitching. On
a hot summers day this can be the
only time Suir trout really drop their
guard. The reasons involve science
as well as alchemy; “Invertebrate
drift” is the term used to describe the
nightly emergence of life forms on
the river. During the witching hours,
all that was hidden ventures out. An
endless collection of creatures crawl
from their hiding places in river bed.
The trout suddenly find their appetite
and grow bolder.
This was also the favourite time of
Liamy Farrell, who could be observed
immersing his stocky frame into the
river while more timid souls packed
up for the evening. “Where others
were glad to climb out of the strong
waters of the Suir with an acceptable
brace of trout on a July evening,
Liamy would meet you on the bank
in the warm, scented dusk with half
a dozen, topped by a three-pounder”
writes Fallon. “He liked to get right
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in amongst a shoal of feeding trout,
moving with the utmost patience and
slowness, and fish a very short line
either side and above,”
The first hour or two on our return
to the Suir near Cashel begin with a
friend of a friend and a rusty gate.
The river drops away invitingly at
the end of lush fields, but the only
signs of life are odd rises well out
into the current. Long leaders and
distance casts earn only the most
occasional of finicky takes until the
light begins to drop. Aidan aims a
team of traditional wet flies across
the current to mix things up, but one
hit and miss take is all our river punk
can muster so far. Once again, we’re
foxed.
It is only as the light drops that the
rises become more frequent and we
spot a familiar, tall figure working the
far bank. It is George, here to teach
us a lesson presumably. Creeping
along up to his thighs he searches
the stony shallows with quick, short
casts. Within minutes his rod jolts
over and a Suir trout is kicking at
his side. Aiden and I stand watching
in that semi-appreciative way
unsuccessful fishermen do in the
presence of a local expert. Another
trout comes to hand. And another
the very next cast. “Just watch the
bugger! You have to admit, he knows
a trick or three though.”
Hoping that the dying light will help
to conceal my own lanky presence,
I double back along the bank and
drop into another shallow run, the
water just about covering my knees.
Where there was only a cool flow of
water minutes earlier, there are now
regular, splashy rises. As if someone
had flicked a switch.
Tying on a small Balloon Caddis, I
flick the fly into the stony run and
pick up the line gingerly. I lose sight
of the fly, but there is a sudden rush
at the surface and I’m attached to a
lively half pounder.
Quite soon you can hardly make out
the fly, but it hardly seems to matter.
Numbers two and three follow, while
the whole river seems to buzz into
life. I throw a couple of painfully
clumsy casts along with the better
ones; the trout seem oblivious. At
one stage they’re rising directly just
a couple of rod lengths behind me,
totally untroubled.
Such is this magical time on the
Suir that in the space of half an
hour a frustrated amateur can be
transformed into a trout fishing
assassin. The change is so dramatic
you wonder how you ever found it
so difficult beforehand, but it’s an
exhilarating feeling. The fish don’t
sip, they smash. The best of them
probably wouldn’t quite trouble the
pound mark, but kicks and thrashes
as hard as a punk rock band.
Tipperary is sleeping as we return
home quite a lot later than planned,
leaving the Suir to the trout and
Liamy Farrell’s ghost. Moths swarm
down the overgrown lanes to Aidan’s
place as we gather in the night sky,
still damp from the river. The best
trout tastes beautiful, freshly fried in
butter by the river punk himself.
www.fly-punk.com

Photo: Jeff Scoggin
VIDEO INTERLUDE ...
THE ENDLESS
SESSIONS
Fishing on Australia's Fraser Coast.
First stop, Fraser Island for some tuna chasing action and screaming fly line.
Grab a coffee and enjoy the scenery ........
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OLD FLY PUNKS
NEVER DIE
― Glenn Roberts ―
I
’ll begin with an admission. Much like
the old guy at the bar who wants you
to know that he was “there back in the
day”, I’d class myself as a middle aged fly
punk.
Now, I’m aware I’m taking the title literally
but bear with me, there’s a point. I grew
up as both a punk/thrash/hardcore fan
and obsessive fly fisherman. Thanks
to my dad who set me off on the right
foot it’s always been fly. Having spent
my youth being eyed with suspicion in
sniffy tackle shops I know a thing or two
about preconceptions.
The proprietor peering over his glasses
behind the vice in the shop corner
wondering at which point I’ll ask where
the float rods are, or worse still, the
maggots.
It still happens. Perhaps the whiff of
special brew and damp leather hasn’t
entirely left me.
In those days to have tattoos on your
hands meant you’d probably been
in prison. Add a beard and you’d
clearly been released from jail into
homelessness. At the very least you
couldn’t possibly know a Grannom from
a house brick with a feather glued to it.
Hence my admiration for the on-line fly
fishing scene, which has led to sites,
blogs and magazines like this.
Barriers and preconceptions be damned.
The guy with the tattooed knuckles and
beard like a hawthorn bush is now as
good as his angling, not his tweeds.
The water has always been the great
equaliser. A trout won’t oblige an angler
because he prefers an evening with a
copy of the compleat angler to an hour
on a skateboard.
But you, my friends have altered this,
seemingly for good. There’s more than
ever a place for all based on ability and
passion alone and that’s a good thing.
Fly fishing on small streams for wild
trout is as close to a religious experience
as I’ve ever had and anyone should be
able to feel what I feel.
My only advice as a self-appointed old fly
punk is this, don’t do what actual punk
did and allow elitism to slip in. Embrace
the old guy with his trousers tucked into
his socks, or the middle aged angler who
wants to tell you that he was once like
you, but it was more difficult back then….
blah, blah, blah.
you never know you may get a fist full of
flies for your time. Maybe accompanied
by a cd of some dreadful crap which
apparently should have been the next
big thing, but just act interested till he
slopes off to the next pool.
I hope that fly fishing continues on
the arc it’s describing these days. The
innovations, ideas and developments I’m
seeing are seriously mouth-watering.
My heroes are still my dad, Les Claypool
and the old boy who gave me a fly made
from his wife’s travel rug which caught a
bucket full of fish. All great anglers and
punks in their own way.
I take my (insert awful, obscure band
name here) hat off to you.
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www.fly-punk.com

BOOK
REVIEW
― Richard Fieldhouse ―
H
ere at Fly Punk towers, we often receive things through
the post which are fly fishing related, you know
the score – things you ordered by completely forgot
about, this you need to hide from your other half! But the
other day we received a pre-release copy of a book which I
had been looking forward to reading. It’s a book of short stories
from Bill Stokes. Here’s a quote from the marketing blurb
for this book:
“Trout Friends and Other Riff-Raff is a compelling
memoir of short stories on fishing and outdoors. Further
it contains a never before published essay titled “Trout
Flounderers.” In these stories, popular Chicago Tribune
outdoor columnist Bill Stokes gives himself over to his
true passion, trout fishing. It is an activity, possibly a
madness, that moves him, time and again, to stand kneedeep
in cold and murky waters, offer himself up to clouds
of hungry mosquitoes, and attempt to keep from snagging
his line in overhanging limbs while trying to outwit a wily
rainbow or brook trout. And then remembering where the
car is parked. This is a work of literature compiled over
years of writing by Bill Stokes assisted by his grandson,
Paul Stokes (Audiobookreviewer.com) to bring to the world
both published and nonpublished writings that bring will
tears of laughter, melancholy and remembrance. Paul saw
the value and importance of sharing his grandfather’s
work with the new generation of readers and listeners.
Together they have collected his writings and brought
them to both e-book status and audio book.”
I love these types of books, ones where you can dip in and
out when you have a few minutes to spare, ideal “Poop
Fiction” so to speak.
Bill has a unique way over getting the stories to resonate
with the reader; one I especially liked was “Trout or Cows”.
Now, I’ve had a fair few ‘run-ins’ with Cows, and they are
not my favourite animal when encountered on the river
bank, I do remember hooking one once on a back cast,
that was interesting to say the least! But this story is more
about the pull of fishing over working for a living. If you
are working for a living, why not grab yourself a copy of
the audio book, at least that way you can listen to it on
the way to work, and get your fishing fix for the day. You
won’t regret it.
Amazon link: https://www.amazon.com/Trout-Friendsother-Riff-Raff-Stories/dp/1542497353
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VIDEO INTERLUDE ...
PÊCHUR DU
TARN
“Fly fishing is an art and art is difficult” - Norman Maclean
A film directed for the Fishing Association of Florac (Lozere, France). With the support
of the Adour Garonne Water Agency, the Cévennes National Park and the Lozere
Fishing Federation.
Subtitles : Roger East
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Photo: Dagur Gudmundsson

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