For a lot of years I held onto the notion that the overstuffed brown trout in Arkansas’ White River were only catchable with wispy 14-foot leaders and flies too small for those with sausage fingers and failing eyesight. Enter Steve Dally, the Tasmanian transplant guide and fly shop owner who is promoting an entirely different theory.

A few years ago, Steve’s guide crew began toying with the idea that brown trout might be hungry when they finish their fall/winter spawn. Instead of tiny nymphs on 6x during low water times, they started targeting the high water days when the big browns tuck in tight to the banks and use structure to ambush actual food. When he pointed me toward his website and showed me the browns they were catching on stout leaders and six-inch baitfish patterns, I got all fidgety.

Last week, I arrived at Dally’s Ozark Fly Fisher with three fellow Texans. Adorning the walls of the shop were framed prints of all the 10-plus browns that they’ve caught during “streamer season”. We didn’t catch a brown worthy of Steve’s hall of honor, but we caught a few good ones, and after three days of pounding the White River banks with 8-weights and flies with appendages, I now fully appreciate the challenge involved in that pursuit. Steve told us going in that it’s not a big numbers game. Go at it hard and you might catch a lifetime fish. I’m not sure if that was the one that freight-trained my fly and wrapped me around a boulder, but I was happy to have briefly tangled with him.

Thanks to Steve and his lovely wife Bec for their great hospitality, and to guides Chad Johnson and Ben Levin for continually rowing upcurrent to retrieve our mis-thrown flies.

Click here to see the entire shoot.

Foggy start on the White River

Steve Dally on the sticks

This thing eats sow bugs like m&m’s

Tantalizing and scintillating

Hooked up

Aggressive youth

Small hen on a flooded bank

Big buck on a flooded bank

Worth every cast

Ozark authenticity

The banjo player was on break

Beats watching Idol

I’m a creature of habit. That serves me well with most things, but not photography. One of the toughest challenges that I have in creating marketable imagery, is overcoming my tendency to shoot the same angles when returning multiple times to a favorite locale.

Last week, my son Blake and I drove down to Rockport for our annual duck hunt with Brad Smythe. I loaded the typical pile of guns, waders, dry bags and camera boxes, and then took a spin through my photo archive from previous coastal duck hunting trips. What I noticed, were several hundred images that didn’t at all convey what duck hunting is all about: mud, water, and cold.

So I tossed my underwater case into the truck and spent the drive down to Rockport pondering how I’d use it.

Besides great hunting with hordes of decoying ducks, I got a kick out of poking delicate electronics into places that I normally wouldn’t. I didn’t get a couple of the shots I was hoping for, but only because Boom the wonderdog had to stay home on our second morning due to extremely low tides, bare paws, and too many oyster bars. But he’s a young pup, and my duck dates with Brad are already rebooked for next year. I’ll get those shots eventually.

To see the rest of this shoot, and others from my duck hunting archive, please click here.

Be Social
It was bound to happen at some point. I’ve just opened a Twitter page where I’ll post daily photos, gear reviews, and other newsworthy oddities. I hope you’ll give it a follow.

At the ramp

Blake at first light

Headwind,  flaps down, gear deployed

Sloshing through the decoys

Bounding Boom

Picking up the spread

Muckity muck

Banded pintail

They do this every day for three months

Rainbow goodness: American Angler magazine

Hey Folks -
Another year is winding down and I’d like to thank all of the companies that license my stock images and hire me to go to cool places and frame scenes and punch buttons. 2011 has been a good year and I’m hoping that our collective climb from the slimy dregs of recession/depression will continue.

Herein you’ll find a small slice of favorite images and collages that were published in 2011. I wish there was room for more, but nobody likes a slow website, so this’ll have to do. Thanks to everyone that promotes my work and puts it into print. I appreciate your business and look forward to working with you all again in 2012, and beyond.

Happy holidays and my best wishes for the New Year!

-TB

Redface: Texas Parks & Wildlife magazine

Texas coast pictorial: Ducks Unlimited magazine

Albie love: Gray’s Sporting Journal

Ad shots: Sportsman Channel

Airborne Bass: Texas Sporting Journal

El Redfish Mundo: Fly Fishing in Salt Waters magazine

Whitetail Buck: JF Griffin Publishing

Poling for stripahs: Fly Fishing in Salt Waters Magazine

That’s how he was tagged eons ago by the first Ojibwa native that tangled with him. Loosely translated, maashkinoozhe means “ugly pike”. The French came along later and called him masquinongé which, for all we know, means “giant fish that kicked our asses.”

Personally, I think “ugly” is a bit unfair.  After several hundred casts with a 10-weight, a sinking line, and a fly the size of a tandem bratwurst, my first maashkinoozhe was one of the more beautful things I’d seen in a great while.

I’d heard all of the masochistic hyperbole describing musky fishing: smarter than permit, the fish of a thousand casts, roosterfish of the north, and so on. With all that in mind, I arrived in Wisconsin with what I thought was the proper mindset. I was emotionally prepared to not catch one and primed to celebrate if I did. Here’s a brief recount of how it all went down:

Day One:
Came out of the gate way too fast and my focus and casting arm were totally trashed at 2:30pm when the first musky rolled on my fly three feet from the boat. My slack-jawed reaction and deadfish hookset went unrewarded.

Day Two:
Caught my first musky on about the fourth cast. Caught another one two hours later. Learned where not to cast. Got looks from a bunch of fish and at day’s end felt like I really had the musky thing dialed in.

Day Three:
Eight hours. Several hundred casts. Nary a got-dang sniff.

Muskies are stealthy and thuggish and that’s why I now love them dearly. I’ll go back, and when I do, I’ll sign up again with Brad Bohen, Brian “Lucky” Porter and the Musky Tribe. They’ve got a great thing happening up in the North Woods, and if you’re feeling especially randy and confident about your fishing skills, then it’s a great place to go for a proper and comprehensive piscatorial beatdown.

Click here to see the entire shoot.

Musky ordinance

Brad Bohen, Lucky Porter, and Penny

Nice light, long shot, big fly

Starter musky

Not sure what this means, but I’ve got a guess

Sweetness amidst violence

Joe Golcz with his first musky, on his first musky trip…ever…

Punkasaurus Rex

They like orange

After hours in the Musky Lab

I can’t remember a time when I was more excited to leave my ‘hood.

After 47 days over 100, this summer, I looked out the window on July 29 and thumbed my nose at pan-fried Austin as my flight headed north toward cooler climes. Turns out, however, that my destination was having a few weather challenges of its own. It was 50 and raining when I touched down in Anchorage, even nastier in Dillingham, and I spent the entire week pining for the layers that I thought I wouldn’t need for a mid-summer trip to Alaska. On one afternoon as we jet-boated upriver against 30 knot winds and a cold, driving rain, my guide Tom Kersbergen yelled through chattering teeth, “This is October weather, not August!”

Global something.

Beyond the damp chill, though, I certainly can’t bemoan the fishing, photo-ops and my incredible hosts for the first annual “Artist in Residence” program at Bristol Bay Lodge. This idea came from the collective braintrust of Bob White (sporting artist deluxe) and Steve Laurent, longtime manager of BBL. In addition to photographers, they’ve also hosted a slate of talented authors, songwriters, and artists, this summer. Each week has been different, but the plan while I was there was to catch fish, shoot a ton of photos, and then present a slideshow on our last night to all in attendance. While the weather often made it unwise to crack the lid on my hard case, I was thankful for my last-minute decision to bring the underwater gear. What I spent in excess baggage fees literally saved my bacon.

Thanks to Bob, Steve, Nate and the entire BBL crew for a fabulous week. And to Rebecca and Steve Oresman for catching fish and patiently posing for the camera.

If you’d like to see the entire shoot, please click here.

Comfy digs at Bristol Bay Lodge

Beavers on Aleknagik

Rush hour

Tight to a char

Units of measurement

Nice doggie

Riparian carnivore

A stone’s throw from the Bering Sea

Chum dash

Lit up grayling

Sea-run goodness

They fancy, huh?

End of the line