Roderick Haig-Brown’s “A River Never Sleeps” is rightly considered a fly fishing classic, which is why the release of a new hardback edition – complete with passages from Nick Lyons and Thomas McGuane – is worth a minute of your time.

A classic - and with good reason.

It’s tempting to add to the volumes of praise already heaped on Haig-Brown’s work, though the whole ideas becomes less intriguing once you realize that praise is wholly deserved.

Haig-Brown’s approach to the sport is entirely genuine; he lacks guile, and avoids the unfortunate tendency of outdoor writers to complicate and exaggerate.

Nor does Haig-Brown burden his readers with a lot of “fly fishing is the meaning of life” hooey that seems almost obligatory today.

Instead, Haig-Brown’s approach to fly fishing is one of unabashed enthusiasm, coupled with a refreshing innocence – as if each day on the water was his first:

“I still don’t know why I fish or why other men fish, except that we like it and it makes us think and feel. But i do know that if it were not for the strong, quick life of rivers, for their sparkle in the sunshine, for the cold grayness of them under rain and the feel of them about my legs as I set my feet hard down on rocks or sand or gravel, I should fish less often.”

There are always bit and pieces of the literature that stick to the ribs of those fortunate enough to read them at a receptive moment in their lives.

It’s likely a trick of timing – the right words coming to the right reader at the right time – but I never tire of reading Gierach’s Trout Bum, his “Even Brook Trout Get The Blues” essay and McGuane’s introduction to the Longest Silence.

Every literate fly fisherman I know keeps such a list in his head – the little jewels that offer us a mirror view of some internal dialogue.

They’re intensely personal, though describing why is akin to explaining an odd dream to a stranger.

In short, it’s better to simply acknowledge the effect than it is to dissect it.

For whatever reason, included on my list is the “April” chapter from A River Never Sleeps, though in keeping with the above, I can’t pinpoint why.

Regardless, Haig-Brown’s month-by-month exploration of his fly fishing life is a worthy read, and if you don’t own it yet, then consider the latest edition, which includes the worthy perspective of Nick Lyons and Thomas McGuane.

See you at the bookshelves, Tom Chandler.

(Disclosure: Skyhorse press sent me an unsolicited review copy of the book)

Technorati Tags: a river never sleeps, Fly Fishing, roderick haig-brown

Fly fishing in the winter isn’t the Big Secret it once was, and frankly – given the quality of today’s winter gear – it’s also not the sufferfest it was as little as a decade ago.

Fly fishing when ice is as common as the water offers its own challenges...

(Whether that’s good or bad depends entirely on your feelings about impressing other fly fishermen with Jack London fishing stories)

In the “old” days (like upwards of four years ago), cold weather meant a couple base layers, at least one fleece layer (perhaps two), and a wading jacket.

It kept you warm, but was bulky, and god forbid the sun came out or you decided to hike thirty minutes to another spot.

Fleece is wonderful stuff, but it doesn’t compress at all, and most wading jackets don’t exactly crush down to fist-sized wads.

In other words, those layers are hell to stuff into the back of a vest.

Fly fishing in the winter: You're dealing with a lot of variables.

“Warm” when you’re standing stock still in a river waving a stick at a BWO hatch is different from “warm” when you’re briskly skiing or hiking to the river.

And while layering is a useful concept, it doesn’t always adapt well to circumstances where you can peel away a layer, but lack a place to put it once you do.

Like when you’re fly fishing.

First, The Soft Shell Arrives

A truism about being outdoors in the winter is that “way too warm” is almost always worse than “a teensy bit cold.”

That’s because overheating leads to sweat, which leads to hypothermia, which is why – two winters ago – I expressed my love for Patagonia’s Insulator soft shell jacket.

It was a brilliant piece of engineering – one I found desirable for its adaptability and serviceability across a very wide range of temperatures.

To refresh, Patagonia’s Insulator soft shell isn’t bulky, insulates nicely, repels water and wind, yet moves moisture like the California Aqueduct – so hiking/skiing fly fishermen don’t become sweat-soaked hiking/skiing fly fishermen.

My Insulator soft shell sheds water, but stays warm even when it gets wet.

It’s become my all-around cold-weather fishing jacket – one I wear even when I’m not fly fishing (chicks dig me in it).

On this winter’s pair of ski/fish trips, I never really needed anything besides my Insulator soft shell – a startling confession given the difference between standing in 38 degree water and xc-skiing for 50 minutes up a steep hill.

Still, despite my love of the soft shell, they do run run second best when temperatures fall below freezing – especially if you’re not hiking, skiing or generating any heat of your own.

When it’s real cold and you’re simply standing in a river – or in the front of a drift boat – something warmer would make for a happier fly fisherman.

Soft shells don’t react well to a lot of base layers, so you can’t simply throw a few long-sleeve underlayers on when it gets cold.

In other words, when it’s truly cold, it’s not your best choice.

Welcome to Nano and Micro territory.

Cue The Happier Fly Fisherman

A while after I sprung for the Patagonia Insulator, I also bought Patagnoia’s Micro Puff jacket – a piece of clothing recommend by every mountain guide I spoke to (and mountain guides know from cold).

And yes, I discovered it’s everything they said it was – unbelievably light, windproof, water resistant, extremely compressible, warm when wet, and… very warm.

Really warm.

In fact, it’s often a little too warm for an active fly fisherman in this part of the country.

I wore it – and loved it when I needed it – but kept bumping against an unfortunate reality; the Micro Puff overheated me within minutes of starting a hike or if the sun came out.

Which is often how my fly fishing goes.

My army-drab Micro Puff jacket: Great when you need it, too warm when you don't.

I ended up wearing the Micro Puff when I knew I’d be standing in the front of a drift boat, or fishing a single, waist-deep run when it was very cold. And basically loved every second of it.

Lightweight and supple, I hardly knew it was there.

Yet the fly in the ointment is that the Micro Puff was often too warm for this area’s above-arctic temperatures, though on a pair of occasions I was damned glad I had it along. And yes, it almost always came “along” – it compresses into a sack about the size of a small lunch bag.

If I lived farther north – like one of those deluded souls who inhabit northern Montana or Idaho – my Micro Puff would probably never leave my body.

My mountain guide friends use the things endlessly; they ski or climb in their soft shells, but once they stop for any length of time, out comes the Micro Puff, which fits over their soft shell, keeping them warm while their disgustingly fit guide bodies stop burning calories.

As I discovered, that works better at 10,000′ than it does at 2500′.

This year, looking for a kinder, gentler version of the Micro Puff, I tumbled for Patagonia’s Nano Puff pullover (Disclosure: despite being handsome and thrifty and frankly deserving of a lot more free swag than I actually get, I bought my Nano Pullover, though got a “media” discount).

Nano Perfection

In essence, the Nano is an even lighter variation off the Micro Puff jacket; less insulation wrapped in an even smaller package (it stuffs into its own pocket, which is about the size of a small, thick paperback book).

The Nano Pullover (photo stolen from Patagonia)

Despite its “floats on air” mass, it’s still windproof, still water “resistant” and yes – quite warm.

Just not too warm.

I still wouldn’t wear it while skiing, but it’s so damned small and light that I can bring it along when I do.

Couple it with a baselayer and a rain jacket (for when it really rains), and I’ve got something that will work right down to the temperatures where it’s really too cold to fish.

The Nano I bought was so well received in the Underground’s household that it almost immediately disappeared into the L&T’s cavernous closet.

She found it indispensable for downhill skiing, post-xc-skiing, and just generally wearing around town.

This meant that – when I needed it for fishing – it was usually gone, and while Patagonia still has to answer for almost causing a divorce, I finally broke down and ordered a women’s model for the L&T, reclaiming mine by force when hers arrived.

Who says money can’t buy happiness?

A portrait of the writer being happily warm...

The Lightweight Revolution: A Plea For Sanity

Fly fishing tends to lag other (higher-tech) outdoor sports on the clothing front, and why not?

Despite a lot of videos to the contrary, fly fishing is not an “extreme” sport in the climactic sense, and I think we’re only experiencing the lightweight/minimalist revolution that has shaped mountaineering and backpacking the past ten years.

In essence, it’s no longer considered smart (or fashionable) to carry 65 pound backpacks on weekend trips or lug huge technical daypacks on simple ski trips.

Older Bro Chandler – who once lugged backpacks in the 45 pound range – has embraced backpacking’s lightweight revolution, and now routinely finds himself shouldering three-day packs weighing less than 20 pounds.

Even though wide-angle distortion makes it bigger than it really is, you can tell the Nano Puff packs small.

Materials advances have accounted for some of the weight loss, as has a willingness to cut out the useless crap that was formerly used to conquer the wilderness instead of simply passing through it.

Accounting for most of weight loss is an embrace of minimalism, which means that an ultra lightweight tarp might be prove just as useful as a tent, and that the equipment itself didn’t exactly need to be built to resist nuclear attacks.

A case in point is the Older Bro’s old Dana backpack, which was state of the art a decade ago. Unloaded, it weighed in at a manly 8.5 pounds, and literally would last forever.

Today, his bare Osprey pack weighs just over three pounds.

One difference is the design philosophy – buying goodies made to last four lifetimes is great, except that hardly anybody backpacks more than a dozen times a year, or needs bombproof straps, or needs all those straps to being with.

And five pounds is five pounds.

Invoking the same design philosophy across every category of gear has resulted in people hiking the Pacific Crest Trail with (admittedly extreme) 10 pound packs.

We may be on the verge of seeing the beginnings of that thinking today in fly fishing – wading jackets are getting lighter (and thinner), minimalist chest packs are appearing, and even wading boots seem to be on a diet.

Every time I drag my fly fishing gear to an alpine lake, I couldn’t be happier.

My soft shell remains at the center of my winter fly fishing universe, but I can also stuff my Marmot Precip rain jacket (very light) and a Nano Puff in the back pocket of my chest pack (they both fit), and be ready for everything from a frozen downpour to a hard ski out of the river canyon in brilliant sunshine.

The Frozen River: What do you wear to fish this?

If the forecast was for really cold temps – and I was standing on the front of a drift boat or waist deep in a steelhead run all day long – I’d pop for the Micro Puff and my soft shell, and If I had to wear both together and still wasn’t warm, I’d know I needed to get the hell out of there.

One caveat to all this lightweight love is this: My Nano Puff pullover is nowhere near as durable as my Filson waxed cotton wading jacket.

If I repaired trucks or trimmed trees for a living, I wouldn’t wear a Nano to work.

The Micro and Nano’s whisper light fabric has held up so far, but a guide rowing a boat every day might opt for something more durable (and heavier), and that makes sense.

Still, I think the lightweight revolution is peeking out from around the edges of the fly fishing world.

All the major fly fishing manufacturers now offer soft shell jackets, and Orvis is touting its sonic welded seam wader and wading jacket technology for lightweight, packable waders and jackets.

(A report is coming on the Orvis packable waders as soon as they’ve been put through their paces, though I can say the sonic seam waders may well get a workout whenever I’m away from the Upper Sac’s wild blackberries).

Simms offers what appears to be a lightweight insulated jacket in the same vein as Patagonia’s Micro/Nano jackets (though Simms doesn’t offer weight data), and almost everyone is throwing their hat in the minimalist vest/chest pack/sling bag ring.

In other words, the days of carrying enough gear (and enough overbult gear) to invade Canada – and earning the stooped posture to go with it – may be ending for fly fishermen.

In a day (summer or winter), we can literally cover miles of river and spend hours on our feet – a lot of it spent wading in fast-moving water – and if we bothered to check, I think we’d learn that even a five-pound weight difference would make a big difference at the end of a day (or a couple of them).

Frankly, the less I hurt, the happier I am. (I may not be alone in this.)

(Interesting lightweight side note: My four-day backpack trip up Tennessee’s Hazel Creek saw my pack, tent, gear & food come in at 23 pounds, yet my clunky fly fishing gear – waders, boots, two rods, one reel and flies – sadly added almost 15 pounds to the equation. Anyone still wonder why I’m grateful for lighter weight fly fishing gear?)

I’ll find out for sure during next year’s alpine fishing adventures, but I bet I can shave a good ten pounds off my “let’s hike into an alpine lake and fish it today” pack simply by using lighter, more appropriate gear.

And as Older Bro has pointed out (often), when you’re hiking, ounces equal pounds, and pounds equal pain.

See you on the river (warm but lightweight), Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: Fly Fishing, fly fishing gear, fly fishing in winter, gear review, patagonia insulator soft shell, patagonia micro-puff jacket, patagonia nano puff jacket

Rivers of the Lost Coast was just issued on DVD, and all I can say is it’s about freakin’ time.

This intelligently made film offers a poignant (and often painful) look a the rise and fall of California’s and Oregon’s steelhead rivers – and weaves in a spellbinding story about some of fly fishing’s most iconic figures.

Click for the Rivers of a Lost Coast Web site

Fly fishing legends Bill Schaadt and Ted Lindner began the largely Post-WWII narrative as friends, but ultimately became sworn enemies. Whatever the reasons, the feud divided the nascent steelheading community – which wasn’t exactly an easy club to join.

In interview after interview, people describe the era’s steelhead & salmon runs, the decline in those runs, and how the unique breed of hardcore fly fishermen formed, split, and adapted.

Some didn’t adapt very well – either to diminishing fish populations or the growing crowds of fishermen – and therein lies the true genius of this movie.

“Extreme” characters like Bill Schaadt and Ted Lindner are normally the work of fiction writers, but they’re real – and they’re compelling enough to me that I watched the movie several times.

To sketch the characters, Rivers of a Lost Coast leans heavily on interviews with those who knew and fished with them (including Russell Chatham [read his lengthy Sports Illustrated piece on Schaadt here], Jim Adams, Lani Waller and others).

What emerges is an engrossing – if sometimes hard-to-comprehend – portrait of some of steelheading’s first truly extreme fly fishers.

Most interesting is the picture that emerges of Bill Schaadt, a revered (and often reviled) fly fisherman whose obsessive behavior included hiding his car & boat, and cutting the fly lines of others with razor blades tied in the bends of hooks.

With Chatham and others offering up revelation after revelation during their interviews, the movie flows beautifully – even as the precipitous decline of steelhead and salmon populations plays out (somewhat painfully) before our eyes.

The filmmakers have created something special – something worth a little of your time.

How much did I like Rivers of a Lost Coast? A friend asked me to summarize the film, I told him it’s the movie Ken Burns would have made if he was an obsessed steelheader.

See you at the picture show, Tom Chandler

Resources:

Sports Illustrated article on Bill Schaadt by Russell Chatham
But the Rivers of a Lost Coast DVD
Wikipedia entry on Bill Schaadt

Movie Trailer:

Technorati Tags: bill shaadt, moview review, rivers of a lost coast, russian river, steelhead, ted lindner

It’s tempting to suggest that the new “sticky” rubber wading boot soles are revolutionizing the industry, but that’s only really true in a marketing sense.

While the new rubber soles seemingly offer evolutionary potential – studded rubber soles could ultimately replace felt/studded felt, largely for economic reasons – the standard sticky rubber probably won’t replace anything anytime soon.

My recent October Caddis trip found me wearing Simms’ new StreamTread (Vibram rubber soled) Headwater boots, while Older Bro wore one Korkers Guide Boot with a plain “Kling-On” sticky rubber sole, and one with a studded rubber “Kling-On” sole.

Korkers were made for testing

I quickly discovered the plain, un-studded Simms soles worked… OK.

Well, not really.

I didn’t fall.

But I did skid. And slide. And skate.

The same soles that performed surprisingly well on the fairly flat-bottomed-but-snotty Rogue River failed miserably on the Upper Sac’s angular streambed.

Step on a rock that angled downward, and my boots were sure to follow.

If the Vibram-soled Simms wading boots are destined for wide market acceptance, then they’ll do so on the back of one of two things:

• Massive growth of fly fishermen accessing easy-wading rivers (like the Rogue or Bitterroot)
• The liberal application of Simms Wading boot studs

The Korkers Story

The Korkers Guide Boots were seemingly tailor-made for this kind of testing; the soles are interchangeable, so it was easy to stick a studded rubber sole in the left boot, leaving the plain “sticky” rubber sole in the right.

The results were (by now) predictable.

The lack of grip offered by the plain rubber sole made the right boot immensely unpopular with novice wader Older Bro, and in truth, you could actually see the difference when he waded.

His right boot didn’t stick, and his left boot did.

OK.

This was sorta expected.

Wading Boots, So Far

I’m slowly but surely working my way towards one conclusion: For general, all-around use on freestone rivers, most anglers will want to add studs to their “sticky” rubber soled boots.

Straight sticky rubber might work fine on easier rivers, and if I fished the Bitterroot exclusively, plain rubber would be enough.

And yes, for small stream work, you’ll have to pry my Patagonia Riverwalkers – the only truly “sticky” rubber soles of the lot – from my cold, dead feet.

I’ve gotten along OK on the Upper Sacramento with my plain rubber Patagonia boots, but on steeper freestone rivers like the McCloud (hard wading), and the Pit River (got insurance?), plain rubber could earn you an eventual trip to the ER.

What’s Next?

The Underground’s fulltime Wading Boot Engineer stayed up all night and added studs to the Simms boots, and the Korkers will soon be sporting one felt sole alongside the studded rubber.

As I said before, studded rubber might prove a worthwhile replacement for studded felt purely on longevity and economic grounds, but first it has to deliver near-studded felt grip.

That may not be all that difficult; my old Weinbrenner studded rubber boots worked well enough to become my everyday boots, and the new rubber soles should (hopefully) deliver better grip than those.

In other words, more to come. Stay tuned.

Technorati Tags: korker guide boots, korkers wading boots, patagonia, patagonia riverwalker wading boots, simms headwater wading boots, simms streamtread, wading boot, wading boot test

Fly fishing a small stream rarely generates the reams of “technical” literature devoured by fly fishing’s technocrats. It’s a simple act, and suggesting the #16 Red Humpy I fished during yesterday’s trip was somehow the “perfect” fly would be to (convincingly) play the role of a fool.

Instead, I’ll say it worked well enough, as did the 8.5′ 4wt Diamondglass rod I fished on this tiny stream, though at times I think an 8′ rod might have been handier – and perhaps spooked fewer trout in the casting.

Sticky rubber soles: I may never wear anything else on a small stream

I also say this with some certainty: The Patagonia Riverwalker “sticky” rubber boots absolutely excel on small streams. It’s true the new sticky rubber soles are not quite ready to take on the toughest wading tasks (slimy rocks), but then, I’ve always thought felt soles weren’t quite ready for my small stream adventures.

Comfortable, light and absolutely rubber-cement sticky on dry rocks, the Riverwalkers never slipped once, even on those wet, flat, angled rocks that normally threaten to skate your studded soles into a nasty fall.

Some have questioned the need to replace felt soles based on the spread of invasives, and I’d agree the invasives angle smells like a marketing construct – there are too many other hiding places on a boot and waders.

That said, these particular sticky rubber boots are simply way better than your father’s lugged rubber boots – good enough that I’m keeping my sticky rubber soles in a pristine state, and looking for a studded rubber replacement to felt (note: our studded rubber sole testing project has been delayed due to life, but is due to start again soon).

That’s not to stem the tide of invasives; it’s because my own testing suggests studded rubber boots work better in a variety of conditions, and yes, they last much, much longer. With baby probably already needing a new pair of shoes (and maybe braces, and college), longer and cheaper is better.

The question now is will the Patagonia Sticky rubber/Simms & Vibram harder rubber/Korkers “Kling-on” rubber soles – in conjunction with studs – perform better than straight (or even studded) felt?

Testing will resume this fall.

See you on the soapbox, Tom Chandler

Technorati Tags: felt wading boots, fishing, Fly Fishing, korker wading boots, patagonia riverwalker, patagonia sticky rubber, rubber soled wading boots, simms wading boots, wading boots

My recent Montana trip only served to confirm what I’d come to believe about the new generation of sticky rubber soled wading boots.

They’re better than ever – and ideal for some applications – but not quite ready to take on the toughest wading challenges… unaided.

What's next for the Underground's sticky rubber wading boot test? Grip, baby. Grip.

Because I’m sick and tired concerned about the whining safety of the Underground’s Crack Team of Wading Boot Testers (how many emails complaining about compound fractures should one guy have to endure), the small stack of rubber-soled wading boots are facing some alterations.

Simms was nice enough to send along a set of their carbide-tipped screw-in studs, and the Korkers can be equipped with a set of studded rubber “Kling-on” soles – and also felt & studded felt.

So here’s the gig.

One of the Simms soles will be on the receiving end of studs, and in a daring, in-stream, boot-to-boot comparison, we’ll see how that boot compares to the other unstudded sole.

The chameleon-esque Korkers will be outfitted with a mixture of studded rubber, felt, and studded felt, and we’ll see what happens in our direct, boot-to-boot comparison.

The Patagonia Riverwalkers may remain unaltered for a while – the “control” group for sticky rubber.

Slowing the testing a little bit is a busy work schedule, a couple weeks of 90+ degree temperatures (that’s a long string of hot for up here), and an ongoing desire to fly fish the little stuff (backcountry streams and lakes).

Accordingly, I plan to enlist the help of some of the local attention-craving helpful guides.

There’s more to come on the equipment front, though things move slowly here because we foolishly actually test gear before we write a review – a process which results in more accuracy, but less throughput.

It’s just how we roll.

Coming Up

Proving that nothing interests people more than the fear that someone’s getting something they’re not, my review of the Redington fly rod & reel combo triggered inquiries from a pair of fly rod companies. And yes, I may enlist the help of the Undergrounders in deciding what rods to test.

Then there’s the story which is going to blow the lid off the fly fishing… err… fly fishing hat industry.

In other words, through years of testing, we’ve identified the World’s Best All-Around Warmweather Fly Fishing Hat, and because we’re externally validated nice enough to share, we’re going to let the world know it.

Some days, it’s just plain great to be us.

See you [teetering, windmilling, and falling] on the river, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: Fly Fishing, korkers wading boots, patagonia wading boots, rubber wading boots, simms wading boots, studded rubber wading boots, wading boots

The Redington line of fly fishing gear is what a marketer would call a “value” brand – fly fishing rods, reels and gear that don’t compete at the very high end of the price range, but (theoretically) offer more “value” than premier brands.

In the past, “value” was often synonymous with half-assed gear, which is why – when Redington offered up a fly rod and reel for review – I was a little hesitant.

Early Redington fly rods (prior to the company’s purchase by the same corp that owns Sage and Rio) had a reputation for wildness; one taper would be brilliant, yet another would be awful.

That was a decade ago, but the downside to testing gear is that you should actually use it (at least, some of us prefer it that way). That can be a joy, but other times you’re stuck on the river, fishing a piece of crap and wondering why you’re bothering.

Happily, this test turned out largely crap-free.

First Look: The Redington RS4/Rise Reel Combo

Rod, reel, line and case - $410 MSRP

First things first; I’m happy to note the RS4 fly rod and Rise fly reel combo came fully rigged – the backing, Rio Mainstream line and leader were already knotted and on the spool.

Thank dog. (Underground pet peeve: Fly rod/reel combo sets that require a novice fly fisherman to learn four arcane knots before they start casting.)

Because Singlebarbed and I were jointly testing this combo (and I’ve got a thing for 6wt fly rods), we tumbled for the Redington RS4/Rise Reel combo in a 9′ 6wt (4-pc).

That way, I could abuse it with streamers, fish with it dries, try it on the Rogue (where steelies are always a possibility), and maybe fling some sinking lines – while Singlebarbed could fish it on his beloved brownlines.

So what happened?

The RS4 Fly Rod

Modern fly rods tend towards speed, a basic truth which means I often fish older rods.

And while I was expecting more of the same from the Redington RS4, I was pleasantly surprised.

The picture's a little off; the RS4 is an attractive olive color

After fishing it for a half-dozen trips (my first couple trips with it saw me flinging streamers, dry flies and yes – the dreaded split shot rig), my reaction was “This is nice. This is OK.”

It is relatively fast, but lacks the pool cue demeanor that has marred so many other modern fly rods.

After using it a while, I was tempted to simply declare it “a nice fly rod,” but after catching fish on everything from dries to streamers on the thing, I realized it only qualified as “nice” by the loftiest of standards.

In other words, this is a very fishable rod – one that surprised even the Tupperware-averse, bamboo-loving Dave Roberts into saying “I’m impressed. It’s a good rod. It feels pretty nice when you cast.”

Wayne Eng (another frequent Underground Lab Rat tester) found it wholly fishable on several fronts, and Wayne fishes more different fly rods than just about anyone I know).

“This is pretty sweet” he said (in his typically aw-shucks, laid-back Wayne demeanor, like he was the first Chinese person to grow up in Mayberry).

In truth, it wouldn’t be too many years ago that the RS4 would be considered a high-end rod; it was strong, yet progressive enough that it retained a lot of “feel.”

I fished it with sinking lines and big flies, and never ran headlong into that messy zone you used to hit with fast-tapered fly rods, where the tip is too light to handle the stresses, but the butt’s too stiff to allow a little feedback to make its way to your casting hand.

The RS4 kind of sneaks up on you – you’re just fishing and the right things happen, and you realize it’s a better rod than you thought it would be for the money ($250 MSRP). Here’s the Redington pitch on the RS4:

More RS4 Details:

• Moss-colored blank made with high-end 51- million modulus Toray graphite
• AAA grade Portuguese cork handle
• Pac Bay Aluminum Oxide stripping guides
• Laser engraved machined aluminum with moss colored graphite insert (Handle A) and laser engraved anodized machined aluminum on saltwater models (Handle B)
• Alignment dots with length and line designations labeled on each section above ferrule
• Three spey rod models are available with a 15″ fore-grip
• 2-piece and 4-piece outfits come with the new Moss RISE reel, prespooled with backing, knotless leader and RIO Mainstream fly line in a durable black carrying case.
• Lifetime Warranty

It also does what a reasonable 6wt should – it doesn’t fold up when you do something horrifying, yet you really can fish a #20 BWO with it without fear of gifting flies to fish on the hook set.

The reel seat and guides are strictly middle-of-the-road; the by-now-standard woven carbon fiber reel seat and reverse Western grip (which wasn’t too skinny for a change) are reliable, proven stuff.

The rod itself is an attractive olive color (we’re happy the fly rod manufacturers finally discovered color), and the whole shebang comes in a black cordura case with a bulged end (the reel can stay on the rod).

The Rise Fly Reel

If the Redington RS4 rod sneaks up on you, the Rise fly reel stands up and makes a statement right away.

The Rise - especially the burnt orange color - is a style fly reel

It’s one of the current crop of impressively high-tech machined fly reels that runs smooth and quiet.

Again, this isn’t the whiz-bang high-end stuff, but it’s still way more than we need to get the job done. Here’s Redington’s description of the reel:

This fully machined 6061 T6 aluminum Mid-arbor construction reel features a cork on Teflon center drag design, a Koyo one-way clutch and ceramic coated bearings for smoothness and durability.

Redington is running ads describing the Rise as “Rod Candy” and that could be an accurate description. The burnt orange reel is – if the L&T’s reaction to the picture is any indicator – going to sell real well, and the “moss” reel that come with the set we tested looks, well, great.

In truth, there’s not a lot to say about the reel, except that’s impressively built, extremely smooth, and yes – good looking.

Unlike so many reels, the handle was big enough to grip (though I’m always up for something a teensy bit bigger).

And while it’s a part of a combo, if I had to choose between the RS4 rod and the Rise reel, I’d probably pick the Rise as the more interesting of the two (though that’s colored by the fact I already own a lot of nice 6wt rods, but I am looking for a 6wt reel).

Wayne Eng fishes it on a coldy, rainy winter day

In fact, when I pressed the rod/reel/case combo into Singlebarbed’s beefy paws, I told him not to dissolve the reel in any of that toxic sludge he fishes; I might want to buy it.

Whether I do or not depends largely on my mood. The MSRP of the Rise is $159, which puts it in the same range as the impressively engineered Lamson Konic reel and a host of other competitors.

We could argue endlessly about which represents the better value (the machined, stylish Redington Rise or the wonderfully engineered drag of the less-sexy Konic), but it might be best to simply say you don’t have to buy a $500 fly reel to get something that works really, really well.

The Other Goodies

The case the combo comes in is nothing special; the cut-out vinyl window actually sinks to the level of cheesy, though it’s hardly a showstopper.

The Rio Mainstream fly line is the one questionable component of this kit, though it’s likely a good choice for a less-experienced angler.

It’s one of those front-loaded lines designed to make modern graphite rods and clunky split shot rigs easier to cast (it does a passable job on big flies), but like most front-loaded lines, it’s less fun when you’re trying to carry a lot of line and the last of the belly slides out past the tip.

Still, it’s part of the combo, and I sure as hell wouldn’t not buy the whole shooting match because of the line. It works. And yes, it floats and picks up nicely (as all new lines do).

The Final Word

It’s likely the Redington RS4/Rise Reel combo will find its way into a pair of distinct markets. First is the novice fly fishermen who is morally opposed to buying a starter kit of any kind.

Second would be a more experienced fly fishermen looking for a backup combo or even a 6wt to rely on when it’s too windy to fish the 4wt.

The large/mid-arbor fly reel has become the standard.

Either way, the combo is a steal for the money $410 MSRP (I found it on the Internet for well under $400), and the 4-pc 9′ 6wt rod lists for $250 – making it a good choice for the thrifty angler, and a nice travel-sized backup when you’re heading off into the places where a broken rod means you beg your friends to use their spare (not recommended).

Because the rod came to me in the winter – and I’ve been fishing more small streams than 6wt-sized water – I can’t comment on the durability of the kit (outside of the fact that you can apparently smack it against a tree, hold your breath, and not break it).

And yes, it still features Redington’s lifetime warranty – a fact much appreciated by clumsy, forgetful and drunken hard-fishing anglers.

I’m not going to pretend – even for a second – that Redington’s RS4/Rise combo is something that you absolutely have to buy.

Instead, I’m inclined to view it as either a really solid value right smack in the middle of the industry, or a sign that fly fishing gear has come a long ways in the past ten years – to the point that the difference between the great stuff and the “value” stuff isn’t nearly as dramatic as the price would indicate.

See you on the river, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: Fly Fishing, fly fishing reel, fly rod, redington, redington fly fishing gear, Redington rise fly reel, redington RS4 fly rod

Our ongoing fly fishing wading boot review is about to enter a new chapter – this one written largely in Montana.

The Simms boots were nice, all-around boots (stonefly not included)

The Underground’s Director of Wading Safety (me) and a handful of local guides who foolishly picked up the phone when we called, we’ve tested the Patagonia Riverwalkers and Simms Headwater boots a fair amount, and now we’re spliciing a new pair of Korker Guide wading boots (and several pairs of interchangable soles) to the program.

Of course, my original goal wasn’t to test the boots themselves as much as the sticky rubber soles – would the latest generation be ready for anything fly fishermen have to throw at them?

The answer – at least as it pertains to the bare rubber soles – is “not quite.”

Close, but not quite.

Local guides Wayne Eng and Steve Bertrand liked the new rubber soles in the calmer parts of the Upper Sacramento River, but after a little testing, neither wanted anything to do with the sticky rubber in the McCloud.

I recently fished the McCloud in Patagonia’s Riverwalkers, and those sticky rubber soles did well enough that I survived the experience, but I’d probably screw in some studs if I fished the McCloud all the time.

The thinking on the Simms and Riverwalkers were confirmed by comments from readers, some of whom fish a lot.

Simply put, if you’re fishing tough waters (the McCloud is a notoriously difficult river to wade, as is the Pit), adding a few screw-in studs to the new sticky rubber soles is probably necessary, and frankly, that’s hardly the end of the world.

After all, what you’d end up with is a boot that grips about as well as felt in the tough stuff, grips better in tricky out-of-the-water situations, yet lasts a zillion times longer. (They also don’t transmit invasives quite so readily, though I believe the role of felt soles in that transmission is a little overplayed.)

Our Conclusions About Boots (So Far)

The Simms Headwaters, Korker Guides & Patagonia Riverwalkers, ready for Montana.

I’m going to write a big wrap-up article after Montana, but here are my impressions so far.

Simms Headwater Wading Boot

The headwater is a nice, protective boot (hard rubber toe cap is handy), and obviously, lots of folks love the Simms fit.

Still, I’ll be honest; I’m a tiny bit less sanguine about the Simm’s hard Vibram sole than I am the softer sole of the Patagonia boots, though I reserve the right to change that thinking if the Riverwalkers wear too quickly.

The Simms vibram sole feels hard and stiff, yet gripped beautifully on the Rogue River’s rock-snot, cobble-sized testing grounds (the aggressive tread pattern might have something to do wtih that).

On the bigger, angular rocks of the McCloud, the Simms rubber soles were less thrilling, though there’s ample testimony from readers that a few metal studs (screw ‘em in yourself) would largely fix that issue.

I do believe the Simms Vibram soles would last a long, long time.

Patagonia Riverwalkers

I’ve already extensively reported on the Riverwalkers, and since that report, I’m happy to say I’ve reinforced my original thinking.

The Riverwalkers are the best choice for the blueliner; they’re extremely comfortable on the trail and the very soft, very sticky rubber works beautifully in the small stream environment.

On a small, bouldered local freestone stream, I could practically walk up the side of dry boulders – a handy feature as fly fishing small freestoners is half rock climbing anyway.

The Riverwalkers are flexible, light, go on easy, and just generally make my feet happy. They hike beautifully.

My brain was less thrilled when I wore them on a recent outing to the McCloud, where I was trying awfully hard to catch a fish for a TV crew (and failing).

The sticky rubber sole worked fairly well, but the failure mode was bad – they gripped the McCloud’s very hard-to-wade rocks until they didn’t – and the sudden loss of grip was… ahh… unpleasant.

I’ll be blunt: the Riverwalker’s bare rubber sole worked surprisingly well on the McCloud, but long-dormant survivial instincts would demand I screw in a few studs if I fished the McCloud all the time.

So far, they’ve been fine for me on the Upper Sacramento.

The New Kid: Korkers

I only fished in the Korker’s boots on a small stream, so I can’t really evaluate the effectiveness of their new “Kling-on” rubber sole (which also comes in a studded version).

I owned an early pair of Korkers that offered zero ankle support, but the new boots are supportive and seemingly well-built – and offer you the ability to quickly change soles to fit your fishing environment.

Changing the soles is not a five-second job, so hiking in/changing soles/fishing/changing soles/hiking out is mostly fantasy. In my mind, the real benefit of these boots is their ability to become the shoe you need them to become that day.

This makes them (on the surface anyway) ideal for the traveling angler, who might want a studded felt/rubber sole for most of his trip, but needs a plain felt/rubber sole to wear in a drift boat.

Or maybe you’re spending half your trip hiking & bluelining, and the other half wading the really slippery crap.

One pair of Korkers could seemingly handle all those jobs. We’ll see how they work in Montana.

Two notes.

First, the Korker’s BOA metal lacing system seems more convenient than laces. For example, I could quickly tighten or loosen the boots over the course of the day with a quick turn of the knob.

Durability is a question: break a lace, and you’ve got all sorts of options, but break the BOA’s metal wire or the locking buckle, and you might be screwed.

Second, the Korkers run a teensy bit smaller than the Patagonia and Simms wading boots. I normally wear a size 10 shoe, so a size 11 wading boot is the norm.

I made the size 11 Korkers fit, but had to wear a thin liner sock to do so. If you’re a borderline size, order up one size in the Korkers, or simply buy them where you can try them on.

More To Come

See you in Montana, Tom Chandler

Technorati Tags: fly fishing wading boots, korker wading boots, patagonia wading boots, simms wading boots, wading boot reviews, wading boots

More water time for our test boots

We’re not quite ready to spring our testing extravaganza post yet, but the Simms Vibram-soled wading boots sent for testing have been seeing more river time at the hands (or feet, actually) of a pair of local fly fishing guides.

While Dave Roberts and I thought they performed surprisingly well on the rock-snotty Rogue River, reports from local guides Wayne Eng and Steve Bertrand aren’t quite as encouraging.

First, keep in mind we’re testing the bare rubber soles – to which no screws have been added.

Screwing in a couple of Simms metal studs would likely improve their traction in difficult circumstances, though it would also negate some of the benefits of non-studded boots (they don’t make guides crazy in drift boats, you can wear them in your car without attaching yourself to the gas pedal at an inopportune time, etc)

The Guide Word

First, Wayne said “I was feeling pretty good about the new boots… until I hit the McCloud. When I needed them, they simply weren’t there for me.”

Wayne has worn the Simms boots more than I have – and generally liked them – but once he hit the bigger, rounder, smoother rocks of the McCloud, he became an unhappy camper, suggesting the grip was simply unreliable.

A couple Undergrounders commented on similar experiences on the Pit River’s devilishly difficult bigger, smoother rocks, which clearly isn’t the strong suit of the Simms boots.

Steve Bertrand has also worn the boots enough to decide that they’re “a great wading boot, just not on this river.” Bertrand bemoaned almost falling twice on an Upper Sacramento river crossing he normally handles easily while wearing Simms’ older-model studded rubber boots.

Again, everybody loves the way they work out of the water – and how they operate under most conditions – but on the bigger, smoother surfaces, the no-studs Vibram sole isn’t making the grade.

Oddly, this isn’t end-of-the-world stuff. The McCloud and Pit are notoriously difficult rivers to wade, and the fact that the Vibram rubber soles have performed this well – sans a few easily installed studs – is a promising development.

In gravelly or cobbled rock environments, the Simms soles seems to be working well. For those fishing tougher water, screwing in a few studs might just offer the best of all worlds; a long-wearing rubber sole that works better than felt in many less-challenging environments (like climbing a bank or in the snow), but still grips well in the tougher stuff.

In other words, these rubber soles are clearly an improvement over Simms’ older rubber soles, so it stands to reason they’ll also exceed the performance of the older models once you add a few studs – while lasting far longer than felt.

Patagonia Riverwalkers

Sadly, the Patagonia Riverwalker boots (subject of a review here, and possessors of a softer sole material but a less-aggressive tread) weren’t being tested on the McCloud, so a side-by-side comparison isn’t yet possible (we’re working on it).

Ian Rutter – intrigued by my earlier post about the Riverwalkers – got a pair and has been testing them on the tailwaters and small streams of Eastern Tennessee, and has decided they’re close – but that slipping (and windmilling) an extra 10% of the time probably isn’t worth it to him.

He’s especially uncomfortable with their grip on very smooth, “bedrock” style surfaces.

Like the rest of us, he loves their dry-land performance and comfort, but will probably be sticking with felt a while longer.

We’ve got our hands full simply testing two pair of rubber soled boots, but we were still intrigued to learn that Cloudveil’s boots are going for a test ride over on the roughfisher.com blog.

So many boots. So little fly fishing time.

Still, we’ll keep you posted.

See you on the test range, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: Fly Fishing, fly fishing gear, fly fishing gear review, fly fishing gear test, patagonia riverwalker wading boots, simms vibram sole, simms wading boots, wading boot test

An “unsinkable” dry fly might be the Underground’s holy grail (I’m the guy who can’t get his soft hackles to sink or his dry flies to float). And on a daylong smallstream jag, those little trout can turn your dries into nymphs in a matter of minutes.

So when Oregon’s David Cowardin sent me a copy of his Unsinkable Dry Flies book for review, I – being essentially lazy – paid attention.

Will heat shrink tubing replace floatant?

Cowardin uses heat shrink tubing to construct his flies, sealing the tubes with a soldering iron (sample assembly instructions on his blog). Essentially, he’s creating flies that operate on the same principle as your float tube.

It’s an interesting concept; I initially shook my head, but quickly realized that foam is now a staple material among western tyers – why not heat shrink tubing?

It seems like it would be especially useful for big dries

Sadly, the book and handful of sample flies arrived in the middle of winter, so I still can’t speak to the effectiveness of the flies.

As for the method, I’m intriguided, but because I’m a lot better at a keyboard than a fly tying vise, I’m turning to the Underground’s Department of Fly Tying Geeks Wizards, which includes the heavy-metal rich Singlebarbed (who frightened us yet again with another militaristic fly tying materials post) and newly obsessed Atlantic Salmon Fly Tyer Dave Roberts (who actually could kill you if you got in his way).

We’ve got questions. They’ve got answers. More as we hear it.

The Big Idea

You’d automatically assume the technique would be more useful on larger patterns (like salmonflies, the season for which is fast approaching), though Cowardin has developed a full set of patterns, including BWO emergers. He admits flies smaller than size 18 are sometimes difficult to tie, but seems to have otherwise developed a fairly complete set of techniques.

He colors tubing with markers or even by coating them with an adhesive, which is then used to anchor dubbing or other colored “dust” materials.

A Heat Shrink Emerger?

Given my love of Quigley Cripples, Cowardin’s emerger/cripple pattern (see purple fly above) is an especially interesting idea (though I think the hackle’s tied a little on the heavy side), though each fly tyer will have to decide if heat shrink is a better “floatant” than closed cell foams.

Prior Art

Heat shrink tubing for no-sink flies?

A quick search of the Internet didn’t turn up much in the way of prior work (surprisingly), but then Cowardin’s own book didn’t come up on Google until the middle of page 2 (which means it’s time he invested in the Underground’s SEO program for unknown fly fishentrepreneurs).

In Hatches Magazine, we found an article about Euro tyer Ulf Hagstrom’s use of heath shrink tubing on his frighteningly realistic flies, though that’s limited to appendages like legs.

All in all, Cowardin’s self-published Unsinkable Dry Flies book offers some interesting glimpses into a fly tying technique that probably isn’t wholly new, but likely hasn’t been fully explored either.

You can read more about his technique (and order his book) on his blogger site. If you do, the Underground would love to hear your feedback.

See you at the bookstore, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: Fly Fishing, Fly Tying, heat shrink tubing, unsinkable dry flies

Hustle & Fish is filmmaker Steve Apple’s second fly fishing movie, and it delivers handily on the promise of the first.

Stick around – you’ll want to know more.

Fishizzle – Steve Apple’s first fly fishing movie – showed plenty of promise (but lacked polish), but his latest effort – Hustle & Fish – offers us a glimpse of a fly fishing movie far removed from the simple fish porn formulas now occupying the mainstream.

“Hustle and Fish” Trailer V1 from Rollcast Productions on Vimeo.

The first half of Hustle & Fish feels like extended autobiographical sketch comedy that – simply put – shines.

In simple terms, Apple wants to fly fish – and thinks making fly fishing movies is his ticket to that future.

Sadly, he’s confronted by a world (including his girlfriend, parents & friends) that thinks he’s crazy.

In the wrong hands, the story could easily end up flopping on the bank, but Apple handles the the subject with a deadpan charm, imbuing some of the quieter moments with a dry wit you might miss the first time through.

Using amateur actors, Apple plows through the story of a young fly fishermen at a life-sized turning point, and while the scenes with his parents and friends are funny, Hustle & Fish really hits its stride when it turns it lens on the fly fishing industry – the caricatures of fly shop employees land hard, and yes – made me laugh out loud.

And yes, the return of fictional Fishizzle character and irritating informercialist Al Braughtinwood – who now makes and sells “Extreme” fly fishing videos – is a highlight.

I can only guess at the real targets of Apple’s send-up of Braughtinwood’s “extreme” fly fishing video series, but the fictional commercials are hilarious; the irritating Braughtinwood combines muscle cars, women, and fishermen kneeing each other in the crotch to sell his videos.

Like all good satirical characters, Braughtinwood looks and acts just lifelike enough to maintain the pretense of reality; his appearances are hilarious, barely grazing the border between satire and cartoonish.

Hustle & Fish’s lead character is confounded by those who love Braughtinwood’s trashy “extreme” videos – even his father watches the wretched things.

In short, the first half of Apple’s Hustle & Fish delivers handily on the promise of Fishizzle, offering us a satirical (and far more human) look at the fly fishing life.

Simply put, I was impressed as hell.

Unfortunately, the movie eventually falters; Apple largely breaks with the endearing, funny-as-hell satire of the first half, opting instead for long sequences of fish porn and guide hijinks.

Yes, it’s gorgeous, well-done fish porn – and lacks the egocentric posturing that often blights the genre – but feels a little schizophrenic when contrasted with Apple’s earlier story line.

The videography is excellent, but like most fish porn, it’s a collection of pretty pictures largely lacking insight or vision, and Apple’s reliance on slow-motion video for almost every river scene eventually wears thin.

The movie wraps up nicely, and yes – if you’re waiting for me to say it, I will – Hustle & Fish is definitely worth owning.

The soundtrack (mostly up-and-coming independent bands) is excellent, and the editing is professional (though the overbearing fly fishing product placements played havoc with several scenes – the product of an independent filmmaker dependent on manufacturers for funding).

Yes – if I were Absolute Ruler of the Video Universe, I’d tell Apple to go back and finish his movie in the style he started it, creating fly fishing’s equivalent of This is Spinal Tap – the famous rock & roll “mockumentary” that changed the way we viewed both rock & roll bands and documentaries.

And yes, It’s likely a large chunk of Apple’s target audience is going to love Hustle & Fish’s fish porn sequences, so I’m going to give Hustle & Fish four fins (out of five) – largely for Steve Apple’s willingness to extend the somewhat rootbound fly fishing video genre.

In many ways, it’s a groundbreaking fly fishing video, and I suspect a bit of a wakeup call for others working in the genre. It’s also one of a small handful of fly fishing videos I’ll bother to keep.

See you in the cinema, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: fish porn, fishizzle, Fly Fishing, fly fishing movie, fly fishing video, hustle & fish, hustle and fish, rollcast productions, spinal tap, steve apple

Can the New Sticky Rubber Wading Boot Soles Free Fly Fishermen From Felt’s Grip?

Will Patagonia Riverwalker "Sticky Rubber" wading boots stick when you need them?

The old ways tend to die hard in most fly fishermen, and while I’d love to hold myself aloft as a golden exception to the rule, I simply can’t.

Like most of you, I wore felt-soled wading boots for the majority of my fly fishing career (both with and without studs). I learned to live with the rapid wear, clogging, and irritating tendency to skate on smooth, angled rocks, justifying the hassles with the knowledge that felt soles were the only thing that worked.

Finally – tired of wearing out felt soles in less than a season (courtesy the sharp rocks lining the railroad beds running alongside the Upper Sac) – I switched to Weinbrenner’s studded rubber soles, which were OK.

Well, sometimes they were a lot less than OK, though they wore well and had (I’m guessing) 70%-80% of the grip of felt soles under good conditions.

I got by.

But with the Weinbrenners no longer available, and a new pair of wading boots needed right away to soothe my aching feet, I plumped for a pair of Patagonia Riverwalker “sticky rubber” soled wading boots.

The soles were rubber and they lacked studs and frankly – because I “knew” rubber was a poor substitute for felt – my expectations were pretty low. Like any resourceful outdoorsman, I figured a fix was no farther away than the nearest hardware store (sheet metal screws).

The good news? I haven’t been to the hardware store yet.

Sticky Rubber That Really Is

Dashing my expectations, Patagonia’s “sticky rubber” soles worked very, very well. In many environments, they actually exceeded the performance of studded felt and studded rubber soles.

At times, they were a better alternative to felt and studded felt for some applications – and perhaps a better choice overall (everybody’s mileage may vary on this one).

In other areas – especially situations involving slime layers on cannonball rocks – the sticky rubber soles faltered a bit, though in the midst of winter, there isn’t a lot of rock snot to go around.

Those who wade on snotty stuff all the time can bolster their grip with the addition of a few sheet metal screws, though I haven’t bothered.

You see, I’m liking life without studs. You can walk places you never could wearing studded soles (like inside a friend’s house or into the Burger Barn for a post-fishing snack).

When driving, I don’t suffer that Moment of Abject Terror when the studs just won’t let go of the gas pedal. In other words, it’s almost as if you can ambulate just like a normal human being (albeit one wearing dorky rubber pants). “Which is great and all” you say “But how do they work in the water?”

The Undergrounders ask, we answer:

Dry Streamside Rocks

Smooth, dry, angled rocks were always something of a problem area for felt and studded soles. More often than I care to remember, I’d apply a little angular pressure, and find myself “skating” fast down a rock surface. It’s an unpleasant sensation, and a dangerous one too.

After all, fall in three feet of water and you’re going to get wet. Fall in three inches, and you could get hurt. On dry rocks, the sticky rubber soles grab like they’re glued. A huge win over felt and studded boots.

Wet/Shallow Rocks

Wet streamside rocks – whether from rain or spray – are another big wading hazard, yet the sticky rubber sole handled them nicely (much to my surprise). They’re not magic, but they are effective – and very secure. Shallow or exposed wet rocks probably account for more of my “awkward wading moments” than any other situation, yet I experienced none of them with the Riverwalker (that’s not to say you won’t).

Surprisingly, it’s another win for sticky rubber – especially if you’re a small-stream fisherman.

Cobbled River (The Usual)

This is where the rubber (ahem) really meets the streambed. On last Saturday’s Upper Sacramento River trip, I was surprised to find myself pushing my way up a waist-deep run without a hint of slippage on the rocks.

I have fished this stretch a lot over the years, and my studded-rubber Weinbrenners always came across a little dicey. By contrast, the sticky rubber soles treated the river bottom like it was dry sidewalk – the only hint of slippage came when trying to clamber over a pair of dark-colored boulders, which are warmer, and support more algae.

How will I fare on this same stretch later in the summer – when algae grows thick and the rocks aren’t being polished by high flows?

Unfortunately, I can’t say for sure, though I suspect I’ll be OK.

On the Slippery Green Stuff

It’s when you’re wading over green-painted “snot rocks” that the sticky rubber fails a bit (which is to be expected). Felt soles work by cutting through the algae and clinging to the rock; studded soles take a similar course.

The “Star Tread” tread pattern on the sticky rubber soles will cut through a little slime, but obviously, it’s not capable of penetrating through algae to rock like carbide-tipped studs.

Naturally, you can add studs (in the form of metal screws), though congratulations – you’ve just negated a lot of the positives I mentioned above.

While the Riverwalkers performed nicely at Ney Springs and also near the infamous Dunsmuir “Sewer Ponds” stretch, I must reserve judgement until after a little more algae’s grown. Given the performance so far, I’m ready to be pleasantly surprised.

The Riverwalker has passed the test on those smooth-as-glass exposed bedrock environments, where studs act more like ice skates than safety devices. In those situations, studs were always more hindrance than help.

The Underground’s Take

Finally, fly fishermen have an alternative to felt or studded boots that actually outperforms the traditional options in several environments, though I won’t pretend Patagonia’s Riverwalker “grips like felt” in every situation.

The sticky rubber Riverwalker just might be the perfect wading boot for people who hike to fish small streams, where its dry-land performance and effectiveness on wet-but-clean rocks would truly shine.

In fact, add the sole’s performance to the boot’s surprisingly light weight (and pleasing flexibility), and you’ve got the (so far) the perfect blueliner’s boot.

It’s less surefooted in snotty, algae-rich areas, and I haven’t yet tested it in the McCloud or Pit Rivers. Still, those who aren’t sure will be comforted know you can add studs if you think they’re necessary, though I suggest testing them stud-free. You might find the benefits of a rubber sole outweigh the costs.

Bonus Goodies

I already mentioned the flexible, featherweight nature of the Riverwalker, but I haven’t mentioned the sheer joy I experience putting the silly things on. Stuffing my feet in my Weinbrenners was a chainsaw-death-match-ish wrestling match, yet my feet just slide into the Riverwalker.

I demonstrated the easy-on aspect to Wayne Eng, whose eyes widened momentarily (when you struggle with wading boots as often as guides do, boots that slip on like loafers grab your attention).

Frankly, the gestalt of the Riverwalker is astonishing: Patagonia’s done a superb job of crafting a wading boot that’s light, comfortable, easy to hike in, and surprisingly protective (even in tough freestone environments).

Still, the rubber sole remains the focus of this review, and while I’m not 100% clear that rubber soles alone will prevent the transmission of invasives from one river to another (there are a lot of nooks and crannies in a wading boot), I do believe that buying fewer wading boots is better than buying more, and – on the Upper Sacramento’s hard-edge railroad tracks – felt soles simply cost more per fishing trip.

In fact, I liked Patagonia’s rubber soles so much I contacted Simms; a pair of wading boots with their much-hyped Vibram rubber sole are on the way for testing (Disclosure: I paid for the Patagonia boots), and we’ll see how the two brands compare.

Still, rather than turn this into a brand war, I’ll suggest the following: It’s good that fly fishermen finally have a durable, high-performance, longer-lasting option to felt and studded felt soles – especially those who hike a lot and fish small streams, where the Patagonia Rivewalker is simply superb.

See you on the river, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: Fly Fishing, fly fishing gear, patagonia, riverwalker wading boot, wading boot

An Uncrowded Place, by Bob Butz

Writing outdoor essays isn’t exactly a lonely industry; place the words devoted to the outdoors end to end, and you could find yourself in possession of a bridge long enough to reach another planet.

An Uncrowded Place by Bob Butz

In a few cases, those words shine, including most found in An Uncrowded Place – a collection of sporting essays by freelance writer Bob Butz.

While a few of his essays feel uneven, Butz’s better efforts shine brightly (his essay on home remodeling falls flat while the next – a piece about snagging salmon – is bright and thoughtful).

Throughout the book, Butz’s essays avoid posturing and inauthentic cliche. Instead, they focus largely on the day-to-day sporting activities of someone trying to live an outdoor life, usually from a philosophical perspective.

In that one sense, they’re reminiscent of Gierach’s work (at least Gierach’s around-home stuff), though Butz lacks Gierach’s fly fishing focus and ironic sensibility. Instead, Butz’s essays approach the outdoor life from a more general perspective, mixing fishing, hunting, camping and other topics in equal quantity.

His essays are witty and good fun, and I found the book intriguing enough to read twice. In fact, through both readings, my primary criticism remained the same: length.

The book is mostly composed of essays originally written for an online magazine, and while the quality of the work is apparent, I found myself stumbling over the brevity. Several of the author’s best essays spanned only 2.25 pages; I’d get warmed up on a topic, settle in for the (largely enjoyable) ride, and then run headlong into the end of the chapter.

Butz is at his best while looking critically at the sporting life and sportsmen, and his pieces on becoming a father in his 30s are authentic and thoughtful. In fact, Butz seems incapable of writing a dishonest sentence, and it’s that honesty that sustains his book.

He shines brightest when he’s being reflective; his playful pieces don’t quite reach the same heights. For example, when you’re writing about something as universal as mosquitoes, you’d better offer fresh insight, and Butz’s essay on mosquitoes doesn’t quite reach that level.

Still, his essay about night fishing for salmon (Dream Fish, Night Fish) paints a vivid picture:

I most like fishing for salmon at the river’s mouth, where you stand in water up to your armpits. There, under the wide eyes of the moon, in the near dark, I tie my knots by feel, by memory.

With any fish but salmon, I prefer delicate tackle, tiny hand-tied flies, and long rods as sensitive as nerve endings. But on these nights, I come wanting a good fight and, admittedly, meat that – out here in the dark – seems more fairly won.

His essay about new snow (Tracks) similarly impresses:

I’m a lover of stories so, naturally, I’m a lover of tracks.

It’s one reason I enjoy winter so much. The woods after a freshly fallen snow, every time, feel to me clean and quiet and made new again, what with so many tracks, so many new trails – make that tales – to follow.

I have a red fox living in the woods behind the house. Though I’ve never seen him, I know he’s made it another year. Every winter, after every new dusting of snow, I find his tracks in all the same places. He likes the rock pile behind the barn – no doubt for the mice he finds there.

I could wish for a book filled with longer essays, but An Uncrowded Place is a thoughtful, first-class read for any fly fishermen willing to look beyond the confines of the long rod for inspiration.

Butz writes knowingly of not just the outdoors but also the frustration of living in the outdoors and still finding himself without enough time to fully enjoy it.

That, at least, is something most of understand, and if it’s one thing Butz’s essays show us, it’s that he understands too.

An Uncrowded Place: The delights and dilemmas of life Up North and a young man’s search for home
by Bob Butz
150 pgs; Huron River Press

Technorati Tags: an uncrowded place, book review, fishing, Fly Fishing, outdoor essays, outdoors

OK, I’m stretching it a little. The headline suggests the “Soft Shell Revolution” has already happened – and it has in highly aerobic sports like skiing and mountaineering – but it’s less clear we’ll see the same in fly fishing.

Why? What’s a soft shell jacket? And why would you consider wearing one? You ask, the Underground answers…

What Are Soft Shells?

In simplest terms, soft shell jackets occupy a useful middle ground in the outdoor world. Typically, they’re a highly water resistant knit shell bonded to a light interior layer of fine fleece. They’re not insulated or “puffy” like a down jacket, yet they’re warmer than hard shells (most high-end wading jackets are essentially waterproof, windproof hard shells).

Yet it’s not their construction that makes soft shells so attractive – it’s their in-the-wild performance.

They’re not wholly waterproof or wholly windproof like a hard shell – nor is a soft shell as warm as a down jacket – but they can handle everything short of a really pouring rain, insulate nicely across a wide range of temperatures, and absolutely shine when the wearer is generating heat (and potentially sweat).

That’s critical to skier or mountaineers; working up a good sweat in a cold alpine environment is a one-way ticket to hypothermia – the wilderness athlete’s biggest enemy. That’s why – questions in hand – I found my way to one of the best backcountry skiers on Mount Shasta (and owner of the leading local mountain guide service).

His take? He wears soft shells pretty much all the time, saying his hard shells simply gather dust in the closet.

An unabashed Patagonia partisan, he wears soft shells climbing and skiing the mountain – often in rainy and snowy conditions – though he carries along a lightweight-but-warm Patagonia “Micro-Puff” jacket (a kind of synthetic down jacket that still insulates when wet and packs down to almost nothing) to keep him warm during those periods when he stands around in sub-freezing temperatures (pretty much always the case up there).

It’s the kind of practical insight from a working pro that makes a strong impression on me, and I admit to wondering about the application of soft shells to fly fishing.

It’s hard to overlook the utility of a jacket featuring the best working qualities of a four-wheel drive pickup truck, but fly fishermen aren’t as active on a river as skiers or climbers. Are soft shells really needed?

The Test (Or the Beginnings of One)

Because I’m willing to make even the big sacrifices for the Undergrounders, I forced myself to go fly fishing on the Upper Sacramento wearing Patagonia’s fly fishing soft shell (the Insulator).

Soft shell exteriors often feature a tight-knit, almost rubbery look, while the interior is a very fine fleece.

I’m only three trips into the test, but results have been good. The most “extreme” trip was my photograph-heavy snowy day on the river with Wayne Eng, where in upper-20s temperatures, I fished through the snow and wind wearing only a lightweight wicking t-shirt, a thin long-sleeve base layer, and the Patagonia soft shell (plus fleece hat, fingerless gloves, and fleece pants under the waders).

While I was always covered with snow, I remained dry inside the jacket. I was never too warm (the walk to the water was short), and I was also never too cold. In short, I was pretty damned happy with the results, though this hardly represents an all-encompassing trial.

The Good, The Bad, and the Waffling

Pluses? The lack of bulk was freeing; casting, retrieving gear, tying knots – all the basics – were easier to accomplish than if I was wearing the usual winter gear, which includes a bulletproof wading jacket over fleece. Patagonia’s Insulator soft shell is nicely streamlined, and includes covered anchor points for zingers, something I doubt I’ll use, though it’s a nice detail to see.

The experience was one of working closer to my skin than with bulkier clothing, a sensation I heartily endorse.

Minuses? None yet, though I don’t how I would have fared if the snow had turned to a pouring rain. Some go so far as to use soft shells as rain jackets, and my own experience (years ago) wearing a soft shell while skate skiing on a drizzly day suggests they’re far more water resistant than I’m giving them credit for. (The second I tell my readers to “heck, wear ‘em in the rain” I’ll be sued by an Undergrounder for emotional (rain-soaked) distress.)

In addition, soft shells typically don’t include a hood, and the Patagonia soft shell’s cuffs didn’t include a provision for cinching them tightly against water infiltration, so in a truly wet, hostile environment, a hooded hard shell might still offer the best protection.

Clearly, more rainy day testing is called for, so I’ll be back on the river soon (at the Underground, the giving simply never stops).

Last year, I skied/snowshoed to the river on several occasions, and expect the soft shell to shine in those high-output environments. I also want to put it through the winter wringer on a couple hikes to remote sections – the hikes that always left me annoyingly sweaty and fogged in my hard shell past.

The Limits of My Testing

The mountains of Northern California aren’t what you’d call a truly arctic environment; temperatures here don’t often fall into the single digits, and those in sub-zero environments might find a soft shell in inadequate to the task – or at best, only one part of the solution. Then again, the realities of icy guides and a frozen fly line means hardly anyone actually fly fishes in single-digit temperatures.

Those who consistently fish in very cold conditions (those zany steelheaders) might want to look at a warmer jacket – something like the above-mentioned Patagonia Micro-Puff, which though it sells in the bazillions to backpackers, climbers and skiers, was invented on a steelhead river by folks who liked fleece’s warmth and wet-insulating capabilities, but couldn’t abide by its bulk.

Caveats

If you’re interested in trying a soft shell jacket, don’t order the first one you see. Soft shells are manufactured in a fairly wide array of sizes and weights, and the thinnish soft shell jacket designed for a monster cross-country skier might not be ideal for fly fisherman who stand in the water.

In addition – and I’ll attempt to put this delicately – the soft shells designed for extreme mountain types often reflect their whippet-esque physiques – not exactly the perfect fit for the slightly more (ahem) pear-shaped fly fishing constituency. For example, Patagonia’s mountain-oriented “Guide” jacket didn’t fit me very well, and while the fishermen-oriented “Insulator” was too big in the middle, it made more sense.

Thus, if you’re not a member of the 5% body fat club, consider buying a soft shell from a fly fishing company. This is hardly an exhaustive survey of jackets, but I know that fishing-oriented soft shells are currently available from Patagonia, Orvis, Simms and Cloudveil, and I’m not about to start recommending one over the other absent testing all of them.

As you can see, there’s more to come on this subject. And yes, I’m starting the conversation here instead of later simply preaching at you guys about what to buy (it’s Power to the People Friday here at TU).

Any thoughts from the Undergrounders about soft shells? Recommendations? Failures? Whines?

See you on the (cold, cold) river, Tom Chandler

Technorati Tags: fishing, Fly Fishing, fly fishing gear, fly fishing jacket, fly fishing soft shell, gear review, soft shell

Poetry isn’t a staple here at the Trout Underground, and if my high school English teacher was right, it’s because I lack the genes needed to correctly interpret it.

Still, when I posted (long ago) about David Fraser’s Killing Trout and Other Love Poems, I was interested enough to dip my beautifully manicured manscaped toe back in poetry’s metaphor-rich waters.

Fraser’s a fly fisherman and outdoorsman, and not surprisingly, the outdoors occupy a high profile in most of his poems.

Interestingly, this collection of spare, direct poems were compiled over several decades, and in places, you glimpse the progression of Fraser’s life.

The result is a collection of sharp, all-literary-encumbrances-removed poems that reminded me of John Gierach’s little-seen, pre-Trout Bum Signs of Life poetry collection.

Fraser doesn’t burden his poems with overripe metaphor or literary pretense. His is the art of carving away all that isn’t essential, and the result is a series of visceral glimpses into a life lived largely outdoors:

In Canoeing After Midnight, Fraser:

There are moments under
the full moon when there are clouds
and trees, and Octobers
and warm south winds

and the broad river
kicks up and everything else
is subdued but the sounds
and I point the canoe into the wind

and I am challenging the wind
and the river when I should be sleeping.
a fool again, with one paddle, huddled
in the reeds on the far side of the river,

always traveling to that other side to rest.
always knowing there will be no rest
until I get back, the bow cutting
through the bullshit and the boredom

Killing Trout’s 35 poems range from fun to darkly observant, and a few truly stand out.

Poets and poetry fanatics will want to lay their hands on this volume – as will anyone interested enough in poetry to have dug up Gierach’s first book of poems.

This book is also the first from an independent press largely powered by its online presence, and frankly, that’s a trend I’d like to encourage.

Speaking as an absolute novice in the field of poetry criticism, I’m giving Fraser’s Killing Trout & Other Love Poems two fins up, if only because I “got” it. And liked it.

See you in the coffeehouse, Tom Chandler

killing trout and other love poems, book review, poetry, killing trout, david fraser

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