Sea Trout are sea-run brown trout. They live in the estuary and near-coastal waters, feeding on baitfish and crustaceans. When mature, they migrate into the streams to spawn. Like Atlantic Salmon, sea trout do not die after spawning, and so may spawn several times. And also like the salmon, the sea trout are silver bright when they first come into the streams. Their dark spots clearly identify them as sea-run browns.

The sea trout are silver bright as they enter the rivers.

The black spots on the fish are a certain sign that they are sea trout

There are several streams on the Inverpolly Estate that are ascended by the sea trout. The Garvie is s swift little water where a single-handed rod is easily used. Anglers visiting this stream can rent the nearby cottage, which suits four people very well. Fly fishers normally use a 7-weight rod to handle the very tough, hard fighting trout. Many use a 12 to 14 foot leader ending in 2X. Even with such a strong tippet, the fish are so powerful, and strike with such determination, that they often tear the fly off on the take. The flies are brightly colored in blues, greens, and yellows, and they are small, sizes 10 to 14, because the fish are very spooky in the bright light of day.

Anglers fishing the Garvie stay in a nearby cottage.

The best fishing is at the river mouth where the fish congregate before heading upstream to spawn.

A great selection of sea trout flies.

Small flies are the norm when fishing for sea trout.

Theo finds that a Teal Blue and Silver is especially attractive to the fish, and on very bright days will often fish a Green Highlander.

A Teal Blue and Silver is a great fly for sea trout.

Since the fish move about near the mouth of the stream before entering, fly rodders often work the shoreline with success.

Working the shore line near the river mouth can be a successful strategy.

Fish this size fight with true zeal.

When the fish start upstream, they often move into the shelter of the boulders at the mouth of the stream. It’s a good place to find them, and they fight fiercely in the swift water. Theo truly enjoys catching sea trout and expresses his affection for them in many ways, including a kiss or two.

Fishing the rocks at the river's mouth is an excellent strategy.

A very nice sea trout from the rocky reach at the river's mouth.

Hello sweetheart

Many of the fish are released, but a few of the smaller ones are kept for the dinner table. The meat is a dark reddish color, and very flavorful. Served with a few vegetables they make a great meal at the end of long day of fishing.

Most of the trout are released, but a few smaller ones are kept for the table.

The flesh of the sea trout is a lovely red color and tastes very fine.

Served with cucumbers, lettuce, and tomatoes, sea trout make a wonderful meal.

Theo’s saga in the Scottish Highland continues: The streams of the high country of Scotland offer the fly fisher some great angling for Atlantic Salmon. The government has bought up the commercial fishing rights, and the fish are recovering very well. There are several streams on the Inverpolly Estate that host wild salmon. Most of the streams in the Highlands are rather steep, and waterfalls are a regular feature that the returning fish must navigate.

On the Inverpolly Estate, the Atlantic Salmon can be fished for with a single-hand rod.

The streams offer plenty of corner pools where the salmon hold in the deep water under the banks.

Waterfalls are a common feature of the Highland streams.

Atlantics are great jumpers, and ascend smaller falls with ease.

One of the streams flairs out into a lake at its lower end, and the salmon hold here awaiting a freshet before running up to the spawning grounds. On windy days, the surface chop whips oxygen into the water, and the fish move to the fly briskly, and fight with greater strength. Atlantic Salmon (Salmo salar) are very closely related to the brown trout (Salmo trutta), and as the Atlantics hold in fresh water, they assume their spawning colors—very similar to the coloring of the browns. In addition, the spawning male Atlantics develop a large kype (hooked lower jaw) just as do spawning male browns.

Windy days whip the surface of the lake, stirring in oxygen and invigorating the fish.

In a lake, a nice salmon like this one will give a very good account of itself.

Males develop strong kipes as they prepare for spawning.

Occasionally, one catches a hatchery fish, escaped from salmon farms in Ireland. These are easily distinguished by their tails and fins, which are rubbed off on the tips. All hatchery fish must be killed to prevent their genes from mixing with the wild strains.

The tail of a hatchery fish showing wear and tear.The tail of a wild salmon with its sharply defined tips.

It the late season (September) the fish tend to move better to small flies, rather than larger ones, and anglers use double hook flies in sizes 10 to 14. And what else would be more appropriate than a Green Highlander. Others that do well are the Aly Shrimp and a number of hair wings. Often the anglers fish two flies in the late season, dropping a small Teal Blue and Silver off the lead fly, hoping for a take from a sea trout (browns that live in the estuary and near shore waters and are returning to spawn). Tube flies work very well, too.

Although the flies may seem small, the big fish move to them very well

Because the salmon population is recovering nicely, anglers are permitted to take a fish or two. Most have them smoked are for holiday meals.

A salmon headed for the smoke house

Returning salmon usually weigh between 5 and 15 pounds, but some get up to 20 pounds. These are a real handful on a 9-weight rod. The Atlantic Salmon was named “the jumper” by the Romans ( salar means jumper), and there’s certainly plenty of that going on when a good one is firmly hooked.

A very fresh, 20 pound Atlantic.

Another big salmon that fell to Theo's fly.

Another big salmon that fought well and long, ready to head back into the river.

As the evening draws the anglers back to the Lodge, they may spot a stag, searching for mates to add to his harem. And then, after the evening meal and perhaps a sip of Scotch Whisky, it’s time for bed and dreams of sea trout on the morrow.

A fine stag searching for additions to his harem.

As promised, Theo Bakelaar has sent along a photo essay on fishing the mountain streams and lochs (lakes) of the Scottish Highlands for brown trout.

The morning starts early. Today will be a walk into the high country lochs and the small streams that feed them in search of absolutely wild, native browns. The hike is not particularly long, but the country is rough and every hill looks just like every other one. A good map and a GPS assure that the evening meal will be at Inverpolly Lodge and not in the Highland wilderness. Many of the high country lochs are fed by briskly flowing streams, and the angler should spend time fishing both. On the crosscountry hike, one may encounter an old mill, a deserted farmstead, or other signs of former habitation in the region.

A little stretching in the early morning sun is a good idea before climbing the steep hills in the Scottish Highlands.

The climb into the hills reveals hidden lochs and streams populated by wild browns.The streams are small and rapid, and the fishing quick and exciting.

An ancient milll offers a great plunge pool to explore for wild browns.

Loch fishing is typically done with a 5-weight rod, and while a 9-foot rod works just fine, a 10-foot rod is even better suited to the fishing method. Angling in these lakes is still best done with a classic three-fly rig. The top fly is a high riding dry such as the Loch Ordy or cadis imitation. The bottom two flies are classic wets such as the Black or Blue Zulu or an Invicta. The wet flies are the “anchor flies” of the rig. Whether casting from the shoreline or perhaps a float tube, the cast is made and the rod held high so that the dry drags, skips, and skates across the surface. The browns love it, usually taking the dry, but sometimes eating an anchoring wet fly. The fish usually come only once to the fly. If they miss it, they will almost never come back. Often the fish are not big, but they are exceedingly wild and fight to their full potential. Occasionally, using a different tactic and perhaps a very different fly, like a scud imitation, one hits a big fish, and the fight will be hard and long. But then sometimes, the fish is hardly bigger than the fly!

The lochs vary widely in size from quite large to small ponds.

A light-weight back-packalbe float tube offers a geat way to explore the lochs of the high country.

Wading anglers should work the water in all directions, casting and holding the rod tip high and skating the flies along the surface.

The browns are not particulary large, but they are as wild as any on earth,

Highland browns of this size will fight as if they were several inches larger.

Smile, Theo. That’s a nice brown!

Bigger fish occasionally fall to unconventional tactics and flies. In this cast, a scud imitation.

Tiny fish only get bigger by being aggressive feeders.

Lunchtime is often accompanied by trout on a stick. The lakes contain many smaller fish, and are fished only infrequently. Consequently, eating a few for lunch has no impact on the year-to-year population of trout in the lochs.

Trout on a stick. Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.

The hours after lunch are spent probing the small stream with both wet fly and dry fly. The rises are lightning fast, and the fish fight beyond their size in the swift waters.  The fish are strongly colored with heather hues of golds and olive browns, splashed with abundant black  and red spots.

The stream trout take the fly–wet or dry–swiftly.

Fishing the swift little streams is a matter of “Picking the Pocket.”

Though not large, the browns are highly colored in their dress of golds, olive browns,  black, and red.

The small stream trout feed and fight with the darting swiftness of the waters they occupy.

And then as the sun splashes the western sky with the colors of the browns, it’s time to relocate to the Lodge for the evening meal, and perhaps a finger or two of the “Water of Life” (Scotch Whisky) to keep one warm and cozy by the fire. Tomorrow is another day, a day of the Atlantic Salmon.

Even the sunsets in the Highlands suggest the coloration of the wild browns they harbor.

A two-finger dollop of the Water of Life warms the soul and prepares the anglers for tomorrow’s fishing.

Jason sent me a recent communication that he had about early fishing in Italy; it included a photo of a painting of the patron saint of fishing, St. San Zeno. The painting was from 1538 and shows him with a rod, horsehair line, and a cast of three flies! Rather amazing.

Painting from 1538 showing St. San Zeno with rod and fish.

A rather grainy blow-up of St. San Zeno's hand showing the fish and the cast of flies. There's one fly in the fish's month and the other two are hanging down along the right of the photo. Each fly appears on a red spot; one next to the belly of the fish, and the other at the bottom of the painting.

Our friend from Holland, Theo Bakelaar, normally spends a couple of weeks each year fishing with friends for Atlantic Salmon on the northeast coast of Scotland. It’s a vast country of high moors and tumbling river valleys, ancient castle ruins, and incessant winds. This is the first of several reports that Theo has agreed to share on the fishing in that area.

Theo in the Scottish Highlands.

The Highlands are a vast land of steep mountains , sharp valleys, and fishing for a variety of species.

Castle ruins remind us of a former age when the Highlands were defended with the shield and broadsword.

The anglers situate at the Inverpolly Lodge in the Inverpolly Natural Area. The lodge is situated very near the mouth of the Polly River, a very nice, Atlantic Salmon stream that can easily be fished with a single-handed rod.

The Inverpolly Lodge is perfectly situated for both stream and estuary fishing.

The highlands rise sharply above the sea, and the lodge sits with it back to rugged hills.

The Polly River is easily fished with a single-handed rod. The Atlantics run from 4 to 14 pounds with an occasional one in the 20 pound class.

A nice salmon from the Polly River that Theo took on his cane rod built for striper fishing--just the right weight for Atlantics.

In addition to fishing for Atlantics, the anglers have the opportunity to fish the estuary for species such as Pollock. They make a very tasty dinner, which is often served with lobster, trapped while the anglers work the waters for finny table species. Theo likes to fish on the incoming tide, using an 11 weight rod with a superfast sinking line to sling out flies such as sand eel and herring imitations of Sili-skin, eel skin, and other materials. The anglers fish around rocky drop-offs, islands, and deep cuts. The fish fight deep and strong, and unless the angler works then very hard, they can cut the leader or line on the sharp stones.

Pollock for dinner.

Dinner is often a mix of fish and lobster .

Both fish and lobster are taken directly from the estuary area. One can trap the lobsters while fishing for pollock and other table species.

The Madison River often gives up its fish with some reluctance, like a small child not wanting to share candies but being encouraged to do so by a watchful parent. At least that’s the idea that one often gets when fishing under a bright sun—as is often the case in Montana’s summer. But nightfall brings out a totally different disposition, for its then that the river’s big fish begin to feed with serious attention. Often, as happened this year, there will be enormous numbers of caddis adults dancing over the streamside plants, mayflies spinning over the water, midges swarming in the shadows, and perhaps aquatic moths in the nearby vegetation.

The big fish slide out of hiding and into the quiet of the secret river—the waters that are often slow and may be waist deep or more, crowded tight to the bank, and perhaps sheltering in the lee of a boulder or lying downstream of a fallen log or clump of soil. The fish are, in fact, so close to the bank that I often don’t even bother with wading gear, slipping along the shoreline in sneakers, or sitting on shoreside boulders and watching very closely for the rises of big fish in the secret river. Their rises are not the quick splashes of the little ones, nor the slightly sucking rise of a whitefish. They are the classic “snouting” rise. The big nose pokes out quietly and delicately, barely causing a disturbance in the film.

If I have an observation post that looks into the west, the last rays of the setting sun will turn the silver to pewter, and I am able to spot every disturbance of the surface with ease. I can also readily spot my fly as it drifts down; flies as small and as low in the film as a size 16 Iris Caddis. But this was not such a night. I was facing east, with dark waters lying before me. I sat on a comfortably shape granite boulder, low to the water, and watched the film carefully. Only small fish rose in the first slot of the secret river that I was watching, so I moved up and found another granite stool that I could perch on and watch the next small flat. I’d just settled when a nose poked out immediately ahead of a big rock that was wedged in the current. The fish was obviously holding in the hydraulic cushion just ahead of the stone.

I didn’t cast, just yet, but waited to see if others were holding in the mini-pool. I’d only waited a minute or two and then another nose poked out. A few minutes later and I had counted four nice fish feeding in the small piece of flat water, none of them more than four feet from shore. I unhooked the size 16, Iris Caddis and pulled out only a couple of feet of line. The first fish was so close that I only had to cast the leader. The Iris Caddis wasn’t alone on the end of the line. I’d terminated the leader in 3X and tied on a big size 8 Stimulator. To that, tractor/trailer fashion, I had added 15 inches of 4X and knotted on the Iris Caddis. It’s a trick that I’ve used many times, fishing in the gloaming of evening or drifting a tiny imitation in rough water. The big Stimulator was my “Marker Fly”; I could see it easily on the dark surface, and it would give me something that my eye could follow. Any rise in the vicinity would be my cue to strike.

On the third cast, the fish in the hydraulic cushion sucked in the little caddis imitation, and I quickly tightened and pulled the fish down and out of the tiny pool. It ran out into the heavy currents and moved off downstream. I followed swiftly, hopping from boulder to boulder. Then, to my surprise, the fish bolted off back upstream and into the very lie from which I’d pulled him. I drew him out again, got him down current, and forced him to shore with constant side pressure from the 5-weight rod. The flash froze his image in the lapping waters tight to the bank. I release him quickly, and he was off like a shot.

Back in the little pocket, right at its top end, a very nice nose eased gently above the surface and sank back out of sight. I moved forward behind a clump of grass and crouched next to a large stone. Again, all I had to cast was the leader, and I flicked it onto the surface with and quick wrist cast. This guy was a bit more picky than the first one, but after a dozen or so floats, he slurped in the little imitation. From the first, it was obvious that this was a bigger fish, and it fought accordingly. Running down stream with him, I slipped off a rock and got a wet foot, but it was quickly dismissed as I move swiftly onward, not wanting the fish to get below me.

Constant pressure from the little rod eventually drew the fish into the shallows, and the tape showed him at 20 inches. I fumbled with the camera in the dark, trying to get the fish into a good pose, and the hook slipped free. There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation. The fish shot off into the dark waters with a single, powerful sweep of its tail.

No matter, there were two more in the pocket above, awaiting my return. And yes, there they were rising as if on cue. I moved up and flicked a cast to the first fish. On about the fifth cast, I caught the leader on a bush behind me a broke off the caddis. It was over. The rod was the only gear that I had brought along. No matter, it had been a very productive evening, and I headed back to the motorhome as the stars began switching on in Montana’s Big Sky.

Evening along the Madison; note the waters of the secret river.

A night brown frozen in the shallows by the camera's flash.

I had a note from a fellow angler in South Africa asking abut Maxima Chameleon. It’s a question I get often, so I thought I’d share the answer with everyone.

Hi Gary

Hope you and your family are doing ok.  We, in South Africa are in the grip of winter.  Will

be doing some lake fishing with Tom Sutcliffe at Highland Lodge next week.  They had a lot of

snow over in the Storm mountains, area.

Gary, I have noticed that you like Maxima Chameleon line to build your leaders.  Is there any reason why

you prefer it to Ultra Green from Maxima?

Regards

Gerrit

Hi Gerrit,
Maxima Chameleon is a bit stiffer and has a much harder surface than Ultra Green, and consequently is much more abrasion resistant. Because it is stiffer, I can use a smaller diameter than when using Ultra Green. The new Maxima clear is not quite as hard as Chameleon, but nearly so, and I have used it in place of Chameleon with OK results.

All my best,
,Gary

On Jul 27, 2012, at 5:24 AM, Gerrit Redpath wrote:

In its course from Earthquake Lake to Raynolds Pass Bridge, the Madison is a mercurial, ever changing being. One year it is divided into a series of polite, quick little waters that encourage the wading angler on every cast. Another year it is a solitary channel of pure, raw power. There is no room for wading error, and no encouragement to the probings of the fly fisher. This year was a year of the beast. The water charged ahead with all the seriousness that it could muster, fly fisher’s take note and take care. But even in such a state, it surrendered fish to those bold enough to search its depths.

The race of the water was interrupted by an enormous stone, hugging tightly to the bottom, with its head just beneath the raw and ragged surface. It looked like a spot where a big fish could hold out of the torrent and find a continual flow of calories. My cast dropped into the slow water just behind the boulder, and almost instantly jerked tight. The fish turned and bolted away, down river, like a runaway steam engine It was not a spot where one could simply wade swiftly after a fleeing trout, and I struggled to get my footing as I sought the bank. The fish never slowed in its race to freedom, and before I could manage the short 25 feet back to solid footing, it was already in the backing.

I was fortunate that the spool held 100 yards of 30-pound gel spun. I climbed the low bank and began running after the surging fish, reeling as fast as my attention would allow-the bank was peppered with small willows that had been neatly sharpened by beavers, and the possibility of a fall onto such natural punji sticks was high. There was no recourse but to stay on track, reel, and hold the rod high. The leader terminated in 4X, holding 2, size 16 flies, and any real pressure on my part, trying to draw the raging fish back upcurrent, would have been folly.

I finally emerged into a meadow section, where walking became far less risky, and I could increase the speed of reeling. The fly line was completely out of sight, and below me the river made a strong turn to the left. The turn was filled with boulders and timbers washed in during the spring’s high flows. There was nothing I could do but follow the fleeing fish, breathing a bit hard, holding the rod high, and trying to regain as all the line possible.

My friend, Henry Kanemoto, who was fishing with me, ran along, and we exchanged thoughts on the fish.

“It could be fouled hooked,” Henry noted, “or maybe it’s a huge whitefish.”

“That’s certainly possible,” I gasped back. “I’ve caught big whitefish here before.”

And on we ran. I waded across a slough, and stumbled into the boulder-racked corner. Another angler was there, and he motioned me to come on through. The backing looped around behind a large rock a couple of feet from shore, and as I pulled it free I noted the deep hole gouged there by the currents. I stumbled up onto the low edge and ran on. The backing wove its way downstream from boulder to boulder, but fortunately slipped free each time I lifted the rod. The fish ran on. A mid stream log lay across the main channel, and from my position I couldn’t see if the backing was under it or running free in the currents.

I just kept the rod high to clear as much line as possible and moved on. Of course the line ran under the log, should I have expected less? Not only did it run under the long, but it was obviously caught on it. Had I run and stumbled 700 yards down current only to lose the fish, unseen, to this obstruction? The currents were too deep and strong to wade even a few feet out from shore, so I reeled the line tight and shoved the rod out and as deep as possible in the hope that the rushing water would create enough pressure on the line to free it. Sweeping the rod tip downstream, I felt the backing pop free of its hold on the log. Again I was reeling to recover line.

Suddenly I could see the fly line, and I reeled as swiftly as possible, gauging the tension against the tippet created by the push of the water. The fly line came onto the reel, and suddenly everything felt slack. A knot jumped up in my stomach. Had the fish managed to tear free while I struggled after it? Then suddenly the line came tight again, and I felt the pulse of a living thing. The leader hit the tip top, and it was evident that the fish was holding in a deep slot up tight to the bank.

Then, there it was. Not the huge, hooked jaw behemoth that I had hoped for, but rather a 17-inch brown, foul hooked in the back, immediately in front of its tail. Henry and I both laughed.

“That’s certainly the best fight I ever got from a 17-inch brown, or maybe any brown” I noted, happy to have wrestled the match to a successful conclusion, while secretly wishing it had been so much bigger.

It was not the runaway freight train that I had envisioned, merely a small caboose tearing off at light speed on a steep incline. Still, ….

A morning early on Montana's Madison.

Seventeen inches of Olympic quality brown trout.

I asked Theo to please send along some shots of the long flies that they use for pike in Holland. He was kind enough to send them right back to me, along with some more pike photos. Note that these flies are big, as in really big, and have to be tied with plenty of bulk but with almost no weight. Some good ideas in these flies for those searching for pike on this continent, and/or for warm-water tropical species in South America.

Pike flies have to be huge, but also bulky and easy to cast.

Typically anglers fish pike with a 9 or 10 weight rod, and the huge flies have to be aerodynamically efficient.

When a big fish is located, the fly is cast and worked across the fish's line of vision, about 4 feet ahead of the fish.

Pike are aggressive feeders and take the fly with real zeal.

My good friend, Theo Bakelaar, and I were talking about Striped Bass, and he told me that there is a fish in Holland that they call the Sea Bass, which fights even harder and tastes better than any other fish. Theo takes them on Clouser Deep Minnows and his eel skin flies. They run from 2 to 8 pounds, with a few larger, and people will pay very high prices for them. When they are on the feed, it’s a fish on every cast. When they are not feeding, it’s a fish of a thousand casts.

Theo with a silver bright Sea Bas. Even ones this size fight very hard.