Gary Lewis is the host of Adventure Journal and author of John Nosler – Going Ballistic, Black Bear Hunting, Hunting Oregon and other titles.

They took out the stoplight on I-90 in 1991 and the townsfolk in Wallace, Idaho, their feelings hurt by the freeway bypass, proclaimed a manhole cover the Center of the Universe.

I remember the stoplight. We stopped for lunch in Wallace in the 1970s. I remember looking at the stream that ran alongside the road. It ran white with poison.

Last week I packed my Filson duffle and headed to the Center of the Universe for a conference of the Northwest Outdoor Writers Association.

Chub Eastman, who lives in Bend, Oregon, remembered Wallace back in the 1950s.

“When I was a kid, growing up in Coeur d’Alene, the South Fork had outhouses hanging over the water. The runoff from the mines was so toxic that when ducks and geese landed in that end of the lake, if they stayed for more than two or three days, they never left.”

Outdoor writer Scott Richmond recalled the South Fork as that proverbial creek up which you didn’t want to be without a paddle.

We had two 14-year-old boys with our group, Austin Sixta and Caleb Rizio; cousins, one from Kansas and one from California. When they looked at the water, they saw an opportunity to catch a fish, something that would have been impossible here three decades ago.

With the teenagers in tow, I assembled a couple of fly rods. Neither boy had fly-cast before and although there were fish that might be caught on a worm and a hook, it was more important to impart a new discipline.

Austin took to the 6-weight Fikkes Fly Hiker, while Caleb started with the 5-weight Albright.

Fourteen-year-old boys are not about finesse, but soon they could cast far enough to catch a fish if the fish were willing. Trout splashed for mayflies and midges, just out of range.

We progressed from the simple pick-up and lay-down to overhand casting to roll casting and then dusk was upon us.

Two days later we drove up through Woodland Park, Gem, Frisco, Black Bear and Yellow Dog to a ghost town called Burke at the end of the road.

Back when the silver mines roared, real estate was so scarce they built the four-story Tiger Hotel over the top of Canyon Creek and two sets of railroad track.

We paused at the Frisco mine where, on a Sunday night in July of 1892, a shooting battle erupted between striking mine workers and mine guards. During the fight, union men circled around behind the guards, dropped a box of black powder down a shaft and blew up one of the mine buildings. The violence continued at the nearby Gem mine.

A lot of the old buildings are still in place and silver still comes out of the ground. Greater treasures, the cutthroat trout have returned to their old haunts.

Today that old traffic signal lies in a coffin in the Wallace Mining Museum and the red lights have been extinguished, but, for fly-fishermen of all ages, it is still a great place to stop.

Growing up in a family of hunters & fishermen has lead Kristen Monroe of OutdoorNews.com to have passion for the outdoors. Recently, Kristen visited South Dakota for some old fashioned casting and blasting.

Some visit South Dakota for the great pheasant hunting.  Others seek a peek at Mount Rushmore.  But I was searching for adventure on the beautiful Black Hills streams.

I was anxious to wet my fly line in the picturesque streams and lakes in the area. The City of Deadwood and the Black Hills, Badlands and Lakes Association were our hosts for the 4th annual Association of Great Lake Outdoor Writers (AGLOW) Spring Cast & Blast event. Both greeted the media and our participating corporate members with open arms.

Twenty-four outdoor enthusiasts shared turkey blinds and hiked the natural terrain with hopes of taking home a Merriam’s turkey. Lori Smith of Indiana and Dean Bortz of Wisconsin saw not only turkeys, but also had visits from mountain lions at their respective blinds. Perhaps these powerful predators were seeking a turkey dinner? The sound of the purrs, clucks and gobbles evoked curiosity from the massive pumas. While ten had successful hunts, others were still smiling after experiencing a city rich in old, Wild West history and plentiful wildlife.

Twelve other event participants split up and headed to local lakes and streams to catch walleye, trout, bass and panfish. Lakes Sheridan, Orman, Pactola and several area streams produced beautiful catches and photos for the AGLOW anglers.

Rapid Creek is a tailwater fishery flowing out of scenic Pactola Lake.  Its shallow, clear waters and large, experienced trout make it a highly technical stream.  The fly-fishing was challenging yet delightful, and my persistence was rewarded with my first beautiful brown trout.

“The insects in this area are very small, and the trout are smart,” said David Gamet, manager and guide from Dakota Angler & Outfitter out of Rapid City.  “You have to trick them with a nymph, long leader and light tippet,” he continued.  If you have ever tried to fish with 7x tippet, you know the thickness is next to nothing. It was light and hard to control. The flies were equally tiny.  I used a San Juan Worm as an attractor and a size 22 beatis nymph as a dropper.  These tiny hooks presented another hindrance, as they kept getting covered with algae. But no algae was going to stand in my way.  I cleaned my hook multiple times.

Indeed, the country trout were canny.  I could almost hear their laughter while repeatedly roll casting my St. Croix 5-weight with careful determination. To avoid spooking these smart trout, I fished from the bank on my knees. Casting with stealth, I could hear faint rumbles of thunder in the background. Anxious to hook a trout before the storm hit, I casted like never before. I could smell the rain. Suddenly, a subtle hesitation of my strike indicator and I saw the brown eat the nymph. I lifted the rod gently and fought the glorious fish to the bank. My first brown trout was captured in the net, photographed, and released.  We were caught by the impending downpour on our hike back to the truck, but needless to say, I didn’t care.

At the end of each day AGLOW members met and swapped stories at the Deadwood Mountain Grand Hotel, Event Center and Casino – a wonderful hopping off point for all of our Black Hills outdoor adventures.  Deadwood is known as the city that never dies, a title it has earned after being rebuilt three times due to fires. Buildings don’t last forever. But like the surrounding mountains cloaked in Ponderosa pines, the tales of the Wild West will live on for eternity – as will our memories and outdoor stories.

For more info visit these helpful links for the Black Hills, Badlands and Lakes Assoc, Deadwood Mountain Grand and Dakota Angler & Outfitter.

Words by David S. Lewis.  Executive Editor, (614) Magazine.
Photo by Judith O’Keefe

Mother’s Day marks the beginning of spring fly fishing for many.  It takes a different breed (and a river out West) to brave the freezing waters of February, or the rapids of the snow melt in March and April.

Truth be told, I could have easily waited another couple weeks, but I’ve had my tomatoes growing since February, and I started my beans inside the house.  I get antsy towards the end of winter.

My first trip was fraught with the usual frustrations: my leader was more snarled than a Rottweiler farm; my finely-honed cast of last year is now suddenly impotent.

Still seething on the way home (some delightful chap saw fit to take my clearly empty fly rod case out of the back of my pick-up), I had the hindsight to remember a few things that I wish I’d been only slightly more aware of while actually fishing.

1.  Use a leader stretcher first, and often. That reel and line sat in your closet for months.  Memory happens. Put on a new leader and strip the first 40’ of fly line (at least) and stretch it out.  Do it twice; the difference in performance will be dramatic.

And stretch the leader after every fudged cast.   You’re not going to be throwing them like you were last winter, certainly not at first.  Every time you remove a wind knot, you should be using the leader stretcher, too. Stretching it after each (inevitable) tangle is wise because not only is the line going to cast more forgivingly, it’s also going to perform better in the water.  The very experienced fisherman will have been working hard throughout the winter, honing his technique.  The rest of us weren’t  give yourself every advantage you can.

2.  So you spent the winter fantasizing about that special hole, and when you roll in at noon, someone’s already there, fishing YOUR spot? Well, you’ve just got to go somewhere else. Your “hole” isn’t something you’re sharing with that dude, who by the way is rocking a spincast reel and a bucket of minnows, and is just assassinating fish in your hole left and right.

Them’s the breaks, kid.  Fishing etiquette dictates that the early bird gets the worm. Plan to arrive at the hole you need to be there.  Very rare is it that the time you need to be at the hole is the same time you want to be fishing.  Don’t let spring fever make you a discourteous sportsman; the fish will know.  They always know. Angler’s karma can be a savage force.

(On my first day out, I had been working a small island for hours when another angler stumbled down the hill and came out to the island, clearly having every intention of jamming himself into my peaceful Sunday afternoon.  Unfortunately for him, my Catahoula, Roscoe, doesn’t take kindly to discourteous fishermen, either.  Extend courtesy, but if you’ve got the hole, don’t give it up easily unless you’re hurting for company.)

3.  Fish the water you have, not the water you want. Fishing in early spring means the water’s going to be cold, it’s probably going to be moving fast, and it’s not going to be as clear as it will when the slower waters of summer give streams a chance to settle down. Trout will be paying a lot of attention to sulfurs in the next couple weeks, and sulfur nymphs are going to be killing them until at least Father’s Day. As always, the vast bulk of the fish are biting sub-surface. Make sure your wallet includes lots of brightly colored flies, to catch their eyes in all that sediment.

I find brass and gold work better in sediment-filled spring streams, while silver is better suited for muddy lakes and ponds. And your “lucky” fly? If it doesn’t jive with the water conditions you are fishing, it’s not going to catch fish.  You might be sentimental, but I promise you the fish aren’t   Foolishly caught fish are young fish; that lucky fly might well bring in the 6-incher while that heavyweight cruised right by, looking the meal he knows he wants.

4.  Keep your eyes open. Your leader is in worse shape than the tangled strings of Christmas lights in your attic.  Your fingers, cold from surprisingly chilly spring weather, can barely grasp that 6X tippet material, let alone tie anything onto it.  Your strike indicator won’t float. And, to add insult, the damn fish aren’t biting.

Set down the rod.  Don’t even untangle the leader first, or you will be tempted to make another cast, and that’s not what you need.

Look at that pretty little creek, and try to figure out what you’re doing wrong with the rod out of your hand.

Spend a moment with your surroundings. What are the birds doing? If there are fifty swallows taking bugs of the surface of the water, you might try something dry; try to get it right at the edge of that shady area.  Fish are more likely to strike at temperature shelves in the water, and the birds are using their eyes to find bugs; they’re probably leaving that half shady spot alone, which makes that fish even more likely to be there.

The first few outings can be frustrating, due to inclement conditions and out-of-practice anglers, but remember why you like fishing: the woods smell like spring rot, earthy and fertile, and the stream is just humming along. Paying attention to everything that’s happening around you won’t just help you relax: it’s going to help you fish.

Al James is a musician and avid fly fisher based in Portland, Oregon.  Al has carefully combed the banks of the Deschutes River for over 10 years, and offers 5 hard-earned lessons for fishing this beautiful waterway.

Drop everything and fish the salmon fly hatch

It’s estimated that there are more than 3,500 Wild Redside Rainbow Trout per mile on the Lower Deschutes River in Central Oregon which stretches for 100 miles from Pelton Dam down to its confluence at the Columbia River. That’s a helluva lot of football-shaped, blood-red trout that –pound for pound– might be some of the strongest fighters in the salmonidae family. Mid-May through early June is a special time on this glorious river with the yearly explosion of gigantic salmon flies that hatch and provide a non-stop old country buffet style feeding frenzy for these aggressive lunkers.

This year will be no different and most guides and shops that service the river are predicting a mid-May hatch which means there’s a 2-3 week window to head over to the Deschutes and experience one of the most epic trout fishing experiences on the West Coast. If you haven’t tried it, make the trip. There is plenty of river, tons of access, and like I stated before, lots and lots of hungry fish. I’ve fished this hatch on and off for a decade and here are some basics I’ve learned over the years:

Fish the banks. I’m serious about this one. If you are wading up to your knees (unless you’re fishing toward the bank) you probably spooked all the fish in the area. I wear waders, but try to step in the water as little as possible. The fish on the Deschutes hold right up against the bank. This is good news because it’s a big river. It’s not about long casts here. It’s about breaking the river into manageable pieces and working the banks with short, careful casts.

Keep moving. Work a section of river and then move on to the next one. If you hook and lose a fish, give it a rest and come back in a half hour. Head up or downstream and then revisit spots where you’ve seen or hooked fish. The more you move, the more fish you’ll find. Last year a monster Redside broke me off three times under the same overhanging branches in the course of one weekend. I’d visit the spot in the morning, the afternoon and in the evening every day I was there. I’ll be back this year to the same exact spot with heavier tippet.

Come early or late. Often hitting the Deschutes just before or after the hatch by a week or two can yield incredible fishing. During the peak of the hatch the Redsides are often too full to feed. You don’t have to hit it perfectly. Check with online reports from Central Oregon fly shops for current details.

Spring has arrived here. This means you’ll likely see an awesome array of critters and wildlife: wild turkeys, river otters, mallard ducklings, mergansers, osprey, mountain goats, and on the downside, poison oak and rattlesnakes. For all the cool stuff pack a camera and binoculars, for the other two bring Technu skin treatment and a cautious step when you’re hiking around the riverbanks.

Check in with the experts. Fly shops in Eugene, Maupin, Portland and Welches start posting up-to-the-day reports on the hatch starting in May. They’re on the river every day and are monitoring it as it develops. They’ll post when and where the salmon flies are starting to show up. They’ll also steer you in the right direction for fly selection, but then again, that’s the beauty of this hatch. The flies are big and simple and in most cases, foolproof.

‘In Your Words’ explores the incredible stories we’ve received from Filson fans across the globe.  Send us your own experiences with our clothing or product here for a chance to be featured on the Filson Life blog.  Ralph from Switzerland discovered Filson products over 12 years ago and continues to rely on our product.

During my long travels throughout the United States in 2001, I came to know Filson products and it all started with the Highlander Boot.  An extensive fly fishing stop in Ennis, Montana lead me to buy a wading jacket, a fishing hat, a vest to store my flies, a bag to carry my fly fishing tackle and finally the trolley for travelling. The list of items is growing still. However, all items are still in excellent shape after heavy usage in good and bad weather conditions. All products are of true quality, style, and they please me each time when used or worn. For me, there is nothing else that can beat your endeavors in quality and style.

So what’s an angler to do when the winter wind blows and the water temps chill you to the bone?  Yes, there are steelhead to chase.  And if you don’t mind standing in a cold river all day, knowing you might never hook, much less land, a fish, then be my guest.  But what if your body just aches for some warmth and some sunlight?  Then you find an excuse to take the family to the Bahamas.

My mother-in-law’s 80^th birthday was a fine excuse.   And Long Island, one of the “out” islands in the Bahamas, was the perfect place to spend a long week.  I’ve visited more than a half-dozen islands in the Bahamas, and I have to say Long Island is one of my favorite islands simply because it offers so many ways to spend a day in the sun.  Our family consisted of three serious anglers and three non-anglers.

Long Island is the ideal place to stalk some bonefish, cast to small tarpon or strap on some hiking boots and hike to the Columbus Monument on the north end of the island.  Then, there are those deserted beaches to comb, collect shells and snorkel, or perhaps you would just like to lie by the pool, drink a Kalik beer and read a novel.

The locals are open-hearted and friendly and the food is good ol’ Bahamian down home cooking.  This must read like an advertisement and that’s really not my intention.  Next time I go to Long Island, I’d love have it all to myself.  But if you do go, my favorite place to stay is Winter Haven, in Clarence Town. A rental car may be included in the room rate, which allows you to travel from one end of the island to the other.  On your way to Sheep Beach, don’t forget to stop by the Goat Pond Bar and say hello to Suzanne for me.

Alex is a filmmaker based in Southern California. He recently produced the documentary Low & Clear which was hailed by Field & Stream as “The best fly-fishing movie ever.” The film is available on DVD and will be released on VOD and iTunes in June.

The point of gear is not gear. Sure, a finely made rod or pair of boots has its own allure as simply an object – the craftsmanship behind the stitching, the sense that all these years of human experience and knowledge have gone into one pair of boots to keep you dry – that’s all enticing. But on the slow days when I’ve found myself in my home office standing in my waders at 2PM on a Thursday locked into some extended steelhead daydream, even then, I’m not thinking about the gear, I’m thinking about an experience.

And ultimately this is what being well-outfitted is all about. You buy quality gear not to marvel and obsess over it but with the hope that once you’re on the river and focused it’ll be the last thing on your mind. Anyone who’s ever had painfully cold feet stuck in bad boots knows what I mean. The quiet of a big river and the long gaps in thinking that fishing provides get scrambled when you’re freezing and there’s an ache in every step.

About a month ago my Dad’s mother passed away. It was a long time in coming but that didn’t make it any easier. After we got the news we did the next logical thing – booked a steelhead fishing trip. We’ve been fishing with Gino Bernero of Confluence Outfitters for over a decade and at this point the relationship has mutated to where he’s less of a guide and more part-shaman, part long-lost uncle. He put us on the Applegate River last month in the hope that we’d land some steelhead before the season closed and they’re left to go about spawning and surviving.

Southern Oregon was unusually cold. Twenty-eight degrees in the morning and the water hovered around forty-two. I layered synthetics and down and topped it off with the Pro Guide Wading Jacket. It has weight that immediately locked in some body heat, and the exterior has a toughness to it as if the folks at Filson had set about to make synthetic Tin Cloth. This was an element of the jacket that I appreciated during a push through a bramble-thick river bank. Without the fabric, my down sweater would’ve been torn to pieces and I’d have some serious scratches on my neck.

As the day went on the jacket did what all great pieces of gear should do – it disappeared. There’s a big range of motion with it so I didn’t notice it during spey casts. The sleeves locked out any water that could have trickled in, and the only comment on the look and fit was from Gino who said two words when I put it on: “Style points.”

On our second day out we stopped at a gentle turn in the river where a heavy hole created a prime space for fish. I was nymphing with a pattern to match the March browns we’d seen rising earlier. Three casts in and all of a sudden it felt like there was a cinder block at the end of my line. This was a big fish in deep water and I was using an eight-weight single-handed rod so the fight couldn’t be too aggressive. We parried and played until she gave herself up, a 28inch 9lb hen still yet to spawn. After 110 miles of freshwater swimming her look was firmly on the trout-side of the spectrum and beautifully so.

This moment: the fish in my hand, my dad smiling and Gino laughing was what we came out here for. The rods, the reels, the flies, the boat, the waders and the jacket was all for this; so that despite whatever may be going on back at home we could spend a little bit of time unencumbered.

The jacket continued to perform well and it still does. It’s seven in the morning on a Friday, I’m dreaming of steelhead and leaving for work in an hour and I’m sitting at my kitchen table, wearing it.

This Saturday marks Fishing’s Opening Day in Vermont. As the day of reckoning for countless unsuspecting trout draws near, New York City writer, editor and veteran angler David Coggins weighs in on a day he’s had marked on his calendar since fishing season ended last October.

Serious anglers are known for a sense of imagination that borders on exaggeration, and, just as often, for salty personalities. But in fact, they’re improbable optimists. At the root of every cast is an act of possibility, one more chance, as the late great Robert Hughes wrote “for a jerk on one end to feel a jerk on the other.” As opening day arrives, that time is at hand.

That in April many rivers aren’t at ideal water levels just underscores the fact that it’s a time when it really is about “being out there” (a phrase usually trotted out when leaving the river empty-handed).

Like another rite of spring, the beginning of the baseball season, the angler is overwhelmed with what the season might bring, the fishing equivalent of your team winning the World Series.

You get your waders out of storage, you might put on your lucky shirt, you fit together your rod with care and a sense of occasion. Out on the river there may not be a hatch, but those who loathe nymphing (you know who you are) may even toss in a bead-head Prince nymph without complaint. It’s a day for open-mindedness, for the slow pace, for the long view.

That time you tipped over the canoe? Let’s not think about that. What about when you lost a big, really a mammoth, brown trout on the Madison? Again, not the time to dwell.The pursuit of fish humbles us all. So on this fine day, disregard the frigid water, enter the river and cast your line. After all, anything’s possible.

Words and photos by Judith O’Keefe

The weather was dreary, a typical March day on the North Umpqua River.  A friend and I made the five hour drive over the mountains to meet up with John, a well known author, fly tier, longtime friend and — most importantly — frequent visitor to this legendary and challenging river.

John was a gracious host that morning, leading us to some of the easier runs, offering tips and allowing us to fish the run ahead of him.   We saw one fish roll late morning, but no one hooked up. The climate on the west side of the mountains is known to be wet, but by noon it had begun to rain in earnest, so we decided to take a break and pay a visit to John’s good friends, Frank and Jeanne Moore.

I’d met Frank and Jeanne in 2002 at a sport show and, at that time, Frank had extended an invitation to visit their home and fish with him on the Umpqua.  I was flattered by the invitation and eager to spend some time with these two, but had never found the time to make the drive over.  I didn’t know much about Frank back then, other than he was known as a “living legend.”  That title is thrown around loosely these days, but I was to learn that Frank Moore had earned it through his skill as a fly fisher, his willingness to mentor others and his successful and ongoing conservation efforts.

The Moores’ log home sat perched on a ridge above the river.  When we arrived, Frank was outside chatting with friends who were fishing a forest pond in front of the house.  The six of us stood around for 10 minutes talking about fish and fishing and the rising river.  Apparently, those west side folks are used to getting wet and didn’t seem to notice the rain.  Frank asked if we’d eaten lunch and when we said we had not, he invited us in to sample Jeanne’s grilled cheese sandwiches. Besides, he had a couple of old photographs of the river he wanted to show us that would help to illustrate a story he was telling.   A hot meal sounded perfect and I was interested in hearing the rest of the story.

As we peeled off our saturated outerwear and waders on the front porch, I eagerly anticipated a warm room and hot food, but I was unprepared for what I experienced when I walked through the door.  Steam rose from the kettle on the wood cook stove as Jeanne stood with her back to us, spreading butter on bread.  The walls of the great-room were filled with mementos, beautifully framed photographs and artwork.  I imagined that each had a story to tell.   I was right.  Three hours flew by as we talked about the past and the present.  I learned a lot about the Moores, who recently celebrated their seventieth wedding anniversary.   Frank grew up fishing in southern Oregon and, after the war, he and his bride moved to the North Umpqua to run the legendary Steamboat Inn and raise a family on the river.   Not only were the ensuing years filled with creating a world-renowned destination, but Frank also spent considerable time and effort that resulted in regulations that curbed the effects of logging on the river and surrounding environment.   At age 90, I’m told that Frank can still out-cast most fly fisherman, with casts that reach 100 feet when the need arises.  I’ve heard Frank called a Spiritual Father, Grand Old Man of the River, The Great Frank Moore, and yes, a Living Legend.  Indeed!

While stories of an adventurous life spent on the river were truly awe inspiring, Frank’s sincere appreciation of the natural world is what really impressed me.  We all fish and spend time outdoors for our different reasons.  If I were asked to sum up my reasons in one word, that word would be “connection.”  So I understand why Frank and Jeanne chose to spend their life on the beautiful and remote Umpqua River, and I deeply appreciate their willingness to open their home and their lives to fellow fly fishers.  My life is richer for the experience.

Louis Cahill is an advertising photographer with over thirty years experience, and about as many holding a fly rod,  Louis has spent his life looking through the lens.  He’s not interested in what everyone else sees.  Find more of Louis’ incredible photography and writing at Gink and Gasoline.

Study the stream bed, brown and green. Through ripples and reflections, we find rocks and wood, maybe a shining piece of metal someone has left behind. Even the flash of a flake of mica in the sand, no bigger than a fishes scale. How is it that we miss the trout.

Gliding above the mud and stone he is emerald and gold, vermilion and azure, violet and blaze. He is metallic, kinetic, aesthetic. Perfect in his camouflage, he is at once breathtaking and invisible.

Look closer, he is abstract. He is pointillism, he is impressionism, he is surrealism. He is cubist, fauvist, and expressionist; he is Monet, Van Gogh and Miro. He is Blake’s world in a grain of sand. Infinity in the palm of your hand.

He is beauty, and like all beauty, he vanishes into the mundane. It is a failing of the human eye, or maybe of the heart. He is truth, and like all truth he is hidden from us. To find him we must make a choice. When we choose our fly wisely, and present it well he will do what truth does. Rise to the surface.