by John O’Bryan
Streamer fishing is often looked down upon by the hardcore, dry-fly-only fishing establishment, but in the fall and early winter, it’s just too much fun to ignore. I’m sure most of you—even if you’re die-hard dry-fly purists—know exactly what I’m talking about: that thrill of a hard, unseen strike, the tug of excitement, and the sound of line being ripped off your reel—assuming your timing is perfect and your drag is set right. If it’s not, well… I don’t need to explain that to any of you.
I’d also bet most of you have a box or two filled with colorful feathers, chenille, and flashabou tied onto long, skinny hooks—tucked away somewhere in a forgotten corner of your gear closet. It might be time to dust them off, give them a shot (yes, I know I just mixed two metaphors), and see what happens.
Streamer flies are beautiful to look at and seriously fun to tie. Sure, there are established patterns in the streamer world, but let’s be honest—fish aren’t exactly Rhodes scholars this time of year. I’ve seen streamer patterns from a hundred years ago that were nothing more than a bundle of feathers haphazardly tied to a hook. Yet there’s the photo—some proud angler grinning next to a stringer full of huge fish. They clearly worked, and maybe, just maybe, we’re overthinking things. My advice? Go big, bold, and brash. Learn how to fish ’em right, and you’re in for a chaotic day of truly excellent fishing.
Unlike dry-fly fishing, streamer fishing isn’t about finesse and patience. It’s about stripping the fly in a way that triggers that primal, predatory response—a split-second decision to attack. If you’ve ever been to an all-you-can-eat pizza buffet in a college town, you know what I mean. Students who’ve been surviving on bland cafeteria meals for months suddenly see hot, cheesy pizza, and boom—life choices and lactose intolerance be damned. They will eat that pizza. That’s the response you want when your fly drifts through the dull cafeteria of a fishing hole and suddenly crosses a big cutthroat’s path—a Pizza Strike. A freaking double-stuffed-crust, pepperoni-and-sausage, white-sauce Pizza Strike!
Now, I’m making streamer fishing sound really easy—but it’s not just chuck-and-retrieve. If that were the case, I’d just tell you to pick up a baitcaster and start flipping Mepps or Daredevils into the shadows. It’s still fly fishing, and fly fishing—at least for me—is never as simple as I wish it were. That’s part of the draw. If it were easy to catch a fish on every cast, I might’ve taken up noodling. But once you dial in the fly, the strip, and the retrieve speed? You can catch a lot of big fish in a short window.
I tie my own streamers, and I recommend you give it a shot too. There’s nothing better than catching a fish on something gaudy, ridiculous, and utterly your own. My grandkids love it—they pick the colors, the feathers, the flash—and somehow their creations always catch fish. Go figure.
But hey, if tying isn’t your thing, buy quality flies. Do your research. Then buy from a trusted source like AvidMax. Whatever you do, don’t buy from Bob at the local hardware store—because Bob is a liar. I’ve bought flies from Bob (every big box store has a Bob in sporting goods). He’ll swear the fly he’s handing you is a river assassin. You hold it and think, this looks like a peacock exploded. But Bob’s already gone, helping someone set up their new pellet grill. You cast it a hundred times to no avail, then lose it in a tree on your backcast. As it dangles out of reach, you can almost hear Bob bragging to his coworkers about selling another dozen of those ridiculous flies to “some dude in fancy gear.”
Streamer fishing is, at its core, an active pursuit. No lazy drifts here. It’s cast, strip, reel, net, release, repeat. If your significant other is on you about getting more exercise, just set your smartwatch to “Streamer Fishing” and show them your end-of-day cast count. The Cast-to-Step ratio is something like 1 to 5—so every cast counts for five steps. When they realize how much cardio is involved, they might just beg you to do it more often.
I don’t fish streamers all the time—I still love dries—but there are seasons when I fish nothing else. Mostly because, well… I suck at dry-dropper fishing. I don’t mind making a dozen casts with no response, but I do like catching fish—and streamers just do it for me this time of year. So, if you’re not great at certain forms of fly fishing (like me), maybe it’s time to give streamers a shot.
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From the Staff:
Runoff here in the Rocky Mountains is also a great time to get out and throw streamers! With clarity and water flows changing, the bigger fish seem to feel safer on the move, so chucking a big water moving fly can get their attention! A few of us here in the shop love to fish streamers this time of year, it can be slow but it’s insane when you get that huge explosive eat and the tug really is a drug…
About the Author:
I am a husband, father, grandfather, photographer, fly tyer and fly fisherman… in that order. I grew up
in Ketchikan, Alaska and Fall River Mills, California which are arguably two of the fishiest places in the
world. I currently live in northern Idaho where I chase steelhead on the Clearwater and the Snake and
trout on the St. Joe and Kelly Creek. – John O’Bryan
