Becoming a fly fisher almost always means becoming a nature worshiper, no matter what spiritual bent we 've assumed. Even if we chose not to engage with anything beyond a fly rod and fish, we become bound to the cycles of nature. So fly fishers have something more to celebrate this time of year. In the northern hemisphere, it is the lengthening of days. In New Zealand and Patagonia right now, it is the mellowing of summer. Either way, it's about a return: an about-face of the sun. The shift to the south is over and migrations reverse. Along the ridges of Central and North America, birds begin their 12-mile-a-day progress north. Tarpon note the subtle lengthening of days and start sniffing out the possibilities in distant inshore basins, having lost their fear of sudden freezes. In streambeds and river bottoms around the world, insects start listening for a different set of clues. Errant steelhead think twice about home. If we lived every day out-of-doors, we'd be clued in to it all. Our holidays, instead, are as close to a reminder as most of us get.

So we have a very short list of wishes in mind for MidCurrent readers as this year rolls to an end and a new one begins. The first is that you enjoy the celebration of new beginnings that binds us all together. The second is that you'll begin making room for more fishing in your schedule this year. There's no better time to be fishing than right now. At MidCurrent, we believe that the preservation of things that make fly fishing possible depends on folks going out and fishing. Respect begins with awareness, and awareness comes with practice. We appreciate your reading MidCurrent while you're waiting for your waders to dry out or for the sun to rise, but most of all we want you to go out and fly fish. There's nothing quite like being there.

Happy holidays from MidCurrent.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

At Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington, D.C., veterans recovering from wounds are finding inspiration in a new program that teaches how to overcome disabilities through fly fishing. "After he got involved with the fishing group, the occupational therapy clinic made a brace for him to wear on his hand that enables him to reel with his right hand. He has also taken fly-tying classes and learned adaptive ways to strip line, he said. After enduring intense pain and overcoming his anger, [1st Lt. Eivind] Forseth finally got to fish with his dad again. 'I can't even explain how wonderful it's been,' he said." Noelle Straub in the Jackson Hole, Wyoming Star Tribune.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Women are finding that life as a professional fly fishing guide can be both rewarding and surprisingly busy. "Marla Blair remembers the days in the early 1990s when she waded into the Farmington River in Barkhamsted, fly rod in hand. 'I didn't see another woman on the river,' she said. 'Guys would look at me like I had three heads.'" Steve Grant in the Hartford (Connecticut) Courant.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 5:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Don't we all wish. New York fly shop owner Wayne Walts offers up guidelines for what are considered good manners on the state's often-crowded trout waters. "Proper etiquette calls for boaters to row or walk their craft behind wading fishermen. Unfortunately, many rookie boaters barely know how to row and thus float out of control." J. Michael Kelly in the Syracuse Post-Standard.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

If there was a common refrain among my older fly fishing clients, it was that they were sorry they had not started earlier and spent more time fishing. Of course there were always reasons not to fish — time and money being ball and chain respectively — but without exception, it seems to me, when an angler reaches their sixties and seventies, the thing they regret most is not having had a fly rod in their hand often enough or in enough different places. Randall Sumner, who waited 30 years for a bottle of wine to reach perfection, echoes the same sentiment today in the Yakima Republic.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

My how times have changed. Instead of a toiletless cabin in the Adirondacks or a membership in granddad's private hunting club, today's acquisitive sportsmen seem ready for something much more civilized — say, a villa overlooking the Greenbrier and manicured hiking trails and within earshot of the sporting clays. Nicholas Yuliko on TheStreet.com.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:49 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

This story reminds me of my first few weeks of guiding in the 1980s, where in Key West it wasn't unheard of for a client to expect to catch a permit (on a crab), take it home and eat it. Though I never killed a fish, I soon figured out that I didn't have to tell a client that it was unacceptable. As soon as they said "I can't wait to eat one of these," their luck went south. Bill Barker describes a similar circumstance in this story about a friend with a large repertoire of stories and a need to eat his catch. In the Corvallis, Oregon Gazette-Times.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 8:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I've yanked dozens and dozens of hooks out of human flesh. The one and only method I would use on another person (I'll admit to forgoing this nicety once or twice when I was the victim and the fishing was hot) is the technique of using a strand of monofilament that Joe Doggett describes in his article in the Houston Chronicle. "The long-shanked 2/0 streamer hook was planted to the bend in the top of the finger just behind the nail. Wearing the fly felt strange. It was the first time in a 50-year fishing career that I had taken a hook past the barb." (Disclaimer: MidCurrent doesn't officially endorse this method; if you want the safest hook removal alternative, get thee to the emergency room.)

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:55 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"So essentially what happens with wet-fly fishing is that you cast something of your own creation, something that is almost part of you, out there on the water. It does not stay up on the surface but goes beneath the surface in hopes of finding there something beautiful, alive and nourishing." Philosophy professor Tom Kerns writes on fly fishing and Emanuel Swedenborg's "Ruling Love" on the University of Washington Web site, eloquently delivering a truism.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mountain Home, Arkansas is one of the 12 communities listed in the November/December issue of Fly Rod & Reel magazine as a top fly fishing retirement spot. But those looking for monster browns may find they're "wading a little deeper." "'They move here because we produce these astonishingly sized fish, and then they find out that "Oops, the river is over my head half the time,"' observed Fulton. 'For a traveling guy it can be quite frustrating if they're locked totally into wading. If they're open-minded and willing to learn, they're fine, ultimately.'" Fred Lowe in Arkansas's Baxter Bulletin.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"Despite my recent pursuit of grayling, evangelical in its zeal, and evening hours spent with the vice after being converted by The Fly-Tying Bible, my fishing soul’s guardian angel just seems to be out of sorts. My angling mojo is definitely not on the rise." The fishing columnist for Scotsman.com relates the symptoms of pre-season anxiety.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

One of the benefits of writing the daily fly fishing news is that we get to talk about days, rather than months or weeks, of importance to fisherman. None ranks more important in our eyes than the winter solstice, if only because we believe that fish are happier when days are getting longer (though we understand there might be more than a little anthropomorphic projection here). Most religions founded in the northern hemisphere have marked the beginning of longer light with a major celebration or two. Regardless of culture, it's one of those coincidences that people who enjoy the out of doors welcome, because we feel it in our bones.

The return of light can mean just about anything you want it to. It's traditionally celebrated as a birth of something new, a feast to mark better times ahead, and a reason to give back to those who've meant something important in the year past.

We'd like to suggest starting the season this year by bringing something new into the mix. Try something you haven't tried before. Engage someone who wouldn't normally be pulled into your orbit. Or just promise yourself that you'll step back one or two steps and see yourself as a smaller part of a much larger game in which we are all lucky participants.

Most of all, MidCurrent hopes you have a wonderful holiday. It's only going to get better.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 5:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"As an urban intellectual, I was used to sneering at 'the unspeakable in full pursuit of the uneatable', even if I recognised that this was the weakest of Oscar Wilde's quips." Roger Scruton, a leading British philosopher, suggests that hunting and fishing may be the only true sports, that all the rest are games. This is a fine, thought-provoking piece in the U.K. Guardian. Scruton is the author of more than 20 books, including 2001's On Hunting (St. Augustine's Press, 173 pages).

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 7:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

There aren't many secrets between a fly fishing guide and his angler -- at least no more than between a husband and wife. Read "John's Story" on MidCurrent.

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Bill Barker reminisces about learning to fly fish with his dad on Oregon's Fall Creek and Umpqua River in the Corvallis Gazette-Times. "Though our creek was loaded with trout, he had the urge to take me to Fall Creek, over the ridge from our property. His estimation of my 4-year-old legs' ability to hike long distances was a little high. He'd just planned on carrying some line and hooks to tie on willow poles but ended up packing me on his shoulders for miles. I remember heat, sweat and tiredness, but also the thrill of a cutthroat engulfing a hapless grasshopper on my first try."

Posted by Marshall Cutchin at 6:51 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)