This is the fifth installment of our Fly Fishing 101 series. If you missed them, you can read Part One, Part Two, Part Three and Part Four by following these links. 
One of the many advantages of fly fishing is its potential for minimalism. While some fisheries require more gear than others, most anglers can get by with limited accessories and gadgets. The content of this next installment of Fly Fishing 101 may seem obvious to many anglers, but...

Bowhunting sparked my interest in fly fishing. When I first picked up a bow as a teenager, it brought a new set of challenges and added depth to a sport I already loved. When I bought my first fly rod some years later, I knew absolutely nothing about fly fishing, but assumed it would be the bowhunting equivalent to fishing, and, in many ways, it was. I quickly spiraled down the long-rod rabbit hole. Fly fishing became an obsession, one that...

I caught the fishing bug early. As a kid, method didn’t matter. I used ultralight spinning rods and bait for panfish, suckers and carp; heavy spinning gear and lures for bass and salmon; and a fly rod for stocked trout—because those were the best ways to catch fish. And as long as I was catching fish, I was happy.
By college, I often left the spinning gear behind. A decade later, I was a die-hard fly fisherman who paid my bills by guiding people...

This is the fourth article in a four-part series that explains how to catch Florida tarpon without hiring guides or staying in expensive lodges. In case you missed them, here are part one, part two and part three of the series.
Tarpon were everywhere but they wouldn’t touch live crabs. Strings of 10 to 20 fish rolled into the tide, slow and lazy. All along a shallow grass flat, singles and doubles laid up beneath the surface—sleeping silver...

Fisheries technician Glenn Mabey, 21, leans hard against the railing on the jetboat’s bow. His hands grip a 12-foot-long net; his eyes scan the heavy water below. Mabey flinches as fish flash gold and yellow toward the giant anode suspended off the bow, but he holds steady. A flash of red and green erupts underwater, and he stabs like a heron, scooping a trout, swinging the net alongside the boat, up and over the gunwale, and then deftly...

When I was little, my dad and I used to go on an annual fishing trip in British Columbia’s interior. In the excitement leading up to the trip, I polished my Wedding Ring and Willow Leaf spinners before organising them into their designated Plano compartments. As a treat, Mom let me stay up late and armed me with a flashlight to raid the backyard for nightcrawlers.
Once on the lake, Dad and I motored around in search of gullible trout and, every...