Sporting Travel
At High Lonesome Ranch, after a few busy days of gunning birds and catching trout, you’ll probably need a vacation from your vacation.
Dinner at the High Lonesome Ranch in Debeque, Colorado, is typically served following a brief wine-tasting. Lucky for me, I arrived at the ranch just when a selection of cabernets, red zinfandels and merlots were being poured, each produced and bottled from one of the 18 Grand Junction-area vineyards.
While savoring a vintage wine, I learned that two men from a group of Texans had opted to hunt some fields of wheat, sudan grass and milo, where they gunned a mixed bag of pheasants, chukars and Huns, along with scaled and Gambel’s quail. Midway through a milo field one of the ranch’s pointers locked up, and as the hunters moved into position, three pheasants and a single quail flushed at the same time. A pheasant/quail double doesn’t happen all that often.
Their companions, meanwhile, headed to more rugged terrain covered in scraggly sagebrush where they pursued native sage grouse. But before the dogs found any grouse, they pointed two coveys of chukars and two of the gunners doubled on the hard-flying birds.
The stories continued when we sat down for dinner prepared by Chef Jordan Asher. He was an up-and coming chef in Houston when he decided to scrap big city life for the opportunity to refine the ranch’s culinary program. Asher favors locally grown ingredients, many of which are harvested from the ranch’sVictoryGarden. From wood-fired, cowboy ribeyes with red chili steak butter, to oak-roasted pheasant breast with habanero-peach chutney, Asher’s presentations are extraordinary.
I had timed my visit in October so I could run a full day of both hunting and fishing. Hunting season at the ranch runs from September 1-March 31, and the fishing is good through the end of November. The western slope of Colorado doesn’t get nearly as much snow as the rest of the state and December through February is a perfect time if you don’t get enough bird hunting during your local season.
My second choice would have been September. Afternoon temperatures can be quite warm, so the guides run their hunts in the morning and take clients fishing in the afternoon. The cooler morning temperatures make for better scenting conditions and the dogs don’t overheat. After lunch, an afternoon breeze typically shakes hoppers from the hay and grass into the water. There are so many hoppers that after a strong gust of wind the fish will start rising aggressively.
The Texans had filled up both the Guest House and Pond House, so I stayed in a cabin at the upper end of Dry Fork Valley. On my drive up the mesa I could see the cabin tucked into the mountainside where it overlooked three big ponds. With a trout pond in my front yard and a bull elk bugling in back, falling asleep was becoming increasingly difficult.
My wake-up call came in the form of high-pitched yelps from a flock of Merriam’s turkeys, and it wasn’t long before the sun’s yellow and purple hues washed over the valley. From the living room I could see a few trout rising, and despite my lack of sleep, I was tempted to sneak in a few casts before heading down to breakfast.
I made a strong pot of coffee, then sat back to survey my digs. The ranch staff refers to the authentic log cabin as the Homestead House, which I assumed was in honor of the original settlers. I doubt they had a three-bed/three-bath cabin with a full kitchen, dining room and living room, but I’m sure they enjoyed the stellar views of the valley and the mountains embracing it.
I finished my coffee and headed down a graded dirt road through a series of smaller valleys. Scattered throughout the nearly 300-square-mile ranch are wild horses, elk, mule deer and untold numbers of gamebirds. A woman named Marty Felix is the Jane Goodall of wild mustangs that still survive in the Book Cliff mountains. Her search for the horses – buckskins, paints and duns – began in 1969, and she didn’t find them until 1973.
The normally ten-minute ride to the ranch headquarters took me nearly a half-hour, mostly because I kept stopping to gaze at either the breathtaking scenery or the wildlife. At one point I watched a pair of bald eagles riding the air currents above the mountaintops. Then, rounding a sharp curve I came upon several brightly colored pheasants busily pecking for gravel.
Finally, I pulled up in front of the second pioneer homestead, complete with a long porch, hitching post and tin roof. I wondered what Aunt Linda had in store for breakfast. The Louisiana native can whip up a Southern breakfast of biscuits and gravy just as easy as she can make French toast, blueberry pancakes, homemade muffins and pastries, all from scratch, of course. Top off the wonderful breakfast with a cup of High Lonesome’s special-blend coffee and you’ll be set until lunch.
If you love to shoot clays like I do, a quick warm-up is definitely in order before your hunt, and the 5-stand course at High Lonesome is possibly the prettiest I’ve seen. The clays ranged from high-incomers launched from the top of the ridge to crossing pairs that exploded from the sagebrush. It’s a great combination of technical and hunting shots, and odds are that once you’ve shot a round, you’ll want to do it again.
We continued on to the Quail and Pheasant Walk, which replicates a walk-up hunt. A report double that broke to my right made me want to get the dogs and head straight to the bird fields, but we still had to shoot the Flurry. This series of high overhead shots is launched from a hilltop trap. Between 20 and 60 clays per minute come off the hill, just like a driven pheasant hunt. By the time you’re done with the Flurry, you’ll be as sharp as you’re going to get.
After lunch I joined Brett Arnold of High Lonesome Ranch Kennels, who drove me to the Schoolhouse Cover, just a stone’s throw from the breakfast table. The field comes by its name honestly as it’s situated by the remains of an old school.
Brett began working a pair of pointers named Cool and Parker When a pointer gets a snootful of feathers and locks up, it’s always a pretty sight. When a second one backs, it’s picture perfect. The two gundogs did exactly that, time after time.
As we stepped in front of Cool, two chukars flushed. I swung on the first bird and dropped him with the snow-capped mountains as a backdrop. Brett released Cool and he fetched up the dead bird, then went on point with the chukar still in his mouth. Parker repositioned and backed, and as I walked forward a cock pheasant erupted and I took him going straight away. Cool dropped the chukar and fetched the ringneck. All was good with the world.
We hunted a wide variety of bird cover that day – grassy fields, oak and aspen stands, and creek bottoms. Some of the bottomlands were open, but much of our shooting was in tight cover. The fall colors were just starting to pop, and if you didn’t snap-shoot quickly, then you’d wind up cussin’.
After my hunt I went back to the cabin for a shower. There was a good brown rising under a willow tree overhanging the pond and I couldn’t resist throwing a Goddard Caddis his way. When he rose to the fly, I thought of a comment I’d read in the guest book. Sandy Moret, permit angler extraordinaire and owner of Florida Keys Outfitters in Islamorada, had written: “Over-fished and over-fed to perfection.”
At breakfast the next morning, I sat down with Buzz Cox, my fishing guide and manager of the K-T Ranch, and he suggested we try a few of the 18 ponds scattered throughout the ranch, each with a different feel, but all addictive. There were plenty of blow-downs, weedbeds and overhangs to challenge even the most experienced angler.
My favorite was an O-shaped pond cut in half by a dirt bank. In mornings and evenings trout would move out of the darker water and into the shallows adjacent to the bank. These fish, mostly rainbows but some browns, were big, and when they rolled I could see the sun flashing off their sides. For a moment I thought they were bonefish.
While we were rigging up, Buzz spotted a big rainbow cruising the bank. “I think that’s a two-footer,” he said. “That’s a nice fish,” I agreed. “Yeah, but look at the brown just underneath him!”
I could easily see the brown’s kipe, a good indication of an old fish. He had broad shoulders laced with bright
red spots that looked as big as silver dollars. It’s tough to guesstimate a fish’s size when it’s underwater, but this brown looked all of 28, maybe even 30 inches.
I tied on a small bead-head damselfly nymph, waited for the brown to get ahead of the rainbow, then dropped the fly about four feet ahead of him. But it was the rainbow who darted ahead, picked up the nymph and headed for a fallen pine. The water was so clear I could see his every move, which enabled me to keep him out of the branches. About the time he came to hand, the big brown started to feed.
On my third day I was scheduled to fish the White River, about an hour away in Meeker, where I’d be staying at the High Lonesome’s sister property, the K-T. Situated a few hundred yards from the river, the K-T is an 1880’s ranch house that can accommodate eight anglers. Some say fall is the best time to visit Meeker and to fish the White because dramatic temperature changes cause a thick mist to rise from the water. More than a century ago the Ute Indians called this misty stretch the “Smoking Earth River.”
Lots of seeps in the fields made for perfect haying and grazing, but it was too wet to get a truck through. Instead, Buzz and guide Ted Relihan pulled up in a 4-wheeler to zip me to the river. It would have been enough to start fishing the White, for there were rising trout in nearly every feeding lane. Instead, we violated the “never leave fish to find fish” rule and waded past them. We hiked through a cottonwood grove for about 20 minutes before arriving at a medium-sized spring creek, where big browns and rainbows were drifting in and out of the watercress. Trout in the spring creek were big and bold. I suppose they knew winter was approaching and they were rising all across the surface to feed. When the wind gusted, hoppers would drop into the river, drift downstream a bit, and the trout would rise to eat them. The water was so slow-moving the trout would create big wakes as they inhaled the insects.
With all eyes on one huge brown and the pressure on, I got lucky and floated a good-enough cast into range. The brown veered away when it landed, but quickly came back and hit the fly like a percussionist crashes a cymbal.
Hooking fish was easy on this spring creek, but landing them . . . well, that was a different matter. The brown made a snook-like beeline for the weeds. If he got in them, I’d probably have so much lettuce on my leader that either the hook would come out or I’d break him off. I pulled as hard as I dared on the 6-pound tippet and gradually steered him into deeper water. He thrashed wildly on the surface, then turned and ripped right at me. I stepped backward to keep the hook in his mouth, but then he darted toward the bank where I couldn’t see him.
Ted called out the next series of moves: “Rod to the left, less pressure, rod up, more pressure.” It was like driving while blind, but soon enough we got the 26-inch fish in the net.
I didn’t know how I could possibly upstage a fight that dramatic, so we returned to the main river. There, I worked the foam-lines along back-eddies fringing small pools. I drifted a Stimulator in the faster riffles, with the aspens along the edge and the mountains behind. Soon, maybe only a month from now, it would all be frozen and cold. The trout would still feed, but not aggressively.
For now, I’d savor the green hayfields and listen to the geese honking as they landed in the winter rye. I’d catch a few more fish and then get ready for another day of bird hunting. I’d probably need a vacation from my vacation, but getting over-fished and over-fed? Add hot upland hunting and you get perfection. Just as Sandy Moret said.
Fishing
It was as perfect a September as ever.
The temperature at night was cold enough to ice the deck of my boat, and hot enough during the day to make me sweat. Indian Summer as it’s known here in the Pilgrim State of Bassachusetts. Before the sun was up I walked into my driveway and stared at the ice on the boat. Instead of slip-sliding my way around the deck until the frost melted, I decided to grab a pair of boots and head for the beach.
Lots of fish were around because it was fall and time for them to migrate. The coves and bowls were full of silversides, sand eels, and small menhaden, and several species of predators took their seat at the table. The striped bass ranged from schoolies to 35-pounders, there were pods of late-run shad, and a mix of bluefish, bonito, Spanish mackerel, and false albacore. Anywhere you looked there were fish. They were on the flats, on the beaches, in the rips, at the mouths of the salt ponds, and on the reefs. Labor Day was well behind us and the crowds were thin. I tossed my kit in my truck, fishtailed out of the driveway, and headed up Cape.
I turned left down an overgrown dirt road to the back of a salt pond. The brush slapped the truck, and somewhere not far away a covey of quail sang whoooo–whit, whoooo–whit. I tucked into a small opening, pulled on my waders, grabbed my rod, and trudged toward the cove, flushing several mallards from a nearby mosquito ditch. I marked the quail and the ducks, and in a few weeks when hunting season opened I would return with my setter and my 20-gauge. And if at that time I were lucky with the birds I might also pick ripe beach plums and rose hips for chutney and see if I could swap a mallard for a bag of cranberries freshly harvested from the bogs.
I chose a salt pond that would have bass and blues inside, and bonito, shad, and albies at the mouth. It was a large pond, the kind that would take an entire day to walk around, and it was protected from the wind. I would start fishing at the mouth, and as the tide flooded I would work my way back to the truck.
I first saw him from a distance. He was a tall, thin kid standing on the jetty. The rocks had shifted from decades of pounding storms and L?-foot tides, and they were slick with kelp, mussels, and barnacles.
The jetty terrain is second nature for most fishermen, I thought, but he moved awkwardly. I chalked it up to his youth. He wore a tattered T-shirt, a pair of swim trunks, and Tevas. Why anyone would walk on a jetty without Korkers was beyond me. In his hands was a rod about three times his height. It looked like a fall-run surf stick, the kind long enough to toss a Goo Goo Eyes Big Daddy with a trio of trebles all the way into next week. Most of the kids on the jetty had shorter sticks, usually around 7 or 8 feet long.
It was odd. It was odd that this kid had such a long rod before the fall run had even begun. Odder still when I scanned the water and saw a long yellow floating fly line on the water.
He must have heard my cleats crunching the shells at the waters edge, because he turned, and I saw a large fly reel mounted on the grip. I looked back at his fly line and it extended to just about the other side of the channel. This wasn’t a particularly large breachway, but it had to be all of about 250 feet wide. If he had a nine or ten-foot leader it would have meant that this kid cranked out a 235-foot cast. I watched him knurl his line slowly, and when a big school of false albacore blew up near my feet, I didn’t cast.
Instead, I studied the sand. There were cracked quahog shells mixed in with some razor clams and bay scallops. They were colorful shards of calcium with bright reds, lavenders, yellows, and oranges all mixed together. I don’t think I ever noticed the beauty and texture of these ordinary shells. The scallops had their rippled surfaces, the razors were sharp and shiny, and the quahogs were blunt with their purple and black trim. I thought I would remember this moment for the rest of my life; I was about to meet the first kid who could cast farther than me, and a lot farther at that.
When I surf, I prefer a following tide. I look for a wave’s steadiness and its consistency. I like the wave to grow, crest, roll, and run hard. I like it to roll over an offshore bar and go way up onto the sand. As I looked at that long line on the water, I bore witness to a rite of passage. This next generation, like the water, was passing through my previous one. It never much mattered to me before. Then again, the generation surpassed was never mine.
The water was flat, the sun grew increasingly warmer, the tide was running, and a pod of albies shredded anchovies and sand eels a rod’s length away. I did not dare cast. Instead, I thought about the first trout I caught on a Squirrel Tail I tied when I was ten. And the first 20-pound Atlantic salmon I landed. The first bonefish that inhaled my Gotcha. Having my butt kicked by a kid would be just another memory that I would store in a closet with my sweatshirts, fly rods, and shotguns.
Perhaps I should learn from this master? He strip-struck twice, and raised his rod for the fight. The amount of line in the air resembled a tightrope in a circus act. I sat back down.
I thought about a fishing trip with my father decades ago off of Napatree Point. There weren’t many bass in those days, and when the tide turned. an enormous school of bluefish moved in. I caught a fish and my dad didn’t. Then I caught another and he still didn’t. It went on like that all afternoon. We had a quiet ride back to the dock and a quiet time hauling the boat. We drove home in silence. Now, I just scratched my head.
I stood up, brushed the sand off my waders and walked out on the jetty. The kid’s fly line was tangled in the rocks, and there was a small striper flopping at the water’s edge. “Need a hand?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said. His hook pulled before I got down to the fish, and the schoolie dropped in the water. “I like it when that happens,” he said. “It’s hard to release the fish with all this line out.”
“Yeah,” I said, “You’re casting halfway to Falmouth.” “It’s not hard,” he said. “Sometimes it’s tough dealing with the line, but the casting is a cinch.”
I never suffered the woes of having 235 feet of fly line bunged up. I was happy with a 100 feet, and this kid more than doubled my best. He sought empathy from me, not sympathy, because his miles of fly line had tangled in the rocks.
I surveyed his outfit. “That’s an expensive rig you’ve got,” I said. “It’s not mine,” he said. “It’s my dad’s. He never uses it. He bought it a few years ago but he can’t figure out how to cast it so it just hangs in the basement. This reel is sweet, but it’s expensive, too.”
“That’s nice that he let’s you use it,” I said.
“Let me use it? If he knew I had this rod out here, he’d kill me. It’d be easier to land fish if I could set it down, but I don’t want to get a scratch on it. This is my lucky rod. I catch all my fish on it.”
“I don’t know how to cast a Spey rod that well,” I said.
“A what?”
“The rod you are using.”
“What did you call it?”
“A Spey rod. They’re used for salmon fishing. Named after the River Spey in Scotland.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that’s what it was called. Why don’t you use one?”
“I don’t cast them well. Anyway, not like you. Why don’t you show me how to do it?” I asked.
“Sure. It’s really simple. I see that you keep waving your rod back and forth, but I just cast once. Just pull it back, wait for a minute, and let it rip.”
“Let it rip,” I said. “Please.”
The kid pulled the rod back over his head and paused for a few seconds until the line quieted down and then he pushed the rod forward as hard as he could and stopped when the tip-top was at eye level. The entire line and much of his backing whizzed out through the guides and kerplunked nearly on the other side of the bank.
“That’s all there is to it,” he said.
“That was my best cast today.”
“Why is it splashing so much at the end?” I asked. “A piled leader doesn’t make that much of a splash.”
“It’s the sinker. I can’t go any lighter than a three-ounce pyramid with the current. The clam belly adds weight, too. Besides, the fish don’t care about the splash.”
A pyramid sinker and a clam belly.
“That’s great,” I said. “That’s really great. Your dad would be proud of you.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I just have to be careful how much I tell him.”
“Well, if I see you guys on the beach together some time I’ll make sure I don’t bring it up.”
“That’d be awesome,” he said. “l don’t want to get in trouble.”
Fishing
Among saltwater anglers you’ll never hear a peep about Rhode Island’s diminutive size.
The smaller, the better, they say, and anglers in Little Rhody are used to outstanding and diverse fishing opportunities without driving from pillar to post.
South County is one of the prettiest parts of the Ocean State, but you won’t find it on a map. It’s a colloquial reference that has been argued about for more than a century. The official name of the southwestern part of Rhode Island is Washington County, and it includes the towns of Charlestown, Exeter, Hopkinton, Narragansett, North Kingstown, Richmond, South Kingstown, Westerly, and West Greenwich. In general terms, it stretches from the Connecticut border east to Greenwich Bay.
If you drive along U.S. Highway 1, South County spans only 27 miles from Westerly to East Greenwich. Condensed into this short area are reefs, river estuaries, beaches, salt ponds, rock gardens, and rocks and ledges. As if that terrain weren’t enough, anglers can consistently catch five species of fish from shore. Striped bass, bluefish, bonito, false albacore, and squeteague are common targets, and shad, skipjack, mahimahi, and school tuna come close enough inshore that boat anglers can rejoice. Deep Hole in Matunuck is typically the first area to host striped bass in the spring, and the South County beaches are where the final migrating fish are caught. South County is tough to beat.
One of the best parts of fishing South County is that the fishing is equally good by boots, by kayak, and by boat. Because of the open ocean exposure the water is very clear and clean, save for the occasional offshore weeds blown in after a storm. Be sure to wear a pair of cleated soles or boots, such as Korkers, if you fish the rocks; if you fish the salt ponds, be sure to account for the tide variations as the tide comes in quickly on the beach but takes a while to fill up the ponds. The same holds true on the ebb.
On the west side of the state, in Westerly, are Napatree Point and Watch Hill. Napatree Point is a peninsula that is connected to Watch Hill and the mainland by Napatree Beach. Just north of the point are Little Narragansett Bay and the Pawcatuck River. In this tiny little area is a highly concentrated amount of very different water—an estuary system, a bay, a beach, and a point—all of which rolls around to a rock garden. The area is productive all year long for a broad variety of fish. In the spring striped bass chase the herring, alewives, and silversides that move into the bay and then into the river. When squid move onto the Watch Hill Reef, the bass push out and the entire area fills up with bluefish. In the summer and early fall, bonito and false albacore run all around the area. Anglers commonly hook all four species in one day. Napatree Point is close to Connecticut waters, so if you fish from a boat, be sure to comply with Connecticut rules and regulations for all fish caught.
Around the corner is Watch Hill, arguably one of Rhode Island’s most recognized fishing locations. Watch Hill is about as pretty a place to fish as exists on the Eastern Seaboard. Wading anglers follow the path off Bluff Avenue and find a mix of beach, rocks, and ledges. Water moves very quickly here, and there is so much structure for bass to run down bait that when the fish are in you never know if you’re going to hook a 15-inch fish or a 15-pounder. The rocks are slippery and Korkers are a must, but Watch Hill is worth the effort.
The Watch Hill Reef has a tremendous amount of texture, derived from depth changes, rocks, and reefs. When the squid are in and the tide is running, striped bass and bluefish are seemingly everywhere at once. They are low in the water column, on the surface, and in all points in between. Boaters get above the tide line and stem the tide, with the best presentations resembling an up-and-across trout cast with an up-current series of mends. Hold on to your rod grip, because when your fly swings down below your boat and a fish hits you’ll have the current working against you. Many anglers like extra-fast-sinking lines for this area, and use very stout tippets—30- or 40-pound-text—so they can land more bass in the rugged hydraulics. Later in the season, bonito and albies show up to feast on glass minnows that drop out of the Pawcatuck River, and on silversides, bay anchovies, and other juvenile baitfish. The reef is a good place to catch multiple species of fish in one day.
If you like beaches, salts ponds, and break walls, you can enjoy fishing three popular haunts between Watch Hill and point Judith. Running from west to east, Weekapaug, Quonochontaug, and Ninigret each offer such features and get the most attention from fly fishers. The beauty of these three venues is that you can fish them from shore, from a kayak, or from a boat. They are productive from the early season when the first bass of the year arrive, through the summer bluefish and shad blitzes, on to the bonito and albacore mayhem, and finishing with the final fall striper run. Early- and late-season fishing is excellent during the day, and midseason night fishing is ideal. The spring full moons are a great time to fish in Ninigret Pond because of the outstanding cinder worm hatch. And if you’d like to run the beach in a 4X4, you can. At the east end of East Beach Road is 3-mile-long East Beach.
The outer beach is open from April 15 through October 31, from 7am until 11pm. Over-sand permits cost $50 for residents and $100 for non-residents, and can be obtained din person at Burlingame State Park or through the state park website, www.riparks.com/eastbeach.htm.
The ponds are virtual baitfish factories, which is what primes the beaches and the break walls at their mouths. In these ponds are nearly every type of bait imaginable, from early-season herring and alewives to silversides, sand eels, shrimp, cinder worms, bay anchovies, eels, mullet, and crabs.
On the east side of the breachway, off Charlestown Beach Rod in Charlestown, is a beach that is owned by the town and open to the public. In the early and late season you can park fro free, but during the day in the rest of the season you have to pay. Fly casting this beach can be tricky because it attracts so many families for summer fun on the sand, but the night fishing can be good. There is an easterly current swing as the tide drops, and you’ll find bonito and albies running along the drop-off. Around the stand of 5 Cottages is an ocean hole and a rocky point that is a productive area to prospect.
While most people know of Point Judith as the spot to catch the Block Island ferry, it’s a working harbor that has some great fishing. In-season boat traffic can be heavy, largely because of the public ramp that is located off the Galilee Escape Road. Kayaks are good for early- and late-season fishing, but leave ‘em home when the boats are running. Point Judith Pond is big and runs far upriver. Aside from the main channel, the ponds are soft and shallow. With so much bait around there is usually some species of fish to catch.
There are four walls in front of the pond that get a lot of attention: the West Wall, the Short Wall, the Center Wall, and the East Wall. The West Wall is well known for early striped bass, and for being a great place to catch bonito and albies from shore. A tremendous current line runs close to the West Wall, and the bottom drops off very quickly, creating a hard edge perfect for pelagic species, particularly with copious amounts of bait dropping out of the harbor. It’s an easy jetty to walk out on, and there is ample room for anglers using any and all methods.
Be advised, though, that the West Wall has a lot of obstructions, including numerous lobster pots and lines, and commercial fish traps (false albacore are used commercially for pet food and fertilizer). Hooking a fish isn’t necessarily the hard part, but landing it with all of the buoys, lines, and cages is challenging. Increase tippet size so you can lean on the fish during that first run and steer your catch away from all the obstructions.
The Short Wall is adjacent to Sand Hill Cove. In the spring and fall enormous numbers of mullet, silversides, sand eels, bay anchovies, and peanut bunker fill the area. To the east are Seaweed Beach and some rocky areas, ideal for bait. The rocks create a perfect place for spring and fall bass and summer and fall bluefish. Floating and intermediate lines are best.
The Center Wall is nearly a perfect barrier. All species of fish filter in and out between the walls, and when the bait is in it attracts all kinds of predators. One year, while looking for bass, bonito, and bluefish, I caught none. But I had a heyday with shad to about 4 pounds.
Finally, the East Wall fishes best early or late in the season. Some of the first bluefish arrive here in the late spring and early summer and it’s a quiet spot for night fishing. Of particular note is the fall fishing, as the area between Point Judith and the East Wall is the southern corner for fish heading from Rhode Island to points south. The wall runs on a southwest line from shore, so odds are you’ll get seas and wind in your face. Look for bonito and false albacore.
If you like rocky points, offshore bars, big boulders, and a sweeping current, head to the Point Judith Lighthouse. This is the point where South County makes a turn to the north, resulting in a complex mix of current. Exposure is significant, and all winds except those from the northwest affect the seas. That chaos makes for really good fishing, and when the bait is in you’ll see some of the biggest fish of the year come off this point. Watch the rocks—they’re slippery when wet.
Just north of the point Judith Lighthouse are a few miles of rocks and ledges that define classic striper water, with an access point at Bass Rock Road. The boulders and ledge just offshore and the erratic coastline offer plenty of holding water and areas for stripers to pin baitfish. The best places are those that offer moving water. Any break in the terrain is an opportunity for a bass. With the exception of the weeds associated with summer or following a storm, the water clarity is good. That means you can see fish swimming past or coming up to your fly. (One time while I was sharpening a hook point, I watched a tremendous bass approach and grab the tail of a small bass that my friend was fighting.) A stripping basket is really helpful to keep your line organized, and you’ll need to routinely check your tippets and hook points to make sure they’re in good working order. In June you may find stripers right up in the rocks trying to root out the lobsters that have shed their exoskeletons.
In the fall, albies run the current seams. They’re easiest to reach by boat, but shore anglers occasionally hook up. They move in against the current, usually on the dropping tide, and you’ll notice them because of the water they kick up and displace.
Once you’ve gotten an adrenaline rush from fishing the rocks and need a little quiet time, head north to the Narrow River, aka the Pettaquamscutt. Spring draws an excellent run of herring and alewives looking to get into the freshwater pond at the upstream end.
In addition to striped bass, shad, squeteague, and bluefish cruise the river. Albies show up in the fall, particularly where the river meets Narragansett Beach. At the mouth you can expect substantial turbulence on a dropping tide and wind from the south. All of that turbulence is good because it concentrates the silversides, sand eels, bay anchovies, crabs, and worms-and in turn the game fish that eat them.
You’ll see lots of folks from many different regions fishing in South County. Charles George, owner of The Bedford Sportsman, in Bedford, New York, just outside Manhattan, is a South County regular. “Being a stone’s throw from the city, I have a pick between urban New York Harbor, Long Island, New Jersey, or the Connecticut coast,” he explains. “Whenever I have the opportunity I head to South County, Rhode Island, because it’s not only a beautiful place to fish but there are so many different conditions and a lot of different fish to catch. In my opinion it’s a hard place to beat.”
South County is a good place to eat fish and seafood, but there are two local favorites you should try. The first is Rhode Island clear chowder. Many Yankees argue that this is the true chowder, made from salt pork, onions, potatoes, ground clams, and clam juice only; unlike traditional New England clam chowder, it has no cream or butter, and unlike Manhattan clam chowder, it has no tomato sauce. The second is a stack of cornmeal johnnycakes for breakfast. You will enjoy their crispness with a cup of coffee after a long night of fishing for big striped bass.
Abrames’s Razzle Dazzle (Originated by Kenney Abrames)
Hook: Eagle Claw 254 NA 1X short, size 5/0-2/0
Thread: WhiteDanville 3/0
Tail: 2 strands of blue Mylar, 1 olive saddle hackle, 2 strands of light-green Mylar, 1 long white saddle hackle, 1 long silver-doctor-blue saddle hackle, 2 strands of red Mylar, 1 yellow saddle hackle, 2 strands of gold Mylar, 3 long white saddle hackles, and white bucktail, respectively
Body: Silver Mylar piping
Throat: Long white bucktail on the bottom and on both sides
Wing: Silver doctor blue saddle hackle tied flat over an olive saddle hackle
Topping: 7 to 14 strands of peacock herl, just beyond the wing
Fishing
Several years ago a fall hurricane dumped six inches of water in my basement. After ripping off a sequence of expletives that would rival those spoken by a stevedore, I attempted to save more than four decades worth of materials threatened by the rising indoor tide.
In one box I found the last catalog produced by the H.L. Leonard Rod Company (Johnson Wax owned them at the time), and there was also a receipt for a Hardy Featherweight that I bought after a summer of bailing hay (retail price $88.00). I found an early Thomas & Thomas catalog along with a lost pack of moose mane that cost 90 cents. Included, too, were very early issues of a new magazine called Fly Fisherman as well as the first copy of a magazine called Rod and Reel that was later renamed Fly Rod & Reel. There were a number of versions of Fly Tyer magazine from when they moved the magazine from a typed newsletter format to a glossy publication. And tucked within the early Gray’s Sporting Journals were vintage tackle newsletters offering Seamasters and Fin nor Wedding Cakes for $250. The magazines and catalogs made me smile as I remembered my early fly fishing days, and also lament the fact that they were longer ago than I cared to remember.
At the bottom of the box was a copy of The American Sportsman. Depending on one’s mood, the three-ringed red, white and blue O in the word “sportsman” may have resembled a perfectly aligned peep sight or a Patriotic Vietnam-era Bull’s Eye, take your pick. I remembered watching episodes of that show on a black and white television with tubes that required several minutes to warm up so as to properly display the picture. Sometimes I would head across the street to my friend’s house to watch the show because theirs was a family of sportsmen and they had a color TV.
The American Sportsman was the most interesting to me because it was a hardback magazine. It was published by The Ridge Press, Inc. and the American Broadcasting Company Merchandising, Inc. division to accompany the Curt Gowdy-hosted television show of the same name. The American Sportsman was wonderful to hold and to read, and its production quality meant it was not disposable; like a book its quality would stand the test of time.
Our generation bears witness to the newcomer that is vastly different from traditional print media. Joining fly fishing books and magazines is a brave new world of digitally published blogs and ezines. In the past few years, many businesses have retooled their sales and marketing expenditures by reducing print advertising. In many circles, print is perceived as costly with no ROI while digital has gained favor because of its perception as “free.” In January, 2012, Business Insider reported that CEO Robert McDonald of powerhouse Procter & Gamble laid off 1600 marketing personnel and staff after finding out that Facebook and Google were either free or relatively free. There is a tremendous cost savings to the $10 billion annual ad budget, but are customers turning to social media for information on Old Spice or Tide laundry detergent? Mark Twain once said “common sense ain’t that common,” and with marketing budget-cuts occurring in such an expedient fashion, I beg the question: has digital replaced print in the fly fishing and sporting sectors?
With the increasing crop of fly fishing and sporting ezines, blogs, and social media threads it would seem so. The similarities are that print and digital are both for-profit business models that respond to a particular customer base. Historically, and as evidenced by the print Big Three sporting magazines (Field & Stream, Outdoor Life and Sports Afield), sportsmen were sportsmen. The lion’s share of the angling demographic favored conventional tackle and then gravitated towards spin tackle. FIy fishing was perceived as an elitist sport until Shakespeare’s Wonderrod, Pfleuger’s Medalist series, andCortland’s 333 reduced the financial entry point. Fishermen also were highly likely to be hunters and their diverse fishing methods were mirrored in their pursuit of big game, upland birds, and waterfowl. Fly fishing coverage was a small percentage of total editorial but that was destined to change.
The first customer change occurred somewhere between the Summer of Love and Watergate, and it came with a quest for more and specific information. In certain sporting sectors there was a customer base that began to focus on specific sporting disciplines. The all-purposes sportsman gave way to narrowly aligned user groups who thirsted for greater coverage and more information about their favorite activities. The pattern is reflected across many sporting categories. With regards to fly fishing, Don Zahner lead the pack with the l969 launch of the niche publication he called Fly Fisherman. A number of start-up niche publications sprouted through the mid 1970’s and established a velocity of new magazines that continued to launch throughout the next few decades. Each new magazine had a particular focus, with some keying in on sporting art and literature, others with destination and how-to’s, and still others with techniques and products. Fly Fisherman, Fly Rod & Reel, and American Angler focused on all facets of fly fishing, while Wild Salmon and Steelhead or Warmwater Fly Fishing addressed a specific species or two. Saltwater Fly Fishing and later Fly Fishing in Saltwaters addressed an environment while others, like Eastern Fly Fishing, Northwest Fly Fishing and Southwest Fly Fishing provided a regional approach.
Fly fishing market retraction and the struggling domestic and world economies have caused many magazines to lose subscribers and advertisers. A number of publications have not survived. A new hurdle for print magazines to overcome comes back around to the emergence of digital publishing and social media. When I finished bailing water in my basement and returned to my office I was likely to find one of the newest fly fishing publications ready for my perusal.
So while the world continues to turn toward digital technology for their information, I wonder if sportsmen in general and fly fishermen in specific prefer print or digital as the way they’d like to receive their information. Digital publishing and social media have emerged as mainstays in our everyday world. But does that trend hold true for sporting activities in general and specifically fly fishing?
To answer that question I turned to publishers and editors who represent more than a century of experience. It goes without saying that each began their careers in print, but every one has significant experience in print and in digital and are able to provide an unbiased opinion on the values and limitations of each.
I first spoke with Ed Gray, the founder of Gray’s Sporting Journal. In recognition of the changing audience which led to ABC shuttering The American Sportsman in 1974, Gray launched a perfect-bound magazine of no less than 96 pages that was printed on 50-pound stock, and featured a 70/30 editorial-to-advertising ratio. His preliminary issue was launched on Halloween Night 1975, and nearly four decades later Gray’s Sporting Journal (now owned by Morris Communications) is thriving. Why? Gray focused on a special interest audience.
As businesses grow and expand, niche models increase,” said Gray. “A very specific audience of sportsmen exists and they favor print. Many will read digital, but the primary customer base who spends money on products and trips read print. The last century showed us a similar pattern in live theater, film and then television. As film and television emerged as new markets, live theater suffered a slight retraction. In our time, small movies have been replaced by those with tremendously large budgets. That said, live theater is still vibrant, and in many instances, actors are not considered “real actors” unless they have been on Broadway. It is a quality versus quantity issue, and customer buy quality magazines. Talented writers and photographers combined with quality print magazines properly address the sporting customer demographic. It might not hit the youthful sector, but it addresses the largest percentage of the total market, and that is what is important.”
Jim Butler, the former editor of Fly Rod & Reel, began working on Down East Enterprise’s fly fishing magazine in 1986, seven years after it was founded. “Historically, there was a tremendous spike in the sporting customer base after World War II,” he said. “Magazines expanded to cater to the growing niche-consumer demand, with Fly Fisherman being one of the front-runners to offer expanded fly fishing coverage. Fly Tyer came aboard in the 1970’s and regional magazines in the 1980’s through the 1990’s.”
“With all of the technological enhancements, digital has become more popular. An online magazine with a staff of one or tow and desktop publishing can produce a magazine that will service one niche of the niche market. To stay in business during this difficult climate, publishers need to study changes in how readers want to receive information as well as what type of information they want to receive. Fly rod 7 Reel has print and soon-to-be-launched digital platforms (and our sister publication, Shooting Sportsman, already boasts a digital-only pub called Sporting Shot). When we monitor successes and failures we find many clear examples of what works. Pure information like knot tying and the latest fishing conditions are great for the digital market. Videos explain knot-tying far better than print, and fishing reports reach more anglers more quickly on the web. But if a customer is looking to experience the sporting lifestyle then they are likely to find that level of quality in a magazine they can hold as opposed to view on a screen.”
Digital publishing guru Marshall Cutchin from MidCurrent doesn’t attach any perceived magazine subscription declines to digital. “Many magazines started to decline before Google appeared on the scene,” said Cutchin. “From an expense-side, magazines have always been big-budget projects that are content, subscription and advertising models. While I’ve seen consumers moving away from magazines that supply mass-market information they continue to find room for those that provide content for specialty subjects. Still, the challenges of the future for print are well known and scary. For digital? Their successes are becoming more apparent. Digital has the chance to embrace change in a way that print never did because it doesn’t rely on expensive production and distribution models.
“With digital comes an appealing low-entry cost which partly explains the dramatic increase in digital sporting publications. And with that low-entry cost comes a second issue, which is the vetting process. In the 1990s, bulletin boards were a tremendous vehicle for disseminating information, though much of it was suspect. Blogging software enabled publishers to produce and distribute content very inexpensively and it changed everything. But it also didn’t guarantee quality. The Internet has proven that the loudest people are often the least knowledgeable.”
Cutchin doesn’t think a shift to digital means the death of magazines, and he doesn’t think the “flipbook” concept answers an important need. “In some ways, a medium that allows anyone to assemble content works against information quality. Print gets more expensive all the time, so smart publishers are focusing on what print does best, which in my opinion is delivering a tactile experience—high-resolution photography and art on nice thick paper, for example. The look and feel of a magazine is distinct, and ‘flipbooks’ can’t replicate that electronically. On the other hand, subscription-based magazines can’t achieve the audience reach they once had, both because of competing channels and because consumer behavior is changing at an accelerating pace. Digital is learning to survive without print, I think, but print can’t survive without digital.”
John Frazier, editor of the niche of a niche Fly Fishing in Salt Waters represents an interesting twist. Before converting to digital, Frazier got his start in print. “Digital is a highly profitable endeavor, and the advertising revenues versus the cost centers are favorable to the publisher. Digital isn’t a fad, it’s here to stay.
“That said, the most important question is not what will the P&L look like or what will the accounting department say. The question is how do your readers want their content delivered? Web is great as it was intended, and that is to provide short, quick hits. But print has more longevity and quality attached to it. Fly fishing consumers favor quality over quantity, and while the younger market enjoys the social component delivered relatively immediately in a conversational tone, print is the dominant business driver.
“No one has cracked the digital code yet, so it’s wise to offer both versions to customers and to let them decide. But now that I’m involved in print magazine I’m in it to stay. And so are my readers.”
Kirk Deeter has an interesting 360-view of the fly fishing industry. Like Jim Butler before him, Deeter edits both a consumer trade magazine (TROUT and Angling Trade, respectively). Deeter also is a book author, a Field & Stream editor-at-large, a blogger for Field & Stream (“FlyTalk”) and for the RBFF’s Take Me Fishing program.
“The question of print versus digital reminds me of film,” he said. “I’ll watch some movies on an iPad, and others on a television. But them there are just some that I have to see on the big screen. And so it goes with digital and print applications.
“Simply put, good content sells. With that question answered, the real issue is what vehicle best matches the words and images? It’s a match-the-hatch of content, and the content is dictated by your audience. To simply take content that is best suited for a print publication and offer it in digital form doesn’t solve the issue.
“I think of blogs and social media like open-mic night. The quality of blogs and posts range from excellent to beyond the pale of acceptable. To think that a customer who spends $5,000 on a 5-night/4-day fishing trip or $750 on a fly rod is posting on Facebook or reading flipbooks is not likely. He’s probably working hard to be able to afford a quality trip or quality tackle. That demographic is likely to favor print. Products that appeal to a younger audience or are price-point driven may do well with digital. But each group must know their audience. TROUT magazine, for instance, consists of a 50+year old demographic. To shift from print to digital for a cost savings would be great for the P&L, but disastrous to all other facets. So by adding a digital application, I can disseminate information to a younger audience so as to increase their participation in Trout Unlimited while maintaining my core constituency. Again, it’s match-the-hatch for your customers.”
Ross Purnell, the editor of Fly Fisherman, the largest circulation fly-fishing print magazine for 40 years, actually began his publishing career in the digital world. Purnell was the first employee of the revolutionary website, The Virtual Flyshop (1996). Fly Fisherman magazine acquired The Virtual Flyshop in a strategic move designed to capitalize on the digital platform and to offer readers and advertisers a state-of-the-art publishing arm that was additional to the industry-leading print publication. Purnell joined the editorial staff of the print magazine in 2001.
“The reality is that nobody has to choose. Almost everybody I know takes advantage of both. You prefer digital if you need a fly recipe quick—you Google it. If you want to banter with fellow fly fishers on bulletin boards you know where to find it. Up-to-date industry news? The Internet wins. But sometimes you want to sit in a big easy chair and read a good magazine with quality editorial you can depend on. Some people keep their stack of magazines in the bathroom. Or they pick up a magazine before they get on a plane. There will always be a place for print magazines.
“We don’t expect consumers to have to choose. Fly Fisherman began publishing a website back in 1996, we’ve got the best fly-tying app in the iTunes store, we’re developing relationships with our readers through social media, and we’re working on the iPad version of Fly Fisherman right now. We listen to consumers and plan to provide the best fly fishing information however they choose to consume it. And right now, they want it all.
“Print publications have many advantages that ensure their longevity. I think the backbone of any good printed magazine is credibility. Readers trust what they read in Fly Fisherman because the information comes from a very select list of experts, the information has been vetted, and you don’t have to wad through millions of pages of garbage to find what you’re looking for. Trust is a big issue when you’re asking people to take out their wallet and buy something. According to a 2011 Southwick and Associates study, print advertising is still number one in terms of influencing purchasing decisions and that’s something smart advertisers are already aware of. Our readers paid money for the magazine which identifies them as not just serious fly fishers, but as serious consumers. And the way you consume a printed magazine—from front to back with no goal other than absorbing each page—assures advertisers that the ad has much great value. It’s being carefully read by the right people. It’s not just flashing by on a computer screen.”
Sporting businesses in general and fly fishing businesses in specific do well to include a balanced marketing approach, loaded mostly for print and secondarily for digital. Oh, yeah, back to the basement. As I finished bailing water and set about to packing up my box I found several floppy discs from an old Mac 128, and it made me think. I sure wish I had printed the contents of those discs back in, how shall I say, 1984.
