In the early 1990s I got my first look.

The wind honked out of the north on the first chilly day in September. It just felt fishy.

Running toward the birds, I thought at first the boils were stripers. But when the fish came up, I knew this was something different: Streamlined muscular fish with green backs slashed through baitballs at an ungodly speed.

Composure lost, heart pounding, adrenaline level through the roof, I made several casts, which went unnoticed. About an hour and 30 casts later, I finally came tight, and it felt unreal. Line peeled off the reel so fast I didn’t know what to do. I cranked down the drag a quarter turn and the reel literally blew up, falling to pieces on the ground.

Didn’t matter. I was hooked. This was well beyond anything I had experienced before. Straight-up tuna inshore. Mind blown.

False Albacore Allure

I am not alone. All along the coast, false albacore (technically, little tunny — also known as albies, bonito, fat albert, hardtails and funny fish) have been blowing inshore anglers’ minds, particularly those light-tackle advocates who favor sight-casting rather than trolling or bait fishing.

“They’ve developed a steady following up here,” notes Capt. Paul Dixon, of Montauk, New York. “We’ve got a fleet that thrives on their arrival every fall.”

That’s because they’re what many hardcore light-tackle anglers describe as the perfect quarry, offering an often awesome visual surface feed, a high but not impossibly high level of difficulty, and drag-burning runs that create instant memories. And for fly-fishers? Rarely do you catch one that doesn’t bring you into backing almost instantly.

“The visual element is unique,” notes Capt. Ian Devlin, of Connecticut, who characterizes albies as ram-induction feeders (consistent with tunas). They don’t just chase bait, they tear through it. “It’s a quick, spectacular burst and then they’re gone, and you’ve got to get up and run after the next pod.”

“It’s definitely about the hunt … the chase,” says Capt. Gene Quigley, of New Jersey. “That’s what makes it exciting.”

But albie fishing is more than just the high-adrenaline run‑and-gun. “My favorite part is seeing the look on a guy’s face when he first hooks up,” notes Capt. Doug Jowett, of Cape Cod. “These fish just go and go.”

The visual element is unique. It’s a quick, spectacular burst and then they’re gone, and you’ve got to get up and run after the next pod.

— Capt. Ian Devlin

“What we’re talking about here is access to a strong, fast pelagic,” says Dixon. “A straight‑up tuna, sometimes a stone’s throw from the beach.” And they can be caught with fairly light gear, including flies. In that context, the albie run is pretty extraordinary.

“They are challenging,” notes Capt. Brian Horsley, of North Carolina. Albies are notorious for being very finicky and boat shy. “Sometimes we fish ’em all day and only catch a few.” Indeed, you have to make good, fast casts under pressure. That takes skill and composure — of course, that’s part of the albie draw.

Because the schools ­generally show up around the same time and places each year, the anticipation builds. Anglers gear up in advance. And when the first albies show, word spreads like wildfire.

When and Where to Target the Fish

While false albacore certainly don’t generate the avid following in Florida that they enjoy in the mid-Atlantic and southern New England, the fish do swarm the Sunshine State during late spring and summer.

“The southeast wind brings them in,” says Capt. Dino Torino, of Jupiter, Florida. “We have them from late May through August.” It’s a different fishery, though: no running and gunning, or chasing fish. “You stay put, and chum them up.”

In southern New England and the northern mid-Atlantic, where undoubtedly most of the targeting occurs, albies can be found 20 to 40 miles offshore, in depths of about 180 feet, pretty much any time from June on, mixed in with other pelagics, such as skipjack, bluefin and yellowfin. Inshore — within a mile of the beach and in harbors and bays — they’re most certainly a fall-run fish.

“We catch a few in Nags Head [Outer Banks, North Carolina], in August,” says Horsley. “But we don’t really focus on them until they show in September off of Harkers Island [farther south, near Morehead City].”

These smaller fish, in the 5-pound range, generally appear right near the beach. As October approaches, bigger fish mix in. “November is when the real biggies show. … All fish over 18 pounds,” he says.

Moving north: Although albies are caught off Virginia, Maryland and Delaware, for some reason they don’t set up there, and thus few anglers focus on them. The fish anglers do encounter don’t seem to stay long, and are likely just passing through.

From central to northern New Jersey, the fish consistently set up, and that’s where anglers really start targeting them. “We have fish offshore a bit, on the lumps earlier,” says Quigley. “But inshore it usually happens in September, although it seems to be happening later and later every year.”

“November is when the real biggies show. … All fish over 18 pounds.”

— Capt. Brian Horsley

Off the Long Island side of New York Harbor, the migration appears similar. Ten years ago, a first run of fish might occur off Breezy Point, New York, in late August, and the numbers would escalate into September. But now, the fishery doesn’t seem to get going until October. “We’ve actually had pretty good runs in early November these last few years,” says New York Harbor Capt. Danny Reich.

Albies show up intermittently along Long Island’s south shore, but it’s really that area from Long Branch, New Jersey, to Breezy Point, New York, and inside New York Harbor that tends to hold the best concentrations of fish in the region.

Out east, false albacore tend to set up in some pretty specific locations. Shinnecock Inlet, New York, is a well-known albie spot, particularly for those fishing from the jetty.

And then there’s Montauk, possibly the best albie spot on the coast. They show up, sometimes in spectacular numbers, off of Montauk Point Lighthouse, and can be found crashing through bay anchovies at any point all the way west to town.

“Usually, someone sees them off of the point in August,” says Dixon. “But once September rolls around, they fill in and can be found in pretty good numbers all the way back to Plum Island.”

The North Fork of Long Island sees a good run too, and the entire Rhode Island and Connecticut coastlines host albies at some point. Cape Cod seems to be the northern version of Montauk, although less consistent. And we can’t leave out the fish that show off Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket in September.

Fall Live Bait Blitz

Where the albies show varies some year to year, but captains agree that bait generally drives the congregations.

Albies can be found feeding on many species: silversides, sand eels, juvenile menhaden, glass minnows, squid, small shrimp and crabs. Yet, without a doubt, the fish key in on bay anchovies in the mid-Atlantic. In Cape Cod, Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket, they focus on sand eels.

“Yeah, they blitz on ­silversides, but for sure, they come into the Sound with the anchovies,” says Connecticut’s Devlin.

Bay anchovies usually measure 1 to 3 inches long, with a silver underbelly and a reddish, copper-colored back. The copper color only becomes obvious when the baitfish school up in the hundreds. Horsley calls them “red bait.”

These prey fish spend warmer months in the bays and estuaries of the mid-Atlantic. But the first cool night often signals an eastward migration in which they flood the inlets and beaches, bringing albies right up to the surf line.

“Montauk’s entire ecosystem revolves around bay anchovies,” says Dixon. “Some years we get sand eels, but anchovies create the big albie blitzes.”

The angle of your approach is real important. Turn the boat parallel to the fish so that after the cast, the angler can stay tight to the line.

— Capt. Gene Quigley

“Well, they certainly aren’t easy,” says Cape Cod’s Jowett. “Every once in a while, you’ll get a day where they feed recklessly, but the standard is you maybe catch a few.”

Whether you hook up or not is sometimes about the approach, says Horsley. “You’ve got to come in slow, off plane, making sure you don’t wash them out.” Indeed, big boats that push a lot of water seem to catch fewer fish than the smaller, lighter ones.

“The angle of your approach is real important,” says Quigley. “Turn the boat parallel to the fish so that after the cast, the angler can stay tight to the line.” Because they’re up and down so quickly, get the lure or fly moving as soon as it hits the water.

“Aggressive guys don’t help the situation,” says Dixon. “Running too fast spooks albies and breaks up the baitballs.”

It’s understandably hard for excited anglers to avoid chasing every pod of busting fish, but guys who take the wait-and-see approach score the high numbers. “Sure, I chase fish sometimes, but I also try and stay put, and look for patterns,” says Reich.

If you can calm down, observe and put yourself in the right place, you’re more likely to find yourself in the middle of a blitz rather than halfway down the beach following a pod that will sound before you can get there.

Patient anglers get bites by blind-casting too. “When crowds get bad, I go to points of land, depth changes, outflows or just areas I’ve noted bait concentrations, and we blind-fish,” says Devlin.

John Skinner, a New York angler and author of several books on surf-casting, notes that from shore, you usually don’t get shots at busting fish. “Just about every fish I catch is blind-casting. You really just need to find likely spots and then put in the time.”

False Albacore Lures and Tackle

Because albies can be finicky, baits and their presentation count. Generally, you won’t get them with striper techniques.

The go-to albie lure for some time has been the Deadly Dick — locally called a tin, a small, slender metal lure with reflective tape — in the ½- to 3-ounce versions. For sure, it catches.

Skinner uses all sizes: the windier, the heavier. But he throws the 2-ounce version more than anything. “You gotta reel in as fast as you can,” he says. “You can’t out-reel them.”

Most of the strikes he describes as “spectacular,” right on the surface, as the tin skips across the water. “If you’re fishing them right, it’ll be too fast for stripers and bluefish.”

Boat anglers also use Deadly Dick lures. Their weight and wind resistance allows quick, long casts. However, any small, slender metal lure can catch fish; ones with reflective prismatic tape tend to work best.

On the other hand, the newest generation of albie anglers swears by soft plastics, such as a 6-inch pink or white Slug-Go-type bait. “It flies in the face of all of us match-the-hatch ­advocates,” says Reich. “But they do draw violent strikes.”

Soft plastics need to be worked much slower than metal, and with an erratic, twitching motion. If you want them to swim right, you also have to fish them on a weedless hook with no weight, which makes them tough to cast, particularly in any stiff wind. Albie Snax soft baits have developed a following. They’re heavier, so casting is less of an issue.

From a boat or the beach, most anglers use a 7-foot medium-heavy spinning outfit. While they aren’t terribly big, albies are quite strong. Choose a serious reel with a smooth drag, capable of carrying at least 250 yards of 20-pound braid. I’ve seen lesser reels blow up. Use 4 feet of 20- to 30-pound fluorocarbon for a leader.

For fly anglers, Bob Popovich’s “surf candy,” in tan or copper over white, and other epoxy bay anchovy patterns seem to work the best. However, in recent years, some have moved away from real colors to more flashy ones such as chartreuse and pink. Which flies work, and when, really depends on the mood of the fish.

Many anglers go with a 9-weight for tackle, but some move up to a 10 so they can land fish faster. The reel should feature a good drag system and hold at least 250 yards of backing with a clear intermediate fly line. Leaders vary, but a lot of guys simply use 6 to 8 feet of straight 20-pound fluorocarbon. For finicky fish, try 15-pound-test.

Don’t Eat the Albies

Up until the past several decades, false albacore didn’t garner much attention — from anyone. That’s likely because they’re mostly inedible.

I found that out the hard way when I brought one home and tried to cook a couple of pieces. The smell lingered for several days; my cat wouldn’t even eat it.

The meat on a false albacore is dark red. Some folks claim to eat it, but I can’t see how.

Such a trait might be a blessing. Nasty flavor could be the reason these fish remain so abundant and reliable inshore at particular times of the year. Some commercial pressure exists, but remains minimal, at least for now.

That leaves albie addicts an available source of their particular drug. From the surface feed to their hard, fast run, these fish keep us jonesing for more.

About the Author:
Capt. John McMurray is owner-operator of One More Cast Charters, in western Long Island, New York.

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Is permit on a self-tied fly on your list? Dream higher, man. Max out the credit card and head for the Seychelles. That’s where you’ve got the best shot at the ugliest, most challenging quarry in the shallows: a bumpie (bumphead parrotfish).

With a set of chompers that put sheepies to shame, these coral-eating behemoths can live 40 years and weigh triple digits. But boy, are they finicky. Wade quietly ahead of a school, lead ’em 50 yards, and drop an orange or tan crab fly in their path. Don’t even think about moving it; let the monster muncher do the work. At the slightest movement, strip-set and hang on. Want a goal to shoot for? Try Mark Weeks’ IGFA world record, set on the Providence Atoll in November 2019. Guide Brendan Becker put him on a 102-pound, 3-ounce butt-ugly bumpie, with a face only a crazed fly-rodder would love.

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Over the past year, Flip Pallot’s Instagram has featured airboat accidents, whitetail deer, turkey and hog hunts, making archery quivers for friends, and teaching fly-fishing school. The host of the seminal “Walker’s Cay Chronicles,” voice of Sport Fishing Television, and co-owner of Frigate Reserve rum is staying plenty busy. But not so busy as to avoid our “Favorite Things” Q&A.

Flip’s favorite….

… fly-fishing rod and reel: “Temple Fork Mangrove Coast rod, Nautilus fly reel.”

… flats-fishing destination: “The Bahamas, when I can’t be in the Everglades.”

… species to chase: “Snook.”

… place on Earth when not fishing: “Western Rocky Mountains.”

… memory from shooting “Walker’s Cay Chronicles”: “My first-ever blue marlin on fly in Venezuela with Jose Wejebe, a world record on 12-pound tippet, left overnight in a walk-in cooler to be officially weighed the next day. Someone cut a huge chunk out of it to eat while it was in the cooler.”

… piece of advice from Lefty Kreh: “Don’t let your loyalty keep you in situations that your common sense tells you to get out of.”

… way to drink Frigate Reserve: “Neat and at room temperature.”

… motto/saying: “Bye for now.”

The post Flip Pallot’s Favorite Things in Fishing appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

I have never killed a man for stealing my secret fishing spot, but I know a guy who might have.

We’ve all been subjected to the absurd question, “So, where’d you catch all those fish?” This should always be met with an equally ridiculous and sarcastic answer, such as “In the water,” “From my boat,” or “It’s none of your darn business.”

We protect what we love. Our significant other, our children, our pets, our boats, and our coveted honey holes. We hold these truths to be self-evident. I tell you all of this because I’ve never seen such a display of secrecy as when I traveled to Spain to dabble in the rivers and streams of the Pyrenees mountains. The operator, who discovered I was writing a fishing article, made me swear an oath of silence. My respect and intrigue grew immediately. All I can legally say is that I was somewhere in Spain, and also near France.

The whole trip materialized because of my dear wife. Just another reason to love her. One day, out of the blue, she asked me if I wanted to walk 500 miles across northern Spain on the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage trail. That is not a misprint. It’s 500 miles of walking. I made a mental note to check her antidepressant prescription.

After three seconds of careful thought I said. “You know I’d love to do that with you, but my right knee still hurts from that accident at the corn hole tournament last year.”

“I figured you’d say something like that,” she replied, with a crooked smile. “That’s why I asked our daughter. She said yes.”

When I got the chance, I snuck into the bathroom with my computer and googled “fly fishing in the Pyrenees.” If she was going to walk for 36 days — and burn a hole in the credit card on wine, hotels, and myriad varieties of ham and queso — I was going fishing for at least a week. Like many of you, I had no idea what kind of fishing the Spanish mountains offered but I knew that the Pyrenees were serious montañas — a 270-mile range of steep rocky terrain with hellacious rivers and peaks breaking 11,000 feet. Google kept serving up a company called Salvelinus, so I ran through some YouTube videos. I noticed that none of them revealed even the slightest hint of the fishing locations, except they were in Spain, and also near France.

I reached out to the owner, a meticulous and affable Spaniard named Ivan Tarin . He invited me to come along as long as I signed his non-disclosure agreement. “Seriously?” I asked. “Deadly serious,” he replied. I’ve learned never to cross dudes named Ivan.

Fishing in Spain for Barbel

My wife and daughter blasted off to trek over the rivers and through the woods and across rugged mountains and hot plateaus for six weeks of grueling walking (average 15 miles per day), while I landed in Ivan’s plush lodge in a picturesque medieval town for fishing. I must also mention the drinking wine, getting massages, doing spas, and eating some of the most orgasmic cuisine I’ve ever tasted. 

What I can reveal is that Ivan and his team of expert fishing guides have spent 24 years scouting more than 1,500 miles of rivers in eight mountain valleys. As a result, they’ve created a master compendium of off-the-beaten-path fishy havens. As I mentioned, these places are somewhere in Spain. Oh, and also near France.

As fortune would have it, I arrived in late May. This was an opportune time to begin the Camino trek and also barbel spawning season. If you don’t know what a barbel is (I didn’t either), it’s in the bonefish family and looks like the offspring of a carp, bonefish and mullet. The fish is strong and rips out line like a bonefish — it will take a dry fly if properly presented.

“You have to slap it on the head,” Ivan told me. “Huh?” “Like this.”

Ivan raised the rod tip straight up to noon, held it for a beat, then whipped it down to nine as he gave the line a short, rapid strip. Sure enough, the beetle fly slapped the water with a splash and got the barbel’s attention without scaring them. Spooking them was indeed possible but the method of whacking the water with the fly just inches in front of their nose worked like magic. In a few hours I caught a half dozen angry barbel in the 4- to 7-pound range.

Exploring the Mountains for Mediterranean Trout

The next day, Ivan introduced me to guide extraordinaire Pierre Ancelin, who lives in Spain in a house near France. Pierre took me 90 minutes by car into the high mountains for native Mediterranean trout. Other than the thousand-year-old medieval ruins scattered about, I’d have thought we were in Colorado. The original plan was to fish a river where 6-pounders sneak about, but a late-May snow storm had the water raging. I could tell that Pierre envisioned this hapless journalist plummeting down the rocky rapids and wisely took me to a tamer river.

Naturally, I wanted to tangle with beasts, but I heeded Pierre’s good judgment. In a few hours, we caught about 25 trout in the 6- to 14-inch range. Overall success, especially when Pierre prepared a proper Michelin Star lunch of chickpeas, braised turkey, cheeses, bread and red wine.

After a few days of fishing until 9 p.m., followed by mouthwatering cuisine at Juan Antonio’s Restaurant, and then getting to bed after midnight, I left the mountains behind to catch up to my family on the pilgrim trail. The fabulous high-speed luxury trains transported me 600 miles in less than seven hours. That was more than enough time to hang out in the cafeteria car, drink more wine, and wonder why Amtrak is so freaking pitiful. Face it, America is not better at everything, including protecting our favorite fishing holes.

So, if you’re looking for a truly unique angling journey and rivers of such beauty that they invoke fairy tales, all you have to do is travel to Spain, somewhere near France.

The post The Secret Stash appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

Scotland is widely regarded as a premier destination for Atlantic salmon fishing. And it’s easy to see why, with its multitude of rivers and lochs (lakes) to choose from when chasing this anadromous fish. From the intimate, small streams of the Scottish Highlands to the larger rivers like the Tay, Tweed and Spey farther south, there’s a body of water for everyone. Scotland is also the birthplace of the famous double-handed Spey cast, originating as the name suggests, on the River Spey.

Scottish Salmon Fishing Seasons

The salmon fishing season in Scotland runs from January until November. During the early part of the season, anglers target “spring” salmon. These fish are known for their size and fighting qualities, ranging from 10 and 30 pounds. Most anglers fish for spring salmon with fly tackle. During the summer months — especially June, July and August — Atlantic salmon are more plentiful, but smaller in size. Toward the end of the season, larger fish show again when the autumn run starts, although fall numbers have diminished in recent years.

Fly Fishing Tackle for Scottish Rivers

In terms of angling, the vast majority of Atlantic salmon fishing in Scotland is fly fishing with a double-handed rod. However, some rivers do allow spinning gear. Each river has its own set of rules. On rivers like the Spey, Tay and Tweed, fishing from a boat is a popular and practical option.

Fly fishing tackle often starts with a 13- to 15-foot double-handed salmon rod. Smaller rivers with shallow water are where anglers can utilize single-handed fly rods. The fly rods are paired with floating or intermediate fly lines, terminating with a 10- to 15-pound-test leader.

For fly selection, anglers have a host of options. A few famous salmon flies in Scotland include the Willie Gunn, Cascade and Stoats Tail. These flies are usually tied on a double or treble hook, or even in a tube fly style. Fly choice and size depends on the water depth, temperature and time of year.

Spin Fishing for Salmon in Scotland

However, fly fishing is not the only option for anglers targeting Scottish silver. Some rivers, mainly located in central and southern Scotland, allow spinning gear. When it comes to spin fishing, a 10- or 11-foot spinning rod is a favorite. For lures, cast a spoon weighing 18 to 30 grams. The weight of the lure depends on the water depth and current strength. Other popular lures for salmon include lipped crankbaits like those from Rapala or Megabass.

Fishing from a Boat in Scotland

Angler can fish from a boat — not just land — on Scotland’s larger rivers. On the River Tay, there’s a specific method of fishing called “harling.” This tactic involves having three or four rods out at ounce with lures behind the boat. The boat then moves from side to side across the river whilst gently floating downstream. Harling is effective, especially when trying to cover expanses of water. There’s also available loch fishing for salmon in Scotland. On many lakes, anglers drift in a boat while fly fishing. On some of the larger lochs, anglers troll along the banks to effectively find fish.

For plenty more about salmon fishing in Scotland, check out a resource and fishing provider such as Salmon Fishing Holidays Scotland. Anglers and tourists traveling to Scotland can really shorten the learning curve by setting up a guided trip.

The post Chasing Scottish Silver appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

Catch, Cast, Release follows Marina Gibson’s obsession with fishing from her earliest days plodding along the river with her mother to her current role as the head of her own fly fishing school. Along the way, we follow her as she sheds the trappings of city life for a more fulfilling life on the water, fly rod in hand.

Like so many in their early twenties, Marina found her life lacking direction. She was living in London, carrying on as many of that age do. But she found that lifestyle lacking, and she needed a change. That change would come in the form of a 21st birthday gift from her parents. Given the choice between a fly rod and jewelry, she chose the fly rod and rekindled the love she had for angling as a child. This thoughtful gift kicked off an epic adventure.

Soon, Gibson found herself completely immersed in fly angling. She takes this calling with her across continents and through a few serious relationships, finding peace in fishing when things start to go sour. As her marriage failed, she found solace in the rhythms of fly casting. She found sanctuary in rivers. She hit the road in pursuit of the next big fish.

Gibson does an excellent job comparing the ups and downs of her life with the struggles faced by salmon on their journey home. She uses this metaphor to illustrate the hardships that she, and so many others, experience. Her writing draws careful parallels, without it being over the top. The text is descriptive without being flowery; an easy read for those looking to share in the adventure or figuratively escape their commute home.

If you came here for angling action, you won’t be disappointed. Gibson has traversed the globe in pursuit of some of the most exotic fish that swim, such as bumphead parrot fish off the Farquhar Atoll, golden dorado in the jungles of South America, and giant salmonids in Iceland’s wilds. In addition to the ever-present salmon in this book, she also covers permit, redfish, bonefish, and plenty more in salt and fresh.

Angler Extraordinaire

Gibson’s angling resume is impressive. She is a certified Fly Fishers International Casting Instructor, which in and of itself is an accomplishment. But Gibson’s skills go far beyond her casting abilities, having pursued a variety of species across the globe, including the saltwater brutes that frequent the Seychelles and the golden dorado of South America’s jungles. Of course, she can swing a Spey rod with the best of them on Europe’s toughest rivers.

Gibson has made quite the career of her angling prowess, serving as a brand ambassador for such companies as Orvis and YETI. She has guided trips for a variety of species across several continents. Time will tell, but I would wager that Gibson will continue to host trips all over the globe.

She founded the Northern Fishing School at Swinton Estate in North Yorkshire in 2019, teaching over 400 people a year how to cast, mend, and everything else involved in catching fish on the fly. And at the beginning of 2024, she fulfilled a lifelong dream by taking over the lease of Bywell beat on the River Tyne.

Gibson is also a passionate conservationist, using her substantial social media presence to address environmental issues, including but not limited to those faced by Atlantic salmon. She serves as ambassador for the Atlantic Salmon Trust and the Angling Trust, as well as a trustee for River Action UK, which combats water pollution in the United Kingdom. And as co-founder of the Cancer and Pisces Trust charity, she helps cancer sufferers find peace through fly fishing.

Final Thoughts

Catch, Cast, Release is a wonderful tale of one woman’s love affair with fly fishing, initiated by her mother on the banks of a salmon river. She turned that love into a lifelong adventure, fly rod in hand. Along the way, she used the mindfulness afforded by the rhythmic casting to ease her through life’s rough patches. Available on June 4.

The post Cast, Catch, Release: A Review appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

Ireland offers wild opportunities for traveling anglers, from big-city river fishing in Galway to sight fishing in isolated, rural streams to trolling lakes (loughs) for sea-run fish. The country has some of the best Atlantic salmon runs in Western Europe and over 80 rivers open to fishing this year, and most locations can be reached within a few hours’ drive from Dublin or Shannon airport. Two Irish angling pros, Munster Blackwater River guide Conor Arnold and Myles Kelly of Inland Fisheries Ireland, gave their top salmon fishing destinations for visitors to Ireland.

Irish Salmon Pro Picks

Myles Kelly is the Angling Advisor at Inland Fisheries Ireland (IFI), the state agency responsible for protecting, managing, and conserving Ireland’s inland fisheries and sea angling resources. IFI runs a valuable online resource, basically a one-stop shop for Irish angling, including lists of tackle stores, guides, charter boats and more.

River Moy, County Mayo

“The Moy is Ireland’s most productive salmon river,” Myles says. “There are lots of fisheries with plenty of water to suit everything from fly to worm. Best of all there is good availability of permits. You can buy these online (East Mayo Anglers and Ballina Salmon Anglers). The river runs peak when the smaller grilse arrive in June and July. If you book early you can get on the Moy Fishery in Ballina where the pints of Guinness are within casting distance of the salmon pools.”

Munster Blackwater, Counties Waterford and Cork

“There have been years when this mighty river surpassed the Moy in numbers of salmon caught. The majority of the fisheries are between Fermoy and Lismore. Depending on floods, this river can get going earlier in the year and fishes well through to September, as long as there’s rain to get levels up.”

Galway Fishery, Galway

“The Galway Fishery is part of the Corrib system. Lough Corrib is Ireland’s biggest lake and famous for its brown trout, but its productive rivers crank out a lot of salmon smolts. It is in the heart of Galway city and probably the single most productive fishery in the country. Booking early is essential. The evening sessions are often overlooked and can be wonderfully productive.”

River Laune, County Kerry

“This system consistently features in the top five fisheries for salmon angling catch year in, year out. A good number of salmon are taken on the troll in the lake, but there is also plenty of fishing in the Laune (outflowing) and Flesk (inflowing) rivers. Permits are easy to get and there is a good network of guides.”

Smaller Irish Waters

“I get great satisfaction fishing smaller waters in wilder places. Some are parts of Ireland’s angling heritage and can be fancy enough, while others are just plain wild and rugged. My wild card list is as follows – Carrowmore Lake in Mayo, Erriff Fishery and nearby Delphi Fishery in Connemara (or Inagh, Ballinahinch, Screebe, Costello – any fishery in Connemara!), Lough Beagh in Donegal, Caragh system in Kerry (spring salmon), or Dingle’s Owenmore fishery (summer salmon and sea run trout).”

Top Spots for Salmon in Ireland

Conor Arnold has fished for salmon throughout the Western hemisphere. He owns the Arnold Angling Centre on the Blackwater River in southern Ireland where he guides, teaches, and runs his day ticket salmon fishery, along with his work for Loop Tackle, a flyfishing company. For any locations in Ireland, Conor can give detailed fly tackle and fly selection advice.

Delphi Lodge Fishery, Connemara County, Galway 

“The Delphi Lodge fishery, located in the heart of Connemara in the west of Ireland, consists of the Bundorragha River and two lakes, Finn Lough and Doo Lough. The fishing is completely private and nestled in stunning countryside. There is also a hatchery program where 50,000 smolts are released into the river each year. These fish are fin-clipped and may be harvested on being caught. The accommodation, also on the estate, is a beautiful Georgian house.”

Cloghan Lodge in Donegal, Northwest of Ireland

“Cloghan Lodge is located mid-river on the River Finn. It has the spectacular salmon leap falls toward the lower end of the fishery. Just above the falls, the river splits into the Finn and its major tributary, the Realan. Both rivers meander through farmland and open moorland and mountains. Cloghan Lodge has fishing on both rivers. Peak season would be from mid-May until mid-August. The Finn is catch and release so single barbless hooks only are permitted.”

River Owenmore, Bangor Erris, County Mayo

“The River Owenmore is only about 10 miles in length but the angling club in Bangor Erris has approximately four miles and sells day tickets from the pub in the village. The river is catch and release and has some of the nicest fly water an angler could wish to cast a line in. Salmon arrive late March with peak time from May to the end of the season.”

River Owenmore, Castlegregory, County Kerry

“The river is situated in the west of County Kerry, right underneath the Conor Pass with stunning mountain and sea views. Even though the season opens on the first of April, the main runs don’t enter the river until around the end of May. The fishery has two lakes which are both equipped with boats for salmon and sea trout fishing. The whole system is quite intimate and will stay with you long after the trip is over.”

Upper Bridgetown Salmon, River Blackwater, County Cork

“My own fishery, based mid-river on the famous Munster Blackwater, is basically two fisheries managed together. It comprises four beats in total, spread over approximately six miles. One of its most endearing aspects is that it restricts the number of anglers to three rods per beat. This allows the visiting angler to have the freedom to fish at their own pace and enjoy the peace and tranquility of the countryside. The fishery operates on a catch-and-release basis. Some of the largest fish are caught from mid-May until the end of June. July and August see predominantly grilse entering the river. The Blackwater is very user-friendly and has mostly a gravel bed with easy wading. Accommodation is available on site in Ballyhooly Castle or any number of B&Bs or hotels locally.”

Irish Rules and Regulations

“In terms of keeping a salmon,” Myles says, “we advocate 100% catch and release. But our science supports the limited harvest of fish where a surplus allows. This means we can have a sustainable fishery and if an angler wants to keep a fish or two across the season, they can do so knowing that they will not be having a negative impact on stocks.”

On most rivers, the season runs through September. Access to fishing is very open. Anglers do need licenses, and most fisheries are controlled by private owners or clubs but have day tickets available. For licensing details, check out https://permits.fishinginireland.info/.

The post To Ireland for Salmon: An Angler’s Guide appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

I suspect that the fly-fishing gene had always lay dormant in my angling DNA. Inklings of it surfaced early in life when, at age 26, I signed up for a summer freshwater fly-fishing class at the local recreation center. But it was never to be. A day later our 18-month-old first son contracted life-threatening spinal meningitis, and all other plans faded to pale memories as my wife and I spent weeks at the hospital overseeing his treatment and, fortunately, his recovery. My wife was pregnant with our second son at the time, and little did I know that he would become the person to introduce me to fly fishing. It just took 44 years to get there.

In the autumn of 2023, I traveled to northern Utah where my middle son, Joshua, now resides with his wife and two kids. The plans had called for fishing a big lake called Strawberry Reservoir to troll for kokanee salmon — a strain of landlocked sockeye salmon known for its great taste. But gale winds had different plans, putting a halt to venturing out on this high-mountain lake and risking treacherous weather.

A Fly-Fishing Plan Comes Together

Joshua instead organized a float trip with his buddy Jeff Harwin on the lower Provo River to target big brown trout. Harwin runs Park City Flyfishing and Joshua is one of his guides, but this trip would be busman’s holiday for both of them with a caveat: fly fishing only. More to the point, dry flies exclusively.

“Woof!” I exclaimed. “You guys know that I have never fly-fished. Like ever.”

“That’s Okay!” Harwin hollered to me in the front of the boat, above the din of roaring Provo waters as we pushed into the first set of rapids. “It’s easy,” he said, while working the oars. “You know how to fish, so you’ll learn quickly.”

I turned to Joshua with a WTF expression. He was less reassuring. “The river’s moving pretty fast and we have gusty headwinds, so you’re going to have to cast quickly and with some power to hit the prime spots. Just listen to Jeff and do exactly what he says.”

Trouble with the Backcast

As we entered a slow section of the river, Harwin began calling out spots. “See that undercut bank on the left just ahead? Put your fly tight to the shore!” he barked. But rather than focusing on the spots, I grew concerned with my backcast, a cautionary precept drilled into the minds of West Coast saltwater anglers from a young age to avoid injuring anyone behind you. I missed spot after spot, and was beginning to think I would never learn.

“Don’t worry about the backcast,” Harwin said. “If you’re casting correctly, you won’t hit us. Stop that side-arm $#*!. Hold the rod high on the back cast, wait for it to load, and then come forward. The line will go well over our heads.”

I drew a deep breath and tried to relax while keeping Harwin’s coaching in mind. Joshua, an expert fly-caster in his own right, remained remarkably silent, knowing that Harwin possessed decades more experience and sensed that I might reach a point of overload if he too piped in.

My First Brown Trout

My fortunes turned around as we exited the next section of whitewater and slipped into the roiling pool below. “Put your fly next to the fallen tree,” Harwin said. I amazed myself by hitting the target. “Now give it a big mend up river.” I complied. “Good job, now let ’er hunt.”

Seconds later, a nice brown trout rolled on the dry fly, and I set the hook. This is what I came for. Harwin coached me through the fight. His first command: “Get it on the reel!” I let the excess fly line slip through my fingers. “Hold that rod high and keep a big bend in it, and keep your hands off the reel until I tell you to reel,” he said.

The last thing I wanted was to break off the first fish I ever hooked on a fly. That would piss everyone off, including me. So I followed Harwin’s advice to a tee, except for one little mistake. I kept lowering the rod, a habit born of years of battling saltwater fish in which high-sticking is a cardinal sin. “This isn’t saltwater fishing,” Harwin barked. “Get that rod high! Once it stops bending, crank in some line.”

After what seemed like an excruciating amount of time, the brown trout finally slipped into the landing net. Joshua finally spoke up. “That’s how you do it Dad,” he said, his voice cracking. For all of his outdoorsy toughness, like his mom, he is an easy cry. Not only was this my first fly-caught fish, but also my personal best brown trout, estimated at around 18 inches before we released it.

A Lean, Mean Fly-Fishing Machine

We went on that day to land six more brown trout amid nearly twice as many “eats” on dry flies between Joshua and I before reaching the haul-out point. Both Joshua and Harwin later admitted over lunch that my introduction to fly-fishing—indeed dry-fly fishing, the pinnacle of the sport—took place under some of the worst conditions possible. They were pleasantly surprised that such an old tyro could prevail.

The next day the weather improved, lending us an opportunity to visit Strawberry to troll for kokanee. “That’d be nice, but I’d like to go fly-fishing again,” I said to Joshua. His eyes lit up. “I know right where to go.”

We hooked up the Lund aluminum fishing boat and headed out to a beautiful lake in a picturesque high-mountain valley in the Wasatch National Forest, and for four solid hours caught rainbow trout, cutthroat trout and Arctic grayling (a bucket-list species for me). We caught and released more than 50 fish, giving me an incredible opportunity to hone my fly-fishing skills. I fished nothing but dry flies, even when Joshua asked if I wanted to try fishing a nymph. “Nope,” I answered. “I’m hardcore now—it’s dry-fly or die.”

Yes, I definitely possess the fly-fishing gene. As such, there’s a lot catching up to do, and I plan to enjoy every minute.

The post Dry-Fly or Die appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

Stripping only the fly line off your reel that you plan to cast in a given situation decreases the likelihood of it snagging something, blowing overboard or creating frustrating snarls. But even if you own a boat designed with fly-fishing in mind—a flats skiff, for instance—you still need to fly-line-proof it to minimize preventable mishaps that result in missed opportunities and lost fish.

Clear the Deck

Although fly-fishing ­barefoot helps prevent you from stepping on loose line, managing fly line takes more than kicking off your footwear. Clearing the deck and cockpit of movable obstacles such as tackle bags, buckets, coolers and, say, the foul-weather gear that you shed once you finish that open-water crossing greatly reduces chances of some unruly loop of fly line catching or tangling.

Permanent fixtures such as cleats, latches and vertical rod racks are also primary fly-line catchers. And larger immovable objects such as pedestal seats, the leaning post or the center console (think steering wheel, throttle, fish finder, etc.) are occasional offenders. They don’t pose much of a problem—that is, until choppy seas force you off the forward casting deck and you fly-fish from inside the cockpit, closer to midship, or until you have a second fly angler on board who’s casting from the rear of the boat.

I carry a large beach blanket and drape it over my console, and I once fished with a guy who used a section of seine in the same manner. It really did the trick when we both fly-fished at the same time, one of us from the cockpit or the smaller rear casting deck.

If you have a bow-mounted trolling motor, you’re better off keeping it deployed (if the water is deep enough) when you fly-fish. Otherwise, drape a big towel over it, making sure it covers the entire head, shaft and lower unit with the propeller. Don’t forget to soak the towel first. It stays put much better when it’s wet and heavy. Another option is to install a quick-release mount that enables you to move the trolling motor—base or gator mount and all—off the bow just by pulling a pin.

Keep It Contained

There are a few commercially made fly-line management devices available, varying from specialized buckets that you strip the line into to mats that keep the fly line from sliding off the deck. Scientific Anglers recently introduced its Launch Pad, a silicone deck mat that helps keep loops of fly line under control. Carbon Marine offers a rubber mat and a more traditional ­bucket-style line ­container made of marine-grade ­materials.

Accessories for fly-line containment can be pricey, but there are more-affordable options. For instance, instead of springing for one of the specialized mats, I discovered that stretching a wet towel on the deck helps keep the fly line pretty still. My first aluminum bass boat, which I used on the salt flats, was carpeted, and that carpet kept my line from sliding around fairly well. A fly-fishing buddy used to stow a 3-by-3-foot piece of shag carpet in his skiff to use as a stripping mat. It was purple, as I recall, and quite stylish (in the late ’70s).

If you’d rather not shell out a couple hundred bucks for one of the stripping buckets, a collapsible leaf barrel makes a suitable alternative. I bought one recently after my LineTamer, a $170 bucket made by a company no longer in business, jumped out of my skiff at 4 a.m. on Florida’s Turnpike. It’s made by Ryobi, available at Home Depot and other hardware and lawn-and-garden stores for under $20.

While not as snazzy as the specialty stripping buckets, the leaf barrel collapses into a disc only 4 inches thick. Once collapsed, it is small enough to stow in the bow hatch or a similar compartment.

The post Make Your Skiff More ­Fly-Line-Friendly appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

A Lifetime of Lures: Al Gag

“I was poor, no other way to put it,” says Albert “Al Gag” Gagliarducci, who has been making affordable, reliable and effective lures in central Massachusetts for nearly 50 years. “I started making shad darts out of turkey quills and feathers so I didn’t have to buy them.”

Al progressed to pouring jigs, which turned out to be something special. “Those jigs caught fish when nothing else would. Word got out, and demand was immediate,” says Gagliarducci. “At one point I sold a million in one year.”

Wood plugs for striped bass were next, including some of the first through-wired needlefish, which became famous in places such as Block Island. Those needles are still being built by 24/7 Lures. Forty years later, they’re just as popular.

“The most rewarding feeling is when a kid tells me they caught their first fish on my lure. I do this for them.”

A New Way to Fly: Ben Whalley

Ben Whalley is one of the most innovative new saltwater fly-tiers, famous for the size of his visually striking, highly effective flies. While many anglers consider a 6-inch-long fly big, Whalley’s are often twice that.

Whalley grew up in Brazil fishing for pacu and largemouth bass with his family. They moved back to the States when he was a teenager. After a short stint in Florida, he found his way to Maine—first for college, and then as a biochemist. He fell in love with stripers, built a successful guiding business, and made the jump to full time in 2021.

“Many fishermen drag crabs on sinking lines in Maine, or toss small deceivers,” Whalley says. “But the spin-fishermen who target big bait using very large lures catch a lot of quality fish. I knew there had to be a way that fly anglers could do that too.”

He researched options and found Bob Popovics’ Hollow Fleyes. Soon Whalley was creating incredibly large mackerel, menhaden and herring flies based on Popovic’s philosophies. “They worked right away, and we had some awesome tides with 40- to 50-inch fish from shore.”

These flies followed him onto the skiff, his clients took note, and word quickly spread.

The post Inshore Innovators appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.