I worked with Evie and various wings to train her for bird work, she travelled in the canoe with me and as she grew and eventually found her way from the top of my kit bag to the front of the boat. More than just ballast, she became my bowman.

I’m pretty sure she saved my life a few years back on a drive up to the camp as well. We were heading along a twisty old two-laner when Evie got uncharacteristically agitated. Normally a great driving partner (she sleeps the whole way), Evie started pawing at the seats and whining, so I pulled onto the shoulder to let her out. Pulling over also let a soft-top LeBaron that had been riding my tail race by. Thinking she’d just go for a pee I was surprised when she bolted into the woods. It took me a good 10-15 minutes to get her back in the truck. With Evie finally back in the passenger seat and settled, I was pretty shocked to come across an accident about 15 minutes down the road. A transport had cut into the oncoming path of that LeBaron. It was pretty gruesome. Evie didn’t even notice as she had already drifted back to sleep.

There are very few, if any, pictures of my canoe without Evie. Over the years, she has identified all the angler activities on the river as potential for excitement. Just the mention of trout will get her on point, and a fish on the line will bring her instantly to the gunnels of the canoe. Tying on a dry fly gets her zoned right in and she also eyeballs the fly as it drifts. Evie demands an opportunity to approve any fish brought to the net and inspects them as we get set for their release. She has become a fish licker extraordinaire.

Evie’s been around for the birth of both of our kids — the oldest called her Snee — and has helped to raise and protect them. Maternal instincts I suspect she never had a chance to employ with loss of her own litter the one time I bred her, an event that still makes me furious when I think about it (a story for another occasion). I rarely go anywhere without her, and feel guilty when I do. She’s been a fair and consistent common denominator in my life the last 12 years.

I’m looking forward to hitting the river once again with Evie this year. We might also be picking up another pup in the not-so-distant future — a new partner on the water and in the field for Evie to help learn the ropes.

Well, in the spirit of that auspicious event, and our deeper dive into the realm of digital and social media, we’re holding our very first Thomas & Thomas fly rod giveaway.

When we reach 800 likes on Facebook, 800 follows on Twitter and 800 subscribers to our monthly newsletter, we will draw one lucky winner from that pool. That winner will be able to select one rod from any line that is presently in the T&T catalog—except for bamboo. Our apologies to the T&T bamboo faithful.

One rod from any line, in any weight and any length. Helix, Horizon II, NS5, SSS, TNT, Spey, Switch and even Heirloom glass lines are all fair game. From big salt to small stream, the choice is yours.

Maybe you’ve always wanted to own one. Maybe you already do. Either way, this is your chance to own one of the finest, hand-crafted, American made fly rods on the market today—and all you have to do to be eligible is be one of the first 800 to like us on Facebook, follow us on Twitter and subscribe to our monthly newsletter.

Let’s see if we can get any faster of a response today than The Toms did in ’69.

Spread the word…and good luck!

Its mid April and the first martins arrived for their summer breeding season a couple of days ago. The daylight hours are visibly stretching day by day. At close to 57N my home in the highlands of Scotland is roughly parallel with Churchill, Canada, but we don’t have any polar bears. We do however enjoy some of the longest Atlantic salmon fishing seasons anywhere — local rivers are open from January 15 to October 31 each year. The first salmon to arrive in what we laughingly call springtime (which is actually the deepest part of winter during January and February) are mostly 3SW (three sea winter) fish. With good feeding at sea, it is not unusual for these brutes to weigh over 20lbs. The majority on my home River Tummel are deep, heavy fish over 15lbs, carrying sufficient reserves in their flesh to sustain them until the November spawn. Amazingly, some of them even manage to survive and return to sea early the following year, only to repeat their remarkable sojourn. Fly fishing for “springers” as we call them, involves casting large tube flies on sinking lines, presenting the fly as close to fisheye level as possible. Like our steelhead fishing brothers, the reward for persevering many hours in cold water is a close encounter with one of nature’s most beautiful creatures. 15ft is the chosen rod length of most anglers. The new range of T&T double handed, 4 piece rods that fit this bill is eagerly awaited.

Martins are also an indicator that another fly fishing opportunity has arrived. As they follow the warmth northwards, spring develops and flies start to hatch from the rivers and lochs. When the flies hatch the brown trout rise and fantastic sport can result. The first flies to emerge from our fast flowing rivers are the Olives and March Browns and the trout fatten and grow quickly on this high energy diet after winter’s famine.

Our brown trout are beautiful creatures. Never two the same and with spots of all hues from blue to red and black and a butter-yellow belly that gives them the alternative name “Yellow Trout” in some regions. These fish began inhabiting Scottish rivers as the Ice Age receded over 10,000 years ago and despite man’s predation, they survive and flourish in almost all fresh water habitats in Scotland today. The beauty of spring in Scotland.

What waters do you call “home”?
Well, being from the northwest, if it’s raining and I can’t see my feet in the river, then I feel at home. That said, I’m very fortunate to live in a place where an hour in any direction can put me “at home” on the many beautiful rivers surrounding the culturally peculiar region of “Portlandia”.
When/how did you start fly fishing—and why is it such a significant part of your life?
Growing up fishing conventional tackle with my family, fly fishing entered my life right after high school, when a friend offered fly casting lessons in exchange for guitar lessons. From proposing to my wife and fishing partner knee-deep in the Rogue River, to teaching casting and tying classes, or just taking a drive along the river with my daughter, my passion for fly fishing and the water extends far beyond the fish I chase—it’s really about the experiences gained in the process.

With regard to fly fishing who have been the biggest influences for you, and why?
Wow…with so many people along the way that I’ve met and continue to learn things from, it’s hard to narrow it down. But the late Jack Charlton is someone who left a permanent impression on me from day one.

Jack was an amazing person who had such a concise attention to detail and quality that was second to none. A very humble man who put his passion behind his product, he always had time to talk to a friend. Seeing all these qualities in one person has helped me grow into the angler and instructor I am today.

What is one thing our sport can do without? One thing our sport needs more of?
Needs less:
Inflated egos.
Needs more:
Awareness to preserve what’s left so future generations can enjoy what we’ve experienced.

Your favorite quarry to chase and preferred set-up for chasing them?
Steelhead:
Rods – DH1307-3 or DH1206-3
Reels – Hardy 3 7/8’’ Perfect, St. John
Lines – 1307 (Airflo Compact Skagit 510-540, SA Scandi Extreme 480, Snake River Outfitters Vector 500grain)
1206 (Airflo Skagit Switch 450, SA Scandi Extreme 400)

Roosterfish:
Rods – HE9610S-4 or TNT910S-4
Reels – Van Staal C-Vex 9/10, Charlton 8550C Tarpon
Lines – SA Streamer Express Clear tip 400gr, Rio 10wt Tropical Outbound Short Intermediate
Carp:
Rod -  HE906S-4
Reel – Loop/Danielsson Evotec LW 4seven
Line – SA Redfish WF7F
What other interests/hobbies/passions do you have outside of fly fishing?
Spending time with family and friends, skiing, soccer, music, eating good food and long walks on the beach.

Wild-card: Are you the plan-in-advance type or drop-of-a-hat when it comes to your own trips?
I tend to keep my stuff ready, since I never know when I’ll get an afternoon off and I like to just grab & go when it happens.

But, big trips are very meticulously planned. I can’t stand being in a foreign country, needing the most basic thing that I could have bought at the local fishing shop, and now having to drive 2 hrs round trip to find a cheap replacement and waste the best part of a day.

Tom Dorsey and his brother-in-law, Tom Maxwell, started making fly rods as a hobby in the mid-1960′s. By 1969, with more and more people seeking out their craftsmanship, they decided to make a full-time go of it, opened a P.O. Box and took out an ad in the paper asking people to send for a catalog. 800 requests poured in almost immediately.

They borrowed enough to print and mail that first run of 800 and started what would become one of the finest and most sought-after retail catalog traditions in the industry.

In the spirit of this year’s revival of the Thomas & Thomas catalog and foray into the digital and social realm, and because it makes for some pretty good reading, you can bet that we’re going to be taking an occasional look back into that 40+ year print archive. Chances are good that we’ll uncover some entertaining stories, anecdotes and facts about the company and its craftsmen, the lineage of our fly rods and the evolution of the catalog itself.

Chances are also good that we’ll be giving away a T&T rod. Details on that coming soon.

Don’t touch that dial.

This Easter, Jed announced that he’d really like to fight a big tarpon on a fly rod. So when my good friend and tarpon guide extraordinaire, Capt. Joe Rodriguez told me he’d had a cancellation, my first thought was game on.

Joe wanted to fish the falling ocean tide in the afternoon, so early morning saw us heading into the backcountry to get warmed up on a few redfish. Molly sat up on the poling platform with Joe, and Jed took up position on the bow with his Dad. Both were briefed to look for tails. After a couple of false alarms with stingrays and sharks, we saw the first redfish of the day, which I duly missed by a country mile. Joe knows me well enough to be firm so I was expecting a few motivational words. And I got them—from Molly. “Naughty Daddy” she said. I turned to see her shaking her head, while behind his sun mask, Joe was trying hard to stifle his laughter.

The tide was starting to move and the first trickle of tarpon started to appear. Singles, doubles, small strings and then the big herds. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and when you know what you’re looking for, you can see them coming from a good ways away. We had fun teaching the children to look for the black spots in the distance—and hearing their excitement when they shouted “I see them, I see them!” After delivering an appropriately-placed cast, a nice ‘poon peeled off from a pack as the fly crossed her nose, tracked it toward the boat and started to slowly rise in the water.

There’s a famous Ernest Hemingway quote that goes something like “How did you go bankrupt, sir? Two ways, gradually, then suddenly.” A tarpon bite can be like that. Time slows down and you wonder why the bite is not forthcoming. Then time speeds up and the fish has the fly. There is no in-between. It all happens within a fraction of a second. Only this time it didn’t quite happen as it should. As the tarpon took its aggressive swipe, the four of us watched as the fly entered her mouth and then exited just as quickly.

At moments like these, the natural reaction is to deflate as the fish sinks down from where she came. An experienced and composed tarpon guide knows better. “Keep bumping it,” Joe urged. By now the fly is getting close to the boat but the obliging tarpon cares not. Up she comes again and this time there is no mistake. The only things open wider than the big, bucket mouth are Molly and Jed’s eyes.

To cut a long story short, the tarpon does what tarpon do at this stage in the proceedings. It goes completely berserk. Seasoned guides and anglers never lose the sense of enthrallment at the first thirty seconds after hook-up. I think the guides enjoy it more than the angler, who is usually too busy trying to make sure the line is cleared and on the reel, to truly enjoy the spectacle. And as for children seeing it for the first time, we can only imagine their sense of wonder. All I know is, it could not have been more perfect. They got to see the fish eat the fly, not once but twice, the second time not more than twenty feet from the boat. And then they got to see a tarpon that weighed more than their combined weights, jump high above their heads, at very close proximity.

Jed got his wish to pull on a big tarpon for a while. Molly politely declined after watching Jed’s knuckles get rapped a couple of times. And Dad pulled a touch too hard and broke the class tippet. As Joe started tying up a new leader he looked at Molly and asked her, “So, what did you think of that, Molly?” She grinned and said, “That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.” Jed passed around the waters from the cooler and said, “For once I agree with Molly.” A new leader ready, we began idling towards shore. Molly suggested we do some more fly casting lessons back at the house (again Jed agreed). Without Joe or I saying a word they made a pact to practice every day after school so that soon they’ll be able do it all—the casting as well as the spotting and fighting.

Another case of early onset, tarpon fever in the Florida Keys.

Also, we still have spots open for our Bamboo Week at Camp Brule on the Gaspe Peninsula, beginning July 29th. Come spend a week casting dry flies with T&T bamboo to rising Atlantic salmon on the Petite Cascapedia, Grand Cascapedia and Bonaventure rivers.

The river Ribble looked in excellent condition. Clear and flowing, it looked just how a trout stream should look. A few mallard were preening in the margins. In the tall riverside trees a group of rooks were creating a right old din. In the field alongside the river a group of lambs were chasing one another. As I checked my mink traps before having breakfast, I noticed a few olives hatching off. Occasionally a nice fish could be seen rising — I was most surprised to see this activity so early in the day during March. Back in the cabin I looked at my watch. Eight o’clock. Having made some tea and toast, I sat outside the cabin reading the Daily Telegraph. I quickly realized there wasn’t a breath of wind and the early morning sunshine certainly had some warmth.

Breakfast over, I picked up the litter sack then went off to clear rubbish from the riverside trees and bushes. Moving up river I could again see the odd fish rising. Occasionally two or three fish could be seen sipping down tiny insects. Though I did suspect some of the rises were grayling or salmon smolts, there was enough activity to get me excited. The fence posts could wait for another day I was going fishing. After collecting two sacks of rubbish I made my way back to the cabin. It was just after ten o’clock and time again for tea. Having put the kettle on, I got my Thomas and Thomas 9 foot 5 weight Helix and fishing vest from the car. Sitting in the warm sunshine threading line through the guides, I thought to myself When did we last have such warm weather as this in March? With a clear river, I tied on a nine foot Froghair knotless tapered leader to which I attached three feet of 2lb fluorocarbon tippet. Looking through my fly selection I chose a size 20 Paythorn olive pattern.

Walking upriver through the trees I could smell the fresh garlic plants. Primroses were about in profusion. Coming from the shade of the wood into the sunshine of Johnson’s field, I had to change to my polarized glasses. I suppose it was a walk of about six hundred yards up stream to reach Swallow Pool, over-hung by a large oak tree, where the river flowed over small stones and the occasional rock — a friendly bit of wading water. Sitting on the bank I soaked up the warm sunshine, taking in all the riverside beauty. A few feet from where I sat a group of marsh marigolds looked resplendent. Towards the far bank at the bottom of the pool a good fish swirled on the surface. It was time to make a cast.

Staying on the bank close to the waters edge, I pulled off enough line to enable me to drop the imitation olive well upstream of the swirling fish. With two false casts the line flew silently over the water, unfurling as it did so. The fly landing like thistledown. I made a small upstream mend then retrieved the line as the olive drifted very lifelike downstream. It had gone about fifteen feet when I watched the fly disappear in a swirl. The answering strike connected with nothing. I rested the fish for some five minutes, and then made another cast, the imitation olive freely drifting downstream. Suddenly it was gone, disappeared in the daintiest of rises. The answering strike connected with a tiny fish. A salmon smolt.

A few yards upstream were three or four rising fish, I moved upstream a few feet before making a cast. I watched intently as the fly drifted downstream, then it was gone I tightened, hooking into a good fish. For a couple of minutes I had a pulled string and a bent stick as the fish tried to get its freedom. Slowly the pressure of well balanced tackle took its toll and soon I had the fish in close. Bending down I eased the fly from the scissors of a nicely marked brown trout. In seconds it was streaking off to the deeper water. In the next thirty minutes I had another good trout, two grayling and a small chub. Then it was time for lunch.

Lunch finished, I walked back to the river. The wind had increased and was coming from a northerly direction. Sitting at the waters’ edge, I watched for a rising fish. Nothing. Not even a single fly could be seen. Thirty minutes later I called it a day and made my way back to the cabin. No doubt I could have caught a fish or two on a nymph, but I wouldn’t have enjoyed it as much as fishing a dry fly. It was a morning well-spent.

In like a lion out like a lamb might be appropriate for this particular March, but there’s still time for a lesser-known (and far better) saying from the Farmer’s Almanac to ring true: As it rains in March so it rains in June. I’m a big fan of rain through the season and I have often thought there’s no such thing as too much rain. No doubt Noah would disagree, but to me the most successful fishing seasons have gone hand-in-hand with good, high water levels. But I’m drifting here. Let’s get back to the early season happenings.

Along with temps like these, I have never seen cardinals (Cardinalis cardinalis) in this area this early either. A few of the little red devils have been messing with my sleep recently, blasting out their call d’amour at 5 a.m. outside my bedroom window. I’m not really complaining though—I suppose I could be listening to crows squawking instead.

The cardinals are not the only ones that have flown in early though. Black ducks (Anas rubripes) and their aggressive relatives, the mallard (Anas platyrhynchos²), are occupying all the open water and fields around here as well…a good 2-3 weeks sooner than expected. Robins (Turdus migratorius—my personal favorite Latin name I learned as a kid, tagging along with Uncle Art, the ornithologist) are rooting around in the back yard, as well as a skunk and a couple of very active groundhogs. Add the daffodils, tulips, crocus and primrose poking up 3-4 inches and it feels safe to say that Spring is here.

Of course, this will have an interesting effect on the salmon season.

In my opinion, it bodes well for those folk that have taken a chance and booked earlier in June this year. Assuming there isn’t an unlikely, sudden and vicious shift back to winter, the salmon will more than likely be in the rivers early as well.

Up home in the Gaspé, many of the old–timers believe that the salmon run up the river at the same time as the bank swallows (Riparia riparia), those wonderful little fork-tailed acrobats that nest along the banks of the rivers.

I haven’t yet heard that the swallows have arrived, and generally the Gaspé runs a week or two behind Fredericton, but I guess what I’m suggesting here in my overly-verbose way is that we should see salmon running early this year, maybe even late May. Now lets hope that, like last year, there’s a whole whack of them.

The response we’ve been getting from the folks that have been fishing them has been very good as well — like this review on Fly Life Online, a site dedicated to fly fishing in Australia and New Zealand. And just in case you have reservations about whether this fast-action rod will cushion tippet, guide John Coles, proves otherwise with these photos of a few fish its been catching in notoriously tricky New Zealand waters: