Just a reminder that even the smallest efforts to help conservation are important ones!

Check out the Monomaster, the easiest and most environmentally conscience way to dispose of your tippet ends and pieces.

It’s a special new fishing tool to help store all the waste monofilament that is generated by anglers while fishing (and if you really think about it, it adds up pretty quickly).

Monofilament is notoriously bad for the environment and this little device is lightweight and easy to store in your vest or waders.

Check out their site to order one at http://www.grasshopperproducts.com/

Every little bit counts!

Be the first to post a comment on this post about your latest effort to help the environment and I'll mail you one of these babies out!

And what an office it is!

Fishing has been great so I thought I'd share a few pics....

The pinks are here!

April Vokey photo.

Tom on the Fraser (Jeff Reed photo)

Jeff releasing a beauty (April Vokey photo).

At the lake (Jeff Reed photo).

Jeff Reed photo

Mr. Jeffrey from Montana himself  (Tom Jull photo).

Marianne with her first ever fly caught fish (Lorie Drummond photo).

Leath Strench photo

Leath's first day ever fly-fishing!  She rocked it!  (April Vokey photo)

Relaxing at the lake with not another single soul around to bug us.

She was on a roll!

Shelley and her first fly caught salmon (April Vokey photo)

While writing this blog, the cackling of half-drunk ladies from the other room keep me chuckling....We're at the Fraser River's Edge B&B where we had an extremely successful day on the water at our Women's Weekend Retreat.

Stay tuned for the full story and accompanying photos!

See you on the water!

I'd heard of Davy Wotton; fly-fishing instructor, White River guide, tv personality and renowned fly tyer.

A legend in his own right, I was ecstatic when he contacted me and asked if I had a day free to hit the water.  Naturally, I took him up on his offer (twist my arm).

My GPS, notorious for taking me on the long route, had me pulling into Davy's driveway in the evening just as the sun was going down, and my stomach was rumbling for some dinner.

Davy and his lovely lady (and may I add, a fish crazy, fly-tying gem) T-Bird, Teresa VanWinkle were waiting and they were equally as hungry.

We kept conversation to a deliberate minimum and rushed to the nearest open diner to share our stories over a plate of liver and onions piled high with gravy.

Between Davy's wealth of knowledge and T-Bird's exciting stories, my head was spinning and I was itching to hit the river to try and finally land that big brown I'd been dreaming of for so long.

The night flew by as the couple's energy painted a permanent smile on my face and I eagerly anticipated the arrival of the next morning...

We couldn't wait to hook into some Mother Nature...Obviously (see below). Davy's a nature man all the way, and wrangled this creepy looking thing in the dark of the night when his equally adventurous pup cornered it.

One of the creepiest  creatures I've seen yet.....

The next day, I awoke to the friendly greeting of T-Bird and the bustling of a very busy Mr. Wotton. This was going to be awesome!

We hit the White River, and immediately hooked into some feisty rainbows.  Man, they pulled like hell!

T-Bird hit one side of the boat, while I hit the other, and together we fought for the tug of a brown trout.

Alas as soon as we got into the groove of things, the sky opened and rain poured like I had never seen before and eventually we gave in to the flooding boat and slosh of wet socks.....

A little wet, to say the least.

We hadn't seen a brown, but we'd seen an awesome day and I can't wait to hit the water with both Davy and T-Bird again.

To tell you just how great Davy is would keep me writing for days. He is beyond knowledgeable, patient and as about experienced as they get!

To book with Davy Wotton follow the contact info below:

As previously published in Chasing Silver Magazine

British Columbia is world famous for its majestic rivers and legendary steelhead.  A truly unique fishery, B.C. is home to steelhead twelve months out of the year where they are pursued by determined anglers who brave all the accompanying elements; icy guides, subzero snow storms, rugged hiking and treacherous wading are all factors that the serious angler will endure.

Matt Moisley knows what I'm talking about.

The arrival of West-Coast steelhead tends to be most abundant as the weather begins to cool down, typically drawing the fish deeper into the pools and often times easing their aggression. To stay in the game, seasoned anglers rig up their Spey rods with sink tips, and tie obnoxious flies to help coax the fish to bite.

Brrrr.  Ape with a double striper.

I remember the first steelhead I caught on one of my own fly patterns.  The breeze was cold and fresh snow laced the felts of my wading boots.  This was my favourite time of year.  Freezing temperatures kept a majority of anglers indoors, allowing us diehards to menace the rivers in true steelhead bum fashion.

Never a huge fan of nymphing or dead drifting, I always loved the concept of swinging a fly.  By casting towards the opposite bank and allowing my fly to sweep intrusively through the current, I was able to cover a maximum amount of water.  Working my way through the run, I would envision an aggressive buck tickled by the teasing feathers of my fly before lunging forward to attack.  Every step I made felt like one step closer to an epic battle.

Working the run (Michael Davidchik photo).

I had spent the entirety of my pre-season evenings behind my vice, stocking my fly box in preparation of this much-anticipated fishery. I had always been drawn to the art of tying flies.  Such a male dominated sport, I got a kick of how incredibly feminine steelhead flies tended to look.  Popular flies with names like Showgirl and Cotton Candy, provoked me to take advantage of my creative side and display my ‘girly’ traits through my fly-tying.

Ape at the vise.

So there I stood with an overloaded fly box that looked like a foam lined candy store.  I sorted through my flies until an aesthetically pleasing pink and blue intruder variation, stood out from the rest.  I tied it on and cast it into the seam.  Half an hour later, it was “fish on” and I had landed myself a heavy wild buck. It was at that moment that my love for the feminine pink pattern secured itself as my favourite and, to this day, remains on the top of my “preferred flies” list.

A pretty typical fly seen hanging out of most of my fish's mouths.....

The beautiful thing about fly-tying is that the tyer can showcase their creativity and originality through their invented patterns.  As long as the fly appears to come to life in the water (which is the reason why Ed Ward‘s attractor pattern, the ‘Intruder‘, became such a big hit in B.C. several years ago) or is a reasonable imitation of a natural aquatic species, the tyer can create countless unique and efficient concoctions.

Different lighting and water conditions are all important variables when it comes to steelheading.  I make sure that at all times my fly box consists of a variety of flies suitable for all conditions. Dark, bright, small and big flies all have their own unique purpose. I find myself fishing dark flies when the water is murky, and bright ones when the water is clear. The size of my fly usually depends on the level of the water, however I find that typically low and clear rivers fish best with smaller patterns.

But it’s not always that simple.  Different strains of steelhead sometimes require different tactics.  Different levels of aggression, time of year, genetic build are but a few contributing factors. Some fish occasionally throw a wrench into my standard approach, keeping me on my toes.  Though you’ll never hear me complain, for it wouldn’t be fishing if it were any other way.

With this, I give you five of my favourite creations.

*=Note

*I  prefer to tie most of my flies with a trailing hook.  This allows me to replace any dull or broken off points by simply switching the hook, rather than disposing of the fly entirely.

1)    Snip off four or five inches of thin wire, thick monofilament, running line or     something of the sort. 2)    Folding it in half, lay each end on either side of the shank and wrap the thread     over the wire, winding it upwards.  The tie in point should be where the hook     shank begins to curve. 3)    Fold the wire back over and secure it with multiple downward winding wraps of     thread. 4)    Clip any tail ends. 5)    After completion of the fly, use wire cutters to cut the main hook near the bend     in the shaft.

Sugar Pop

Materials:

Pink thread Silver oval tinsel Krinkle Mirror Flash Blue polar bear (or dubbing of choice) Blue eared pheasant (dyed blue) Pink rhea Pink teal Silver mini flat braid Pink tinsel Blue Flashabou Jungle cock Kingfisher

Tying Instructions:

1)    Tie in a strand of silver oval tinsel and wrap it up the hook five times, creating a     tag. 2)    Dub in the under fur of blue polar bear. *Any dubbing will work, though I find that polar bear shimmers the best in the     water, and is the most efficient in preventing the rest of the materials from     collapsing. 3)    Tie in the tip of a single blue eared pheasant feather.  Fold both sides of the     feather fibres rearward and continue to wrap the feather several times until it fans     over the dubbing. 4)    Peel off a side of a rhea feather and tie in the tip (*if rhea is unavailable, marabou     or ostrich can    make a great substitute).  Make several wraps until it fans over the     blue eared hackle. *You can stack the rhea if you prefer, though it will not result in the same     fullness. 5)    Tie in a strand of Krinkle Mirror Flash on either side of the hook. 6)    Peel a pink teal feather and hackle it over the rhea. 7)    Attach silver mini flat braid, pink tinsel, and blue flashabou. 8)    Wrap the mini braid forward, ribbing it with the tinsel and flashabou. 9)    Repeat steps 2-6. 10)    Pluck two small secondary feathers from a jungle cock cape and tie them in as     cheeks. *Use flat-nosed pliers to pinch the stems to prevent them from rolling. 11)    Lay a kingfisher feather over the jungle cock, again flattening the stem with flat-    nosed pliers. *The tip of a blue saddle feather makes a decent substitute. 12)    Whip finish and coat with head cement. *Clear nail polish works just as well (your wife will understand.)

Burnt Orange Prawn

Materials:

Black thread Gold oval tinsel Golden pheasant tippet Orange seal dubbing Red seal dubbing Gold Mylar tinsel Orange blue-eared pheasant feather Black rhea Dark orange ring neck pheasant Tragopan

Tying Instructions:

1)    Tie in a strand of gold oval tinsel and wrap it up the hook five times, creating a     tag. 2)    Tie in a single golden pheasant tippet. 3)    Pre-cut a piece of gold Mylar tinsel and select an orange blue-eared pheasant     feather.  Fold the feather fibres rearward, in preparation of step five. 4)    Dub the orange seal fur in a dubbing loop. 5)    Make two turns with the dubbing loop, securing the ends of the Mylar and blue-    eared pheasant with the wraps of the dubbing loop.  Let them dangle freely, while     continuing to wrap the dubbing loop forward ¾ up the hook. 6)    Rib the tinsel forward through the dubbing, using a pin to free any flattened fur.

7)    Wrap the pheasant hackle upwards, alongside the tinsel.

8)     Secure with thread and trim all ends. 9)    Peel a side of a black rhea feather and tie in the tip. 10)    Dub and wrap the red seal fur up the remainder of the shank. 11)    Hackle the black rhea through the dubbing.  You’ll only need to make two or three     wraps. 12)    Sequentially stack and layer three ring neck feathers, flattening the stems with     flat-nosed pliers. 13)    Tie in a pair of tragopan feathers as cheeks. 14)    Whip finish and coat with head cement.

The Five O-Clock Shadow

Materials:

Black thread Small gold tinsel Black polar bear Red ostrich Yellow saddle Black mini flat braid Silver oval tinsel Red tinsel Green tinsel Red polar bear Black rhea Jungle cock

Tying Instructions:

1)    Wrap the gold tinsel ten times up the shank, creating a tag. 2)    Stack in a small clump of black polar bear as a tail. 3)    Conceal the bump from the clipped tail ends with  a strand of red ostrich. 4)    Attach a piece of black mini flat braid, green tinsel, red tinsel, silver oval tinsel     and tip of a yellow saddle feather (one side peeled). 5)    Wrap the black flat braid first, then the green and red tinsel, and lastly the yellow     saddle. 6)    Counter rib over all of step five’s materials with the silver oval tinsel. *This is to slow the wear and tear of the rib during casting. 7)    Dub in the under fur of red polar bear or dubbing material of choice and make two     turns. 8)    Stack the strands of a black rhea feather all around the shank (top, bottom and     sides). 9)    Tie in a pair of jungle cock cheeks. 10)    Whip finish and coat with head cement.

Purple Whisper

Materials:

Black thread Gold oval tinsel Silver oval tinsel Turquoise silk Blue rhea Natural Amherst Purple marabou Cerise marabou Purple ring neck pheasant

Tying Instructions:

1)    Wrap the gold oval tinsel forward ten times, creating a tag. 2)    Tie in the turquoise silk, silver tinsel, gold tinsel and peeled blue rhea feather. *To peel rhea, pinch the strands at the tip of the feather and carefully pull down.      The membrane should separate from the stem with all its fibres intact.  This gets     easier with practise but is well worth a few casualties to be able to have such a     remarkable hackle, free of the bulky stem. When tying the peeled rhea onto a shank, wrap the membrane as though it were     the stem of a regular feather. 3)    Wrap the silk upwards and rib the tinsels atop the silk, side by side up the shank. 4)    Palmer the rhea up the hook, laying it directly beside the previously ribbed tinsel. 5)    Pick out a purple marabou feather that isn’t overly plumy.  Choose a stringy     feather over a fuzzy one to guarantee a crisp appearance. *When buying packages of marabou, take a moment to take the feathers out of the     package and find the package with the least plumy fibres.  These affordable     feathers can often double as rhea or blue-eared pheasant in many patterns. 6)    Tie in the tip of the marabou feather, fold its fibres rearward, and wrap it forward     several times. 7)    Do the same with a cerise marabou feather. 8)    Tie in an over-wing of three overlapping purple ring neck pheasant feathers.      Flatten the stems with flat-nosed pliers to avoid them from rolling. 9)     Tie in two strands of natural Amherst on either side of the shank, and top with a     pair of jungle cock cheeks. 10)    Whip finish and coat with head cement.

Wizard of Oz

Materials:

Turquoise silk Silver oval tinsel Blue-eared pheasant (dyed blue) Blue-eared pheasant (dyed purple) Bright green ostrich Jungle cock Blue ostrich Purple silk Hammered silver tinsel Blue tinsel Gold tinsel Green synthetic dubbing Golden pheasant

Tying Instructions

1)    Tie in turquoise silk and silver oval tinsel.  Wrap the silk forward half an inch and     rib the tinsel on an angle atop the silk. 2)    Tie in the tip of the dyed blue blue-eared pheasant and fold both sides of the     feather fibres rearward, while wrapping it forward. 3)    Stack the green ostrich, spreading it evenly around the diameter of the shank. 4)    Tie in a pair of jungle cock cheeks. 5)    Conceal cut off ends with a strand of blue ostrich. 6)    Tie in the strands of purple silk, hammered silver tinsel, blue tinsel and gold     tinsel. 7)    Wrap the purple silk towards the hook’s eye, and rib all three tinsels upwards on     an angle, making sure they’re wrapped side by side. 8)    Dub in a small amount of synthetic green dubbing. 9)    Repeat step three. 10)    Repeat step two with the purple blue-eared pheasant feather. 11)    Repeat step four. 12)    Tie in an over wing of two overlapping golden pheasant feathers.  Flatten the     stems with flat-nosed pliers to avoid them from rolling. 13)    Whip finish and coat with head cement.

So, here's the way I see it.....

Websites and magazines hold regular "Women Fishing" photo contests that seem to create a larger stir amongst the male portion of the angling community than the truly dedicated female population.

I would hope that one would be able to read between the lines of my writing enough to see that the hype and immaturity of "silicone induced, bikini babes holding bait caught fish", make me gag a little every time.

Now, listen to me carefully....

I am not against silicone, nor am I against bait caught fish....What I am against are the contest entries of legitimate, hard-core, bad-ass fishing "chicks" who don't get half the credit they deserve because they're overshadowed by a model whose primary purpose in the photo was to serve as boat decor.

This said, I would like to announce a 'contest' (though it's truly more of a statement with a hoody as a bonus).

Winner receives this Fly Gal zip-up hoody in desired size.

"Contest" Description:

Send in a photo of you on the water (or of something super cool you've photographed while fishing), with a brief description of what it is, who you are, and why you're proud to be a bad-ass woman of the sport.

Photos don't need to be strictly fly-fishing related; you'll find no discrimination here to the ladies of the spoons and spinners (though, you know it's my job to try and convert you, so expect some ribbing from me).

Feel free to break away from the usual grip and grins, and don't be shy!

I'll be posting entered photos onto my blog, so please make sure you're sending a photo that you're comfortable sharing.

Contest expires August 31st, and I'll announce the winner that day.

Send photos to april@flygal.ca

Rock on ladies!

I look forward to seeing what you've got!

As previously printed in the Canadian Fly Fisher magazine (2008).

I have a confession to make.

I’ve always been a sucker for a woman casting a fly rod.

I can’t help but watch in awe as she casts effortlessly into the cool breeze, gently throwing mends upriver, concentrating on her fly's presentation before stripping the line back in and preparing to cast again.  I try so hard not to stare but, the truth is, I just can’t help myself.

Ade you're sexy as hell babe!

Don’t get me wrong, I love to watch a tight loop cast from just about any angler, man or woman, but there’s just something different about a cast kissed with a feminine touch.

Hello ladies, please allow me to introduce myself. My name is April Vokey and I’m an avid angler and fishing guide in beautiful British Columbia.  Like so many of you, I’ve been bitten and deeply infected by the fishing bug, and, quite willingly, I allow it to consume my life.

Mathew Moisley photo.

My fascination with  fishing began when I was a little girl.  Never having the luxury of a father or grandfather who was really serious about fishing, the origins of my obsession with the sport has always been a mystery both to me and my family.

Nevertheless, my parents, always huge supporters of quality family time, were more than happy to take my sister and me to spend the day at the water, picnic basket and mini fishing rods in tow.  Although, as children, we had great fun casting worms and wedding bands, it wasn’t until I was old enough to drive, that I was able to take myself fishing and truly learn the ways of the river.

My first car; the Blue Beast (Buick Skylark).  This thing got me to the river and back and was the most reliable fishing buddy I had for a long time.

Getting started was intimidating.  I had a lot of questions and, with no one to answer them, I made my way to the library and took out every book I could find on different species of fish and methods of catching them.

I learned how they fished in the UK and the habits of countless ocean-dwelling creatures, but remained fairly ignorant about fishing in the Lower Mainland, B.C.  For this, I had to seek help from somebody with experience, so I headed to my local tackle shop.

The guys in the shop were more than helpful and provided me with knowledge about the river that I was interested in fishing, making sure that I was properly equipped.  They set me up with affordable gear, drew me detailed maps, and explained the basics of proper river etiquette.

Off to the river (Damn, BC is awesome!)  Aaron Goodis photo.

Little do they know it, but that was a day I will never forget.  Barriers dropped, and fears were forgotten, as I was welcomed with friendly faces, sincerely interested in showing me how to grow in the sport.  In return, that shop gained a loyal customer, never too proud to ask for advice and always eager to share her reports and experiences.

It is a relationship I strongly urge any aspiring angler to commit to.

As my days on the water accumulated and the years passed, a natural progression began. I found myself being lured by the beauty of the art of fly-fishing..... I longed to cast that fluorescent line with ease, my body flowing gracefully and my fly taunting unsuspecting fish as it swung across the current.

It has always seemed romantic to me, a classic sport as old as time, consisting  merely of a patient angler, several trusted flies, fly rod, spooled reel, and sheer appreciation of the tranquil surroundings and therapeutic songs of nature.

I never could, and never will for that matter, wrap my head around why such a poetic pastime has for so long been pursued primarily by men.

April Vokey photo.

Aaron Goodis photo.

Andrea and Jenna ready to rock 'n roll (Trevor Welton photo).

For the longest time, my friends and family thought I was losing my mind.  Seeing me endure long drives and freezing weather, they knew there must be something extremely unique about this sport that I  continued to stubbornly pursue.

Typical scene of a BC canyon wall.  Looking back now, no wonder my parents freaked....

Even my little sis, Dana, began to understand what all the fuss was about (Steve Morrow photo).

I suppose it was inevitable that I would eventually find myself agreeing to bring some of my close girl friends out with me to share the experiences of a day of catch-and-release fishing on the river.  The outcome proved to be something I’d never experienced before.

As an angler who had always preferred to fish solo or with capable male fishing buddies, I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t slightly concerned as to how the day would unravel.

April and Nicole (Marcel Saring photo).

The truth is, I was completely taken aback by how incredibly enjoyable our time together on the water was.

With conversation not varying much from that we’d exchange over a cocktail on a girls' night out, we easily lost track of time as we enjoyed our freedom and surroundings—hiking along the river bank, searching for that single adrenaline-packed moment.

It was much like taking a yoga class or a cleansing hike with a close friend—the adventure, movement, relaxation and concentration of fishing provided an escape from all the accumulated stresses of work, home, and life in general.  Spending time on the river with these patient, energetic and persistent women, it didn’t take me long to conclude that having a woman fishing buddy was the link that had been missing for me.

Guide Kate Taylor knows what I'm talking about.

Soon, I began to get phone calls and emails from other friends and acquaintances and, before long, I was taking women of all ages with me to experience a sport which so many of them had an interest in but were too intimidated to try.  These women included co-workers, relatives, friends of friends and guiding clients.

My girl Ashley.

Client Sheila.

It’s such a shame that intimidation prevents so many women from participating in fly fishing.  Afraid of lacking the strength and the skills necessary to be a successful angler, a vast majority of women opt to stick with sports more suitable to the physicality of a woman.  This is truly unfortunate, as there is nothing further from the truth than this major misconception.  In actuality, it is a fact that women are better casting students than men.

Giving a lesson.

Ask any reputable fishing guide or casting instructor, and most will agree that women do indeed learn more rapidly than men.

This is not meant as a put-down of the opposite sex, but rather as an observation of how each sex absorbs instruction and how easily they apply it to the task at hand.  Enthusiastic and open-minded, women sincerely listen to constructive criticism, immediately focusing on improving their faults.  Please note that this is not always the case when receiving instruction from one’s significant other, as that can often cause more harm than good.  You all know what I’m talking about!

Women tend to have a more gentle stroke, controlling the fly rod with careful movements, taking special precautions not to overpower it, the way most men do so regularly.

Maintaining the rod tip’s proper path in casting is crucial, and women are more apt in applying that unexaggerated, delicate motion, in which the tip is prevented from being forced too far back or too far forward on either side of the angler, enabling a sweetly loaded rod which delivers a beautifully timed, tight loop. With the realization that brute strength plays no part in the process of becoming a great caster, the intimidation factor is soon overcome and forgotten about completely, being replaced with the joy of perfect, effortless motion.

Right Shannon?  (Rod Vanderlinde photo)

As a firm believer in equal opportunity and a fishing buddy to both men and women, I have spent countless days on the water with a wide ranging assortment of anglers.

Over the years, some days have proven to be undeniably frustrating, and others, unbelievably picture-perfect.  However, my favourite days are just indescribably……..girly?

Yup!  With bright pink hats and manicured nails, I am self-admittedly a ‘girly-girl’.  I’m simply a woman who likes to play in the water, rather than a diva or a feminist—a serious angler in touch with my feminine side, who spends all of my free time chasing fish in the hope that they, in turn, will chase my fly.

You can be certain that there are more of us out there than you might think there are, and with time, as each woman begins to break through the subtle barrier of what has been up until now a ‘boys only club’, we are slowly finding each other and establishing our own niche.

Sarah Exton is feisty with her red nails!

Although it's only natural that there will be days when an intense conversation with a female fishing companion is the last thing you wish to engage in while angling, I strongly encourage all women to make some effort to get to know other fellow female anglers in their area, as these fishing relationships do have a lot to offer.  If meeting a stranger isn’t for you, don’t give up, chances are that one of your close girlfriends or co-workers are probably interested in having you take them out for a day or two.  Whether it be meeting someone in your area, or introducing that lovable but completely novice friend who wants to accompany you (remind them that instructional magazine articles for beginners are not gender specific), your local tackle shop should be able to assist you.

A local angler, Radine, who has blessed me with a smile on more than one occasion.

A day of fishing with a female friend is like nothing else, as it forges a bond that only another woman can fully comprehend.  Women speak the same language, and with this advantage in communication, we are able to teach and learn from each other with great ease.  Accepting each other’s flaws and idiosyncrasies, there is an inherent comfort level between us that makes the day so special.

As in Sex and the City (only without the sex and without the city), we giggle as we hike, discussing relationships and life, never fretting about how much we are sweating or how often we have to use the bushes as a bathroom.  It’s a perfect partnership.

A day of fishing full of laughs, girl talk and serious misbehaving....

We hurt from laughing the next day.

Alright Fly Gals, unite!

Stay tuned for a chance to win a free hoody in part 2 of 'For The Fly Gals'.

Every so often in a woman’s life, there is a calling to do something a little crazy (ok, so maybe it’s a little more regular than every so often)…..

Women acting crazy?  Nah...... (What the hell am I doing in this picture anyway?)  (Brian Niska photo).

See, I believe in living life with no regrets, staying true to yourself (and your heart) and living every single day as though it were your last.  You never quite know when your time will come, and you can be damn sure that you don’t want the last thoughts that run through your head to be thoughts of regret.

Sometimes it takes one of these to make you realize just how important those things are…

Head-on at 200km combined speed on the freeway.  Courtesy of a drunk driver who opted to drive after a late night party.  I was heading to the lake to go fishing, trailer and boat in tow....

3/4 ton Chev takes on my little Toyota.  Poor thing didn't stand a chance....

My accident from last year that opened my eyes.  The result?  Appreciation! Always find a positive through the negatives, no matter how hard it may be at times….

Remember that fishing is not about the race to the river, nor about the mere bite of the trout.  Life is about enjoying these experiences as a whole.  Treat each day as though it is your last and savour every raindrop, cool breeze, laugh and moment.  Savour your friends, your family and yourself. For in a world when each breath you take may be your last, believe me when I tell you that these are the things that you will wish you had taken the time to cherish and the time to love.

Dana Vokey (my little sis) taking it all in.  This girl's the epitome of appreciation.

Anyhow, enough preaching.  Let me get back to my point….

So when my heart called me to spend some time away from BC and venture into the unknown terrain of the South, I opted to get a little crazy and take the leap. So long as the steelhead weren’t running, I was quite content chasing after trout and bass in good ‘ol Arkansas.

Two happy anglers in Arkansas.

We packed our bags (and kennels) and temporarily relocated to the land of Southern drawls and ‘sweet tea’.

Heading down South.

Naturally, as word spread through friends of mine, stories of the White River found their way to me and began to plague my mind.

The White is famous for its gigantic brown trout, and I was itching to see one.  I had never managed to land a brown, and still had yet to see one in person.

Thankfully, word had also managed to spread to the notable guide and writer, Steve Dally of Mountain River Fly Shop www.mtnriverflyshop.com

Steve is an Aussie who found himself relocating to the USA almost a decade ago. Perhaps he understood what it feels like to be the “new kid in the neighbourhood” because he sent me a welcome invitation to try and break my brown trout curse.

Steve is one of those witty people who’s able to balance an intelligent sense of humour with just the right amount of dry sarcasm. This is the sort of guy that I could find myself getting along with….. We booked a day to hit the water.

Steve Dally working the motor.  (Rebecca Dally photo)

Steve maintains a fantastic blog called Splashes With Fishes www.splasheswithfishes.wordpress.com I thought I’d let him tell you how our day was in his words….

In the words of Steve Dally…

The cast splashed down deep into a nook in the bank, right where it needed to land. The mass of wool, marabou and steel composing itself into something fishy enough to attract the interest of the Lord of the Eddy.

Ape casting a fly the size of roadkill, and a sink tip that would make BC steelheaders blush (Steve Dally photo).

The fly sashayed its way out into the current with a BIG shadow below and astern, and closing. It was at about this time I lost my guide cool.

“Strip April, Strip, Faster!  Strip, Strip Strip,” echoed across the water in an Aussie accent….

It would only be later that we got the giggles, as we were both intent on that fish; the one we were after, tracking the fly out further and further, into the current, and right up to the stern.

Here I thought it would have turned away, but now it followed all the way to the rod tip. This brown was not boat shy.

How big? I’m a chronic under estimator when it comes to fish in the water, but it had mid-20s length and big girth; probably 10+ maybe more, it doesn’t really matter.

April’s eyes were huge, and words were coming in a rush. “I didn’t know trout could be so predatory!  Wow they aren’t like rainbows at all.”

And this wasn’t the only monster brown we would meet.

I knew of the April Vokey internet sensation, Simms calendar pin up, fly fishing ubiquitous “hot chick”, television presenter, and the subject of a popular Face Book group “I want to fish with April Vokey”.  All other opinions were based on a few photos, gorgeous though they are. Since I’d heard she was going to be in the area, I started a little research which lit a fire to get her connected to a White River trophy brown.

April and Colby on their way to 'the spot' with Steve.  (Steve Dally photo)

Far from an internet creation, the real April Vokey guides in British Columbia, running rivers and offshore. Here was a person crazy enough not only to go trout fishing just after emerging from the hospital with screws and plates in her foot (courtesy of a major car wreck), but heck doing it out in the back of beyond, and lugging a film camera.

Here was a fish-rat crazy enough to cast monster streamers in the Arkansas humidity all day long for a crack at a trophy brown.

She casts better than I do single handed, and I’m trying to work a trade for her to teach me Spey. In short as they say April’s  “bonafide” and a kindred spirit.  Even better, she and my lovely wife Becca hit it off a treat; to the point where April could harass me about my word selection when that monster brown chased that fly.

“If only we could get him to stop asking me to take my clothes off…”  April joked, referencing my continual demands of “Strip, strip, strip…” The girls were shaking with hysterics, and I’m scrambling to defend myself. Ratbags the pair of them.

Poor Steve getting picked on by the girls....

Sometimes it’s the friends you make on the water that overshadow everything else.

April and Colby share a romantic Titanic moment.

But I badly wanted to get her her first brown trout, and a big one at that. We fished hard in all the zones that had been producing, for a handful of rainbows, a few better smacks and quite a few trees.

No animals were harmed in the making of this blog.  (Steve Dally photo)

Then as the day faded I picked up a stick to try and help focus our efforts, running a big Zoo Cougar, trying to stir up a fish. It was then that I found an aggressive feeder; a big yellow slash shining gold as it missed my fly.  We retied the yellow Zoo Cougar onto April’s rig and ran back upstream for another pass.

Damn, I was thinking, it's gone as we floated over the zone. It was then that I heard April say softly, ”I’m on”…

Her 6wt bent hard. It had to be a brown, head down and doggedly pushing towards the tree line. She held that effort and we worked the fish to the middle of the river. I took a breath at this point, thinking now we had a good shot, when mysteriously everything went slack. Those big browns have mouths of bone and a secure hook set is hard to achieve.

Last fly, last run, last light (Steve Dally photo).

That’s fishing.

Nope I didn’t come away with a pic of “The April Vokey” holding a big brown, but Bec and I had a really cool couple of days fishing, yakking and laughing with April, Colby (her St. Bernard/Coonhound cross), and her friends Adam, Phil and Dalt.

It's a bird, it's a plane, it's a tower of midges!?

Do you have any idea how many of those got stuck in my lip gloss?

There’s always a shot at another big fish-  oh yeh she’s coming back and we are due, but kindred spirits are a greater treasure.

Steve Dally ________________________________________________________

Thanks Steve!  We love you and Becca too!

For regular blogs by Steve, check out splasheswithfishes.wordpress.com And for regular reports on the White and the Mountain River Fly Shop, check out mountainriverjournal.wordpress.com

I remember the first email I ever exchanged with Icelander, Rafn Valur Alfreðsson.

I couldn’t pronounce his name, and I certainly couldn’t pronounce his river, but the rest of the text was clear.

April, my name is Rafn Alfreðsson and I run a lodge on the river Midfjardará.  We would like you to come to Iceland to put on a women’s school in June next year, are you interested?

Iceland is famous for it's incredible scenery and world renowned Atlantic salmon fishing…..Of course I was interested.

The lower and flatter half of the "Midi".

The deal was simple......  Eight days, four of which were my own personal fishing days and four of which were to be spent instructing, guiding and laughing with twenty-four lady anglers from around the country.

The school was to take place on the third week of June, making fishing tricky, as June 19th had been opening day and the fish were scarce.

The commute from Oklahoma to Iceland was an interesting one to say the least.  I was traveling alone, at times feeling like a contestant from the Amazing Race. Connections, insanely lengthy layovers, and underground trains to off-map terminals kept my tired eyes alert, testing my navigational skills.

Finally, I settled into the cozy seats of Iceland Air.

Nearly 24 hours later, the breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean kissing Iceland’s green fields filled my window and our plane descended.

It was obvious I was in a foreign country.  The toilets flushed differently, the electrical sockets were funny looking, and the language surrounding me was one of a kind; quite literally.  (Icelander’s have their own language and even their own letters.) Try pronouncing one of their words one day….make sure there’s no one in front of you, ‘cuz they’re bound to get wet.

My guides name was Jonni (pronounced Yonni). A quiet, reserved, handsome, early forties, local, Jonni had woken up early to be at the airport for 6am. (Side note:  During these months, Iceland doesn’t get the slightest bit of dark even once throughout the evening!  There’s something strange about being able to get a sun tan at 3 o’clock in the morning….This said, they have set fishing rules, and it is illegal to fish past a certain hour at night).

Jonni’s face said it all; 'it’s opening day on the Midfjardará and I’m stuck here picking up some high maintenance, over hyped blonde chick….'

Yup.....this one.  (Photo by Larus Halldorsson.)

Jonni didn’t know it yet, but we were about to become extremely dear friends.

Jonni you're a babe!!  I miss you buddy...... (Vokey photo.)

The truck ride to the river was two hours long and I hit Jonni with 1001 questions.  This was the most beautiful country I had ever seen!

Ocean view, volcanoes, rolling hills, gin clear water and picture perfect waterfalls told me that if the fish were as beautiful as their surroundings, that I had found heaven.

Cliff top view of the "Midi".  (April Vokey photo.)

We headed straight for the river in true Vokey all-nighter fashion.  Man, I’m starting to get too old for this whole live without sleep thing…..

The first run we hit up was a flat, steady flowing piece of water that required no more than a short roll cast.  Our flies were small and everything that I had imagined fishing for Atlantics would be.

'Oooooh so romantic!'  I squealed to myself.

The "blue box"...

Arriving at the run.  (Vokey photo.)

Cast, strip, cast, strip, I worked the run and moved step by step through the pool.

The run widened and my casts lengthened. I cast, adjusted my footing, and then looked back at Jonni to ask him question #1002. His eyes almost popped out of his head; he was looking straight past me. Idiot girl had missed a nice sized salmon splashing at her fly.

“Damn!!!”  (The censored version).  There was no need to be disgusted though, for Jonni was disgusted enough for the both of us. He shook his head and looked down.

Great start.

I tried at that fish for another ten minutes before Jonni took the rod from my hands.

Three casts and his rod was doubled over with the perfect specimen of a fish jumping on the other end.

Bastard.

My, uh I mean, Jonni's first salmon of the season.  (April Vokey photo.)

The day went on and we hit countless other pools.  Every so often I’d close my eyes to take it all in….I was in Iceland! For me, this was a dream come true.

Our rig.  (Vokey photo.)

Near the end of the day we hit a long run, and I cast into the head of the pool. I recognized pools like this one from the steelhead rivers in BC.

I cast.  Only this time instead of stripping, I let my steelhead instincts set in and prepared to let my fly swing through.

“Oh my God, this run is money”, I said to Jonni, anticipating a tug.

Sure enough, a large mouth broke the surface and my small black fly was engulfed by a magnificent fish! I raised the rod tip and prepared to battle. It jumped, ran, splashed and turned for close to twenty minutes. I was getting my ass kicked!!!

Eventually I landed my first Atlantic Salmon.  My God, it was beautiful!  Chrome and spotted with sea lice, it was one of the most magnificent fish I had ever seen.

Yay!  First Atlantic ever!  (Jonni Birgisson photo.)

It was well worth waiting for.

When I first started fly-fishing, there was a perception that I held in my head.  When I would close my eyes and envision the epitome of why I was so drawn to the sport, I would imagine a romantic stream, with cascading waterfalls, classic flies, floating lines, tight loops, and flawless silver fish.

Flawless.... (photo by Helgi Gudbrandsson)

Casting at holding fish beneath the falls.  Can you believe we actually caught fish in here!?

Iceland was everything I dreamt fly-fishing would be.

Oh so cute (Jonni Birgisson photo.)

Soon, the ladies arrived from various towns around Iceland; every one of them excited to learn and have a shot at a fly-caught Atlantic salmon.

I’ll let several pictures speak for themselves……

Ape with a glowing angler (photo by Helgi Gudbrandsson.)

Ready for release (photo by Helgi Gudbrandsson).

This fish made this lady work for it! (Photo by Helgi Gudbrandsson)

Fishing with style (photo by Helgi Gudbrandsson.)

Iceland was one of the most mind blowing trips that I have ever taken and if I could preach to somebody loud enough that this is a MUST TAKE trip, I would shout it as obnoxiously as an old-school click pawl reel.

The guides (when they weren't beating on me in a brotherly sort of way), the food, the lodging, the scenery, and the fishing (during the months of July and August, it isn’t irregular to have 50+ fish days) far exceeded any of my expectations.

The trip's not cheap, but if you sub your next two trips with this one, I can promise you that it will be more than worth it.

For more info on booking a trip visit http://www.fhd.is/

For so many fresh water anglers, this is the reason we started fly-fishing in the first place, so why on Earth wouldn't you try to revitalize that passion....

Think about it,

Ape.

I was a Girl Guide for nine years (for those of you from the US, a ‘Girl Guide’ is the Canadian equivalent to being a Girl Scout).

I graduated from three years of Brownies, to three years of Guides, to three years of Pathfinders; gradually stepping up the Girl Guide chain, learning cool tricks about camping, wildlife, survival and countless other subjects.

When I was done my nine years?  Hell, I went and helped to lead the little ones by being the “cool” Girl Guide leader amongst the Moms and the Grandmas (who believe it or not, were pretty darn cool themselves). I still think that to date, I am the only “responsible role model” in girl guide history to sneak candy into the bunks and give the kids a sugar high so as to keep camp interesting….

So, when my Aunt (still an active leader) made mention of me teaming with Girl Guides of Canada to help educate the young ladies about fly-fishing and the environment, you know I couldn’t resist. After all, I remember how good those badges felt when Mom ironed them to my scarf. If I could help these girls with some outdoor skills, I was all over it.

A happy brownie clinging to her Mom...I worked my ass off for those badges!

So, there we were several months later, myself and good friend Adrienne Comeau, heading to Girl Guide meeting headquarters to give twenty-five eight year old girls lessons on fly casting, conservation, flies and safety. It was a wee bit nerve-wracking.

The girls were hyper, and Ade and I fiddled nervously as they whipped our expensive fly rods through the air. “Deep breaths…”  I smiled at her and headed upstairs to begin the classroom session with the first half of the group.

Our group of little ladies (photo blurred for privacy purposes).

There they were; a dozen of them surrounding me at a table in an old conference room, and they were as antsy as the night I played the Easter Bunny in the bunkhouse years earlier. Hmmm.  Karma sucks.

Regardless, I quickly discarded my carefully formulated plan to educate them classroom style, as it was evident that their attention spans were about as wide as the wings of a sparrow. They shouted over each other, each of them trying to be louder than the last. “Hey, hey, hey!”  Me, trying to sound grown up… “Ladies, put your hands up if you’d like to be heard.”

A dozen hands shot up towards the ceiling and stretched as if trying to dislocate their arms. One at a time, I listened to what each of them had to say.  What I heard was truly an eye opener…

“My Dad”, in short, unsure, gaspy breaths, “My Dad he goes fishing all the time with my Uncle Bob…..”

“My Grandpa, he loves fishing!  He goes every summer to…..”

“Well, my Dad, he’s a great fisherman!  He takes a trip every year to…”

One after the other, each and every girl had a male role model in their life who in some way, shape or form, had the fishing bug.

Ironically, the girls all shared yet another surprising characteristic. Every one of them was eager to go with their Dads/Grandpas/Uncles, but simply didn’t know how to go about doing so.

That same night, twenty-five eight year old girls went home bugging that male role model to take them fishing.

Little Emma Cortes with her proud Dad (rightfully so!)  Adrian Cortes photo.

So Daddy, if you don’t already, ask her if she may be interested in joining you.  Show her pictures of other girls angling!  Show her that she can too!  If for nothing else, than to simply boost her confidence. Let her know while she’s young that she can do whatever she puts her mind to!

Danika Rodgers casting a tight loop as proud Dad, Jamie, snaps a picture.  This kids the real deal!

Yes, you may lose a rod tip (as I so painfully experienced that same evening), and yes you may gain a migraine (as I so amusedly watched Adrienne endure), but you may just develop the best little fishing buddy a guy could have. And really, does it get much better than that?

It’s always been a dream of mine to fish the salt.  No, not the cold, survival suit, jigging for salmon, salt….. but the tropics. So when a  friend invited me to join him and some of his friends on a trip to the Bahamas, there was no way I was turning it down.

The group.

We were off to Freeport, chasing after bone fish and anything else that happened to have the misfortune of being spotted by one of us.

Even the poor starfish weren't safe (April Vokey photo).

Among this list of unfortunate species included shark, sting ray, permit, baby tarpon, barracuda, and snapper;  Each of which we hooked (with the exception of the permit; no surprise there) though didn’t necessarily land.

April Vokey releasing a sweet little bone fish.

Day one on the boat was incredible.  Our guide worked the pole better than an upscale dancer and the amount of visible bones were plentiful (no pun intended).

Our guide working it....

Never, would I have imagined that a reasonably small fish could run with such speed.  Truly a bullet, I was starting to understand what all the fuss was about.

Bullet.

Straight into backing, silver as a rich kid’s spoon, and pulling pound for pound, I was able to temporarily forget about my hangover and the glaring sun long enough to laugh hysterically as a feisty bone kicked my ass.

Getting my ass kicked.

The next day, I was ready. Only today, I was going to break one of my steadfast rules….I was trading in my long sleeves and khakis for….gasp….a bikini.

I always sneered at the girls in the photos who rocked the swim suit, making the fish appear invisible, all the while keeping the boat afloat with an abundance of silicone. “Not this chick.  Long live those who don’t need to get naked to produce a good shot…” But damn, it was hot, and these Canadian thighs were blinding and as white as the sand on the beach. Guess some rules are made to be broken; don’t get used to it.

Holding a mutton snapper.  These things were so cool!  (Anthony Reiss photo)

We headed for the flats in search of tailing bones.  Our rods were rigged and our eyes were trained; it was going to be a good day.

I brought the Spey rod (packed it for shits and giggles, which for the record, ended up leaning more on the side of the shits), and set it up with a wire leader and monstrosity of a fly (spinner blade and all).

I’d be damned if I had to watch another huge shark or barracuda swim by me again this trip.

Got the Nautilus reel ready for business (April Vokey photo)

Wading the flats was awesome.  A true test for the caster, we chucked and ducked into the wind and nervously watched black tipped dorsal fins swim close by.

Screw this….I grabbed the Spey and cast at a six or seven foot blacktip shark, failing to have the common sense to realize that I was wearing long, flowing, black sarong style pants over my bikini bottoms.  That’s right, the equivalence of a playful baby seal swayed in the water around my hips, and I was up to my waist casting at a shark. When did I get so smart….? I cast a long cast with the Spey, slamming the obnoxious fly in front of his snout and stripped vigorously.  He turned and charged my fly, excited by my fast, jerky strips. “Keep stripping!”  My guide shouted.

Ok, pause the story.

You know in the movies when you see the dorsal fin coming at the stupid blonde chick who’s half naked and everyone knows the water’s about to explode in a nauseating scarlet color?  Yeah, I was thinking I was that girl.

Thank God, at the last minute he turned (probably had something to do with my increasingly weak and unsure strips), leaving my heart pounding and my “fear no fish” attitude somewhere amidst the piss I’m sure I released in my seal-like pants. That was enough shark fishing the flats for one day.  I crawled back into the boat.

Not all was lost; I did end up getting this little guy the next day....

Small but toothy nonetheless.

That evening when the guides headed back to the dock, one of the guys in our group, Anthony ‘A-Train’ Reiss was standing on the shore unusually quiet. Anthony is one of the rare people I know who can actually make me look well-behaved.  Needless to say, when he’s not cracking jokes or exercising his wit, it’s obvious that something isn’t right.

I looked at him inquisitively.  His eyes sparkled and he mouthed “Tarpon!” Poor guy, I thought.  Resident tarpon were unheard of….he must be mistaken.

“What!”  I said. “Tarpon!”  He said, only this time louder.  Several of the guides overheard him and laughed. “No tarpon here mon…”  They chuckled and shook their heads.

It wasn’t until I looked over at Anthony’s guide Perry Demeritte (www.captinperry.com) and saw a perplexed, yet excited look cross his face. Maybe the A-Train was actually being serious. If his seriousness didn’t prove it, his point and shoot camera sure did.  There it was, proof for all, a fair-sized tarpon thrashing the surface before breaking free and leaving poor Anthony shaking.

Holy hell, why was I chasing bones again?

The next morning, Anthony’s fishing partner was the victim of a late night celebration inclusive of booze and a smoking’ hot wife.  He was in no position to be going anywhere. Perhaps it was fate, perhaps it was wishful thinking... Either way it left a spot open in Anthony’s boat and I was praying that he would need a fishing buddy.  Preferably, one with long hair and an unbearable itch to see a tarpon. “Ape, wanna come in my boat?” Hmmm, let me think about that…..

Captain Perry knew exactly where he was going.  He had discovered these fish less than 24 hours earlier and was just as excited as we were to get back to them. He waited for the rest of the guys to push off and then floored it to the spot.

There they were. Clear as day, hugging beneath overhanging bushes; Tarpon!!

Anthony cast, strip, strip, strip, set!  He had one on and it was not impressed. He bowed when it jumped and played the crazed fish text-book perfect.  All too soon, it was over and the fish had succumbed to the side of the boat.  It was small, but it was beautiful! The romance of it all was soon ruined when Captain Perry pulled it into the boat and the two men were immediately covered with tarpon feces. Yup, that beautiful tarpon left it’s mark on Anthony’s heart and on his crisp salt-water shirt.

Go A-Train, it's your birthday.......

Our trip to the Bahamas was one to be remembered. Great company, fishing, weather, entertainment…..what wasn’t there to love? It may not be a trip that I can take regularly, but it sure is one that I will think of often.