If you’ve read my first Iceland Blog, you’ll know that I have fallen in love with Iceland, it’s Atlantic salmon, and it’s hilarious residents (Rabbi).

So, a month later I teamed up with fellow Fly Max Films (www.flymaxfilms.com) hosts and brothers Naoto and Yoshi Aoki to head back to the “land of ice” to fish our asses off and capture it all on tape.

These pictures should tell the story…..

**Photos all taken by Yoshi and Naoto Aoki.

So, all I wanna know is….who’s coming back with me next year?

Email me at april@flygal.ca for more info.

We recently had our Women’s Weekend Learn to Fly Fish Retreat and what a weekend we had!  We teamed with the Fraser’s River Edge in Chilliwack, BC on the Fraser River to host seven up-and-coming Fly Gals, teaching them how to cast, tie knots, and catch fish…..

The incredible view from the lodge.

Breakfast prepared by Mike and Adriana Jones (owners of the lodge).

A happy cheer!

Hmmmm.  Trophy fish?  Hardly…

On our way to the river.  Weekend motto; “what happens on the river, stays on the river”.

The Fraser River waiting for us to cause a major disruption.

Setting up.

Some of the lovely ladies getting ready to learn.

Yes, I know knots are boring, but believe me when I tell you that you’ll need this info one day!

Seriously, you’re going to need this info today…..attention please.

Getting serious.

Oh, what concentration.

Passing the knowledge on (this is how it all begins folks!)

On to the casting.

Looking like I’m threatening to shoot whoever doesn’t listen.

Demonstrating a bad stroke.

Then showing why it’s so bad.

Hmmm.  Yeah, I think we’ll stick to doing it our way.

So we spread out down the river and prepare to catch some Pink salmon.

Yes!

Love it!

So cute!

Oh dear.

I am woman hear me roar.

Landing a little hen.

First fish gets a kiss!

Scrappy little female, the fish was a fighter too  ; )

Oops.  Perhaps there are some leaks that simply can’t be fixed.

Rowdy girls.

A sunset marks a perfect evening.

We will be making this an annual event.  For more information on booking a space, email me at april@flygal.ca

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).

Worst fish face ever (I’ve never seen a fish with Angelina lips before).

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!

Ape.

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:

American International Schools of Fly Fishing
Outfitter and Guide Services
Custom Flies-Fly Fish-How to-DVDs
www.davywotton.com
870-404-5223
870-453-2195

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.

Colby and I found a cute place to stay on a small Spring creek and arranged to teach and aid the clients of Spring Valley Anglers www.springvalleyanglers.com to help them improve their angling and fly tying skills.

Two happy clients in Arkansas (April Vokey photo).

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!

I will be teaming with Steve and the Mountain River Fly Shop to put on a ladies learn to fly cast workshop on October 10th and 11th.  I will also be at the Arkansas Conclave Oct 2, 3, 4.
Stay tuned or contact me for further details.

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

Special thanks to Gary Flippin for letting us borrow his boat rimshoals.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.

(Stay posted for a published article with more details on this trip.)

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 the new man in my life 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.

The Steelhead season.

It never can come too early for the hardcore steelhead bum.  I wrote this little piece last year after an epic six week trip to BC’s interior and thought I would share.

Cheers to BC steelhead!

Cheers!  (April Vokey photo).

The Golden Valley

Whoever said that “running away from a problem is not the solution”, obviously never ran far enough away.  Either that, or he was the asshole that was being run from.

Running was exactly what I was doing.  Months of suffering from the common fisherman’s discomfort otherwise known as the “relationship migraine”, combined with other headaches courtesy of web designers, employers, and an over crowded house had all driven me to a near breaking point.

I packed my duffle, waders and Spey rod and met my two most reliable fishing buddies, my Water Master raft and my Toyota 4×4, outside in my driveway.
“Off we go boys….”
I didn’t know exactly where we were going, but I knew it was somewhere far up north to B.C.’s interior where wild Skeena steelhead were plentiful and equally as feisty as me.

The Skeena River is the second largest river in British Columbia and is one of the most famous Steelhead systems in the world.  The Bulkley, Morice, Kispiox, Copper…. the list of tributaries seems endless and an unusually warm October was bringing some of the best fishing the Bulkley River (a mid sized river flowing through the small town of Smithers) had seen in years.

The Bulkley River on an October evening.  (April Vokey photo)

A healthy gas station diet of energy drinks, chocolate, and beef jerky made the fourteen-hour drive to Smithers pass quickly, and the large statue of an old-school fisherman confirmed that I had reached my destination.   The autumn trees swayed gently in the breeze, shaking loose their colourful leaves and creating a highway of gold.   A snowy white mountain shone in the distance, lighting up the blue sky, easing my mind and ridding me of any negative energy; my emotional detox had begun.

Apparently the memo about the hot fishing had spread like an infectious plague throughout the tackle shops and fishing forum community.  Fortunately, word had also spread to a majority of my “not so well-behaved” fishing friends who had opted to make the trip at the same time.  It looked like my three-week vacation was about to take an unexpected, yet far more entertaining, turn.

Some of the usual suspects…….

Tattooed Dave Allen

Tommy Thompson

James Whalen

Aaron Goodis

Scott Baker McGarva

Brian Niska

…….To name but a few.

Drift boats, jet boats, and anglers from all around the world (ones that actually wake up for first light) made fishing…tricky.  There was no need to panic, however, as this dilemma was easily remedied by applying a strategy common to many of us B.C. natives.

We launched our boats at unknown take-outs, fished runs and pockets that most anglers rowed over, fished behind steelhead first timers and, my personal favourite, slept in and let the eager rush push through.

Locked and loaded in the Fly Gal rig.

The fishing had begun to slow down, but it didn’t really matter to any of us.  Between the sun, friendship, quiet drifts, and a decent supply of uplifting B.C. greenery, I had long forgotten about the stresses that were probably multiplying back at the home front.  It was perfect!

The boys sharing a pontoon.  Yup, they actually did the entire float sharing one boat.  Suicidal…

Anyone who has ever visited the small town of Smithers understands that “small” is an understatement.  So, it should have come as no surprise that when I foolishly agreed to participate in a “night out on the town”, we ended up in a tiny strip joint that even the locals opted to stay away from.

Exhausted from a day of rowing and fishing, I faded in and out of focus, catching brief clips of the standard fishermen b.s. and glimpses of a very naked blonde dancer.
I chuckled to myself.  Standing beside my fifteen-foot Spey rod with my blonde hair and long fake nails, I could quite easily pass as one those girls.  Perhaps this is how rumours get started…. Uh oh…. I promptly stopped chuckling and dyed my hair brown the following week.

The next day, I hit the river with good friend, Aaron Goodis.  Fishing with Aaron always makes for an enjoyable day even if the fishing is on lockdown.  Just watching Aaron cast puts a smile on my face every time.

We dropped his truck off at our pullout, loaded into my pickup and headed up river. At the small launch, we pumped up our boats, wadered up, secured our fly rods and set out into the current.  The sky was blue and the water was just the right color.  All the early risers had already pushed through and we had the river to ourselves.  I sat back and closed my eyes, listening to the sweet sound of chirping birds and…hissing air!!?

“Damn it!”  I cursed.  Somehow, in a state of idiocy, I had managed to put a fair-sized hole in the bottom of my raft and it was blowing bubbles like unwelcome farts in an oversized bathtub.  “Great!”  I muttered countless obscenities and rowed into shore.  My raft was leaking badly and in need of immediate repair.

Aaron and I found a roll of electrical tape and wound it around the chamber until the hissing stopped.  Miraculously, it held and we continued our search for chrome bars.
Although daylight was fading fast, neither of us had hooked a steelhead yet.  How could fish not be here!?  With no fish looking to battle, Aaron’s tight loops had provided the best entertainment of the day.

Note the electrical tape.  She was wounded, but floating, and that was all that mattered.

Every day, the fishing seemed to dwindle a little more than the last.  Though everyone was having a good time between the scenery, camaraderie, and occasional recycling of road kill, I was itching to play with some steel.  My girl Kateri had mentioned that the fishing in her neck of the woods looked promising, so several of us packed up and headed her way towards the Kispiox Valley.

No need to waste (Dave Allen photo).

Ross, a friend of ours, has an A-frame cabin that is located directly on the river in the Kispiox Valley.  The cabin comfortably houses six people and several menacing mice.  Ross is one of those guys that, although everyone knows his name, no one knows his age.  The epitome of a fishing bum (and bachelor), eight months out of the year he disappears into thin air, reappearing when (and only when) steelhead season rolls around.

Oh Ross; Why must you torture me so?  (April Vokey photo)

Although it was only eight in the evening when we arrived, Ross and fellow fishing bum, Doug Wiseman, were sound asleep.  Unsure as to whether they were so tired as a result of fishing too much or as a result of old age (this is what he gets for withholding that information), we made the unanimous decision that it was far too early for sleeping.  We threw down our bags, flicked on the lights and counted out pennies, preparing for a poker game.  All it took was the sound of shuffling cards and, wouldn’t you know it, the two of them were up and ready to play.

The next week flew by.  Fishing picked up again and I found myself increasingly thumbing through the local paper, checking out available real estate.  I was enjoying one of the best fishing trips of my life and was not ready for it to come to an end.

Dirty truck for a dirty boy (Mr.Gladstone).  I couldn’t help myself…

Challenged to a push up contest, and you know I had to take it.  You still owe me $20.00 Niska!

Unfortunately, falling snow, an empty bank account, and a full mailbox told me that it was time to head home, so I packed up the truck and hit the freeway, driving back to reality.

My stay in Smithers provided me with the three things that every fishing trip should deliver – tranquility, excitement and ever-lasting memories.  True, I had some serious emails to catch up on and, yes I had a lot of making up to do with my guy, but I’d do it all over again in the blink of an eye.  I had taken the time to ground myself, and as a result, came back an energized, relaxed, and appreciative woman.  It was a refreshing and much needed break.

So, while some may say that I was running away from my problems, I prefer to say that I was running towards a solution.  A solution that just so happened to include giant steelhead.  How can anybody argue that?

I suppose it was only a matter of time before I tried my luck at the Great Lake Steelhead.

Good friend Paul Castellano with Cast Adventures (www.castadventures.ca), a guide on the Niagara River in Ontario, had been busting my chops for the past year, trying to rid me of my wild steelhead snobbery to give his fishery a try.

Castellano with a nice Niagara River Steelhead.

I’d always wanted to see the Niagara River; it’s monster rapids and multitude of species intrigued me, so it didn’t take too much persuasion when it came time to choose a destination for an episode of Fly Nation.

Never would I have imagined that I was about to witness one of the most incredible rivers I had ever seen…..

The pictures of Niagara Falls truly do not give it justice.  It’s bright blue water, and majestic water falls leave me at a loss of words (yup, that‘s actually possible).

I had two missions on this trip.
1)  Catch Great Lake steel using West Coast swinging tactics.
2)  Get my casting certification (CCI) at the Spey Clave that was being held that weekend.

On the first day, Castellano brought us to a magnificent fishing spot.  Like a scene fresh out of Jurassic Park, the water swirled in a dangerous pool and the lush green brush cascaded down towering rock walls.  It was incredible.

Truly spectacular.

It was hard to get a swing with the ever changing water levels and deep swirling water, and it soon was clear to me why I was the only knob at the pool with a Spey rod and sink tip.
Indicators, glo-bugs and split shot seemed to be more of the theme here…..
Damn.

Stubborn as all hell……Tying streamers when I should have been tying……

……These!  (Josh Nugent photos)

The East Coasters put on a clinic!  I couldn’t believe how many fish these guys brought to the beach.
It was evident why Castellano was said to be one of the top guides on the river.

The next day, Castellano loaded us into his boat, and we hit the river again.  I was determined to get one on the swing.
An hour, two split shot, and an interesting snake roll off the bow of the boat later, I had finally hooked and landed my first Great Lake steelhead caught on a swinging fly.  It was awesome!

It’s on!  Swing vs. drift…. (Naoto Aoki photo)

The highlight of my trip though?  Freakin’ carp!!!
Never did I think seeing a carp would have me fumbling so bad that I’d forget how to cast, but a school of 40+ pounders did exactly that.
I wasn’t able to hook one, but you can be damn sure that I tried!

With mission one accomplished, it was off to the Grand River Spey Clave.
I’d spent the entire week sweating bullets, as I had registered to take my CCI exam through the Federation Of Fly Fishers.
Friend and fellow angler Neil Houlding had opened his home to me and had spent the evening helping to keep me relaxed and confident.  But with Simon Gawesworth as one of my testers, it was hard not to be nervous.  Blowing head winds, a crowded park, and rolling cameras didn’t do much to help my nerves either.

Almost four hours later I passed my exam.  (Sigh of relief….)
A swig of whiskey with Gawesworth and a celebratory dinner with the guys ended my trip with a bang and, before I knew it, I was on a flight out of town.

The steelhead got my respect and the anglers got my attention, but it was the Niagara that got my heart and the Niagara that will keep me coming back.

My, keeping a blog can fall behind quite easily…..

Here’s a quick look at the past month to try and get us caught up to present date.

Our Spey clinic went fabulous!  Instructor Aaron Goodis and myself were blessed with some truly awesome students who made us each proud as they departed……

Day one’s group paying close attention to Aaron’s demo.

Taking a break and getting ready to enjoy a BBQ lunch.

Even Colby had to take a lunch break.

The crew.

After a full weekend of Spey casting on the river, a day of fishing in a nearby interior lake was starting to sound pretty darn good….

The weather had been hot and there was rumor of the lakes icing off.  So I packed my Spratley and chironomid box, excited to spend the day with my best friend; a man that has been by my side through and through, Matt Moisley.

Matt is quite possibly the most unbelievable still water angler I have ever met.  If you see this guy on the water, pay close attention.  You may just learn a thing or two…..

Yup….This one goes waaayyy back.

First lake of the season!

C’mon girl, you can do it!

Wimp.

The fishing was surprisingly good (though it was more of a quantity vs. quality sort of day).

Cute little guy…..

The chironomid buffet.

Another feisty bow.

Wow.  Such a loser.

From here, it was off to Oklahoma (don’t ask).  It wasn’t in my plans to do any fishing while I was there, but when offered the opportunity to slay some large mouth in a small pond, you know I couldn’t resist!

Poppers and hooker boots, I was supposed to be going out for dinner, so it’s fair to say that I wasn’t dressed for the occasion.  Damn near fell out of the boat trying to land this one!

Large Mouth on a popper.  What a blast!  (Randy Imel photo)

From here it was off to Terrace to try our luck at some steel and fresh chrome.

My dear friend Andrea had never caught a steelhead before and I just had to pop her cherry, so I invited her along to join me for the sixteen hour drive.

We laughed and sang the whole way up North, eager to hang out with good friend Rob Vodola who lived close by to the Kitimat river.

Rob’s one of those guys who’ll put a smile on your face even when you feel like drowning the rest the world.

The fishing ended up being incredibly slow, but the entertainment was anything but that.  Andrea ended up getting her first steelhead, and though it wasn’t on the fly rod, it made my trip!

Bringing a whole new meaning to ‘Fly Gal’.  This is what 16 hours of highway will bring ya….(April Vokey photo).

Loading up!

Mission accomplished!  (Noel Gyger photo)

Rob working the jet (April Vokey photo).

Ummmm, I think somebody stole my spot.  (Rob Vodola photo)

(April Vokey photo)

So I gave BC a quick kiss goodbye and hopped on a flight to…..Arkansas!

I’m still currently hangin’ in Deliverance country and must admit that it is quite intriguing!  Armadillos, boars, tarantulas, ticks (never did I think I would have to endure nightly checks for ticks!), and road kill decorating the highways like no state I have ever seen…..

There’s more to come on this, as I have a feeling I’ll be kicking it here for most of my summer.

An Arkansas trout.

A little critter I rescued from the roadkill central highway and placed out of harms way (April Vokey photo).

So, there you have it.  Caught up with this blogging thing!  Stay tuned for some new updates, opinions and adventures.

Squeal like a pig!

Ape.