Fly Fishing for Shad –Reading the Water

As in any fly-fishing, reading the water is critical to deciding how to approach the task of presenting your fly. In Shad fishing with a fly rod it is no less important. The well-known spots are usually crowded. Shad fishing is after all a very exciting and often social event. We fly fishermen need a little more elbowroom though so tend to disperse along the stream.




When the Shad are running in the spots I fish, they swarm up the stream in little schools of ten or twenty fish. These groups dart upstream a ways then swirl around and head back down stream seemingly randomly until suddenly they are gone. Within minutes another group or maybe the same one, passes and does the same upstream move degenerating into swirling chaos before reforming into a somewhat orderly school and heading away upstream again. What we are seeing is a group of males pursuing a larger female.

On a good day, there is almost always at least one group of fish in sight, usually several.


Knowing the fish are there is half the battle but it is what they are doing when you cannot necessarily see them that is important. These fish are here to spawn. While in fresh water they are not feeding so must conserve as much energy as they can to be ready when the moment comes to be the winner in the contest to reproduce.



They way I translate this into a fishing strategy is this:

Unless actually chasing a female or in the case of the female, unless actually being chased by the males. Shad are going to seek the path of least resistance in their upstream journey. They will rest when and where possible. If you hang a fly in front of them for long enough they will bite it, just to get the darned thing out of their face if for no other reason. I know that last bit sounds kind of dumb but hey, at least I have a plan.

To my thinking, there are a few points of interception a fly angler should concentrate on. The first is the deep slow water close to the mouth of the river the Shad are running up.
Every Shad in the river has to pass this area.

To fish this just cast almost straight across, let the fly sink and strip back with a rhythmic, longish pull. Do not be afraid to pause and let the fly sink between strips. Also every now and then fish directly downstream a few inches out from the bank.

Farther up stream, I look for a few types of water. My favourite is a stretch of shallow riffles immediately above a deeper, broadening of the stream. The little pods of fish come racing upstream, hit the shallows, mill around a few moments then fall back to the deeper section, seemingly to rest and recharge before committing to another dash upstream.

Here, I position myself upstream and work the fly down and across the lip of the deep section, extending about six-inches on each cast to cover it thoroughly. Work the fly a little with a bobbing or lifting motion.

The next type of water I look for, especially on a bright day, is a long stretch of deep water with lots of conflicting currents. I figure this is a trade off for the fish. The dark depths give them security so they are inclined stay there but they will not continuously fight the current so will rest wherever it is blocked or slower.

Also, think of the way a Seagull will glide along in the draft of a ferryboat without flapping its wings. He has found a sweet spot of upwelling air and only needs minor adjustments to stay there for hours. I think fish do the same thing in a current. They look for the sweet spots where the lift of the water hitting a bank or boulder will let them rest with little energy expended.

I fish it so the fly does the same thing the water does. It tumbles along the bottom then rises up in front of them – in theory anyway.

One more spot I will always fish on a bright day is anywhere there is a noticeable shadow such as a bridge will cast or even a tree or brush along the banks.

Many times, I have watched fish mill around in the shadow of a bridge, unwilling to venture back out into the bright sunlight but not particularly comfortable in the water they are holding in either.


I first discovered this fishing with my brother Warren on the Nictaux. (I think it was the Nictaux River. He will doubtless remember.) The water was too fast and shallow to be promising but I saw the telltale swirls and tips of fins so cast downstream to the edge of the bridge’s shadow. The strike was instantaneous. As long as I was content to cast along the slowly moving shadow’s edge there was a fish there willing to take.

I will not go through every turn and vagary of a river but offer these as examples of the sorts of places to look for and things to think about when on the river fly fishing for Shad.

Remember; the very best time to fish them is just at dusk but the very best time to go fishing is whenever you can. That means the fishing is not always going to be easy.

The truth is that I learn something new about Shad fishing every time I am out. Some of it completely contradicts what I would have sworn was true before leaving home so take this stuff with a grain of salt and let me know if you figure out something that will help me catch a few too.

Cape Breton Salmon Fishing

Sometimes a whole trip can come down to one cast. One chance, do or die, for one fish. I remember such a moment on a small, crystalline river in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. It was the second week of September, the last glory of a hot, dry summer. We were prospecting for late run Steelhead but secretly hoped a rainy day would flush some fresh salmon into the rivers. The weather however continued hot and dry. We caught countless small brookies on tiny dry flies but no Steelhead and no Salmon.

We took a break from the punishing heat to visit the Margaree Salmon Museum and even put a few casts across the logey salmon holding deep in that pool behind the town library. Later that night we enjoyed a “sociable” with the fellow we were renting the cabin from and laughed as he commented on our day’s adventures on the Margaree.
“Those fish have seen so many flies by now that you can just picture one of the hook-jawed old brutes turning to his buddy and saying -They call that a Blue Charm? I’ve seen better.”
He went on to tell us of one pool on a smaller river that just might hold a few takers. It involved a ninety minute walk through the woods and no guarantee but that we would work up a sweat. We set out at dawn the next morning.

There is nothing like a long walk through unfamiliar woods on a thready path to make you second guess what seemed like such a good idea over a short Glenfiddich and a Cohiba. Our doubts vanished as we crested a hill and the view of the river opened before us. High rocky banked on the far side with a series of small falls up stream and a boulder strewn flat on this side. The river was deep with a jewel-like green tint in the very deepest parts but clear as glass in the shallows. It ran off to our left heading towards the sea, gradually slowing and widening as it made its way down out of the highlands. The beauty was literally breath taking after the close, sweaty walk through the bush. We barely had time to wonder how we’d figure out the pools in this exuberant tumble when a silver missile shot from the water, smashing back with a nerve-jangling crash just below the first small falls.

As I approached the river I could see fish lying in a deep pocket behind a low, flat rock. I backed away slowly, carefully marking where they lay, amazed again by the clarity of the water. How many times do I have to learn this lesson: stop and look around before rushing up to a new pool? I backed well off and studied what appeared to be the named pool just upstream below the first white water.

I took a step and scanned, took a step and scanned, took a step and stopped. Sure enough, there was the deep, green-tinted flash of another fish a longish cast away and up stream. It took a moment for my brain to sort out the complexity of light and shadow under moving water but there they were. Another pod of salmon deep in the spring fed security of a small, boulder strewn pool.

I crept back from the river and conferred with my fishing partner. Our opening strategy was to assume that I had spooked the fish in the lower pool but they would be settled again by the time I had rigged up a longer leader and sneaked back to the river, as long a cast away from the fish as I could manage. The upper pool was undisturbed and I suggested Brad “give that a flick” as they say in Newfoundland, while I changed my terminal tackle.

The pools were an amazing confusion of currents and boulders making it extremely difficult to present the fly. The scenery was glorious and wild. It was invigorating just to be there. I’m sure a local guide could have cracked the problem of these currents in minutes but I was baffled. As I studied the situation in the pool I was fishing it dawned on me that these fish had not read the same books I had or they would know that they were holding in the wrong place. Every boulder littering the streambed deflected the current in unpredictable ways. It was such chaos that I couldn’t get a wet fly near them and a dry fly was snatched away before drifting a few feet. If the water was not so clear I would have waded out above the rock that created this unexpected eddy they were sheltering in.

With nothing to lose anyway I tried something that would make a purist cringe. I changed from the small Blue Charm I was fishing to a large marabou Cardinal. It wasn’t that this fly would be a better choice but I wanted to be able to see every moment of its action during this experiment. Then, I laid a cast so that the tip of my fly-line landed on the rock the fish were sheltering behind. The current snatched my fly and swung it in a perfect arc, pivoting on the point of contact with the rock that had created this tiny pool. A grilse bolted from the group and I was fast into a fish before I had a chance to process all that had happened.
The fish was just turning dark from being in the river a while but had all the vigour of this cold, highland stream. By the time Brad had worked his way back to where I was fishing I had released two grilse and had another tail-dancing across the pool.
There are lessons in this day about much that is fundamental to good fly-fishing, the need for stealth, accurate casting and the other, almost innumerable, scraps of knowledge essential to the art of fly fishing for Atlantic Salmon.









I think Brad summed it up best though during the long walk back when he said, “all things considered, it doesn’t hurt to be lucky.”

A great day for football

What a great time of year this is. I travelled up to St.FX for the first football game of the new season Saturday. A perfect day, sunny and clear, the hardwoods are just starting to colour up. I had my fishing gear in the truck with me but didn't stop along the way, just enjoyed the drive with Amos Lee blasting on the CD player and the cruise control set a bit too high.
I have not heard any chat about fall run fish being in my favourite spots yet but have my ear to the ground. The Margaree has a few fresh fish according to a post at http://www.novascotiafishing.com/ , a great resource for local fishermen. The members on the discussion forums are generous with information and very cordial with their opinions and responses to questions.

Antique Fishing Equipment

Over the years I've become more interested in fly-fishing than fish catching, not that the two are mutually exclusive. I've spent a lot of time reading about the traditions of the sport and collecting old equipment as opportunity presented. There is something about handling an old bamboo fly rod that is not only evocative of distant times and places but the whole aesthetic of form meeting function somehow resonates with me. Occasionally I'll go fishing with an old rod and reel set-up. I'll use traditional flies like the Parmachene Belle or Leadwing Coachman and head out to a favourite spot to fish the evening rise. The old rods have a slow action that requires a certain discipline to make a good presentation. There was a time when novices were taught to cast by placing a book between their elbow and body. The trick was to learn to cast without dropping the book. Modern fly rods are much more forgiving of casting form and actually require a looser, more extended elbow and wrist action to achieve their potential. Focusing on the proper casting posture, arm action and timing required to use an old-fashioned bamboo rod keeps you very much in the moment. I think it might even improve your fishing. I tend to get sloppy with my regular gear knowing that I can use power to overcome a poor pick-up or bad timing. Antique equipment requires a whole different level of attention and care, not just to make it work but to preserve it from damage, concerns today's equipment allows us to be oblivious to. Don't get me wrong; I wouldn't easily abandon my new Sage 5 weight, but using the old methods and equipment has a wonderful way of putting things in context. When you read about Roderick Haig-Brown fishing the Campbell River for steelhead or Lee Wulff's early salmon fishing adventures in Newfoundland this is the sort of equipment they were using. I'll admit, a few pan-sized brookies is a far cry from a fresh Steelhead but still, it does fire the imagination. This post's picture is from http://www.royalwulff.com/legacy.html