Fall 2016 Contents

Drake 2016 Fall Issue

    Features

  • The Tugur Chum Eaters
    What happens when a Russian steel magnate, a Polish spey-casting guru, and an American wild-fish defender board a Mi-8 chopper bound for the Russian Far East? Something big. In this case, the search for Siberian taimen large enough to snack on adult salmon.
    By Guido Rahr
  • The Dean, Mac-Daddy, & the Advocate
    Three elite Northeast guides discuss everything from fishing Diddy’s flat to tolerating hipsters in Montauk.
    By Monte Burke and Pete McDonald
  • The Adirondack Experience
    Native brookies. Great Camps. And how sipping bourbon on Alfred Vanderbilt’s old porch is the perfect start for easing back into the sport.
    Story and photos by John Segesta

    Departments

  • Page Six Chix
    Rainbows and beer, plus bluefin trevally from the South Pacific and a chrome coastal coho—of course.
  • Put-in
    About that election...
  • Rises
    Jim Harrison and Key West weed, angler-eating fish, that “warm, fuzzy” feeling, and a warning to would-be wives.
  • Scuddlebutt
    Baja’s disappearing forage fish, White House water, a southeast Alaska success story, Clyde brakes for smallies, saying goodbye to Christmas Island’s Moana T. Kofe, Montana’s Smith River situation, and the evolution of women-specific gear.
  • Tailwater Weekend
    Casting and blasting on Colorado’s Gunnison River.
    By Kyle Smith
  • Tippets
    Songs for the road, what guides do while you’re gone, and steelheading with a few stiff drinks.
  • Redspread
    Thoughts from a feeding redfish.
    By Saylor Ferguson
  • Passport
    Survival in South Africa’s unofficial trout capital.
    By Ben Carmichael
  • Bugs
    Autumn’s subsurface secret.
    By Dana Sturn
  • City Limits
    Dreaming of Cleveland ditch pigs.
    By Willard Greenwood
  • Rodholders
    Re-meeting Jeff Cottrell.
    By Steven Bird
  • Backcountry
    Inside Arctic Alaska with Soul River Runs Deep.
    By Geoff Mueller
  • Permit Page
    Ménage à Quad. Putting an unthinkable day into words.
    By Brandon Fisher
The Adirondack Experience

An informal search for native brookies leads the author to something more

A few years ago, I was sitting on the porch of a house I no longer live in, venting to a friend about "too much work, not enough fishing." I told him I wanted to fish again, and said I knew just the guy to get me back on the water. The porch had great sunset views of a national park, but I didn't get to enjoy them very often; I was traveling for business nearly every day of the month. On the occasions I was there, I spent most of my time on that porch, in the evening as the sun went down, drinking an IPA named for a local mountain range where Cochise, the Chiricahua Apache Chief, is buried. Usually I was reading, and often the book was a narrative on flyfishing.

The Reunion. Re-meeting Jeff Cottrell

Re-meeting Jeff Cottrell

FOR MANY YEARS after I met Jeff Cottrell, I would have said that SoCal's Bear Creek was the best small stream I've ever fished. A secretive tributary of the San Gabriel River not far from the troubled sprawl of the L.A. basin, it was the kind of place only fishing kids knew about. Nettles, rattlesnakes, tarantulas, scorpions, and despairingly steep canyon walls helped to ensure light traffic, and alder and willow overhanging the creek served as vexing deterrents to fly casters. A few miles upstream from the confluence with the West Fork, away from the mainstem and its deformed hatchery trout, you got into the good fishing.

Seeking Refuge

Inside Arctic Alaska with Soul River Runs Deep

CHAD BROWN, the Navy veteran who spawned the Soul River Runs Deep brand, looks like he's just fought the battle of his life. And it's no surprise he's beat. A glance at my watch shows 3 a.m. Alaska time and Brown, along with his squad of vet volunteers here to herd a posse of bedraggled inner-city teens, is currently erecting camp on the banks of the Eagle River, a few miles outside of Anchorage.

Forecasting Fish

BC Steelhead and the Tyee Test Fishery

IT STARTS AROUND THE SAME TIME every year, in late June or early July. And on a day that you should be fishing, you're instead making furtive mouse clicks and talking in hushed tones with your buddies, always reminding yourselves that it's still too early to say anything definitive. Then, as trout fishing ebbs into its August doldrums, you start acting more like a day trader than a fisherman, poring over graphs and projecting trends like you're an extra in The Big Short.