It’s your final fly-fishing day of the season. Here’s how to make it memorable

FISH STRATEGICALLY

Scarcity can make us desperate, even in our leisure activities. A classic late-season trap is the multi-spot or—heaven forfend—multi-waterbody scramble. With time running out, we convince ourselves we can hit the morning topwater bite on the upper river, run downstream to work those deep ledges we’ve been meaning to explore, then head back to the home pool in the afternoon. Playing a watery version of musical chairs rarely ends well. Before you know it, the sun is setting and you’ve spent more time walking between fishing (or parking) spots than casting.

It’s better to consider your options, then pick a stretch of water and own it. Late-fall smallmouth, for example, are typically on deeper bends, slow tailouts and the first ledges dropping into wintering holes. Identify promising spots and fish them thoroughly. One of my late-season go-tos, for example, is dredging deep water with tasty treats such as Meat Whistle or Circus Peanut flies. Sometimes, I’ll mix it up by drifting poppers. That’s a lower-percentage tactic, but watching my fly drift past a flaming backdrop of fall foliage is a memory I’ll savour when the snow arrives.

Similarly, play to your strengths. The best way to finish on a high note is by using familiar techniques, and executing them well. Understand that fall fish can be moody. If they’re not biting, assume it’s their fault, not yours. Rest the water. Sit on a rock and watch leaves ride the current. Appreciate the crisp autumn air, and maybe the faint scent of woodsmoke from a nearby fireplace.

Most importantly, remember that the season is ending no matter what you do. The day, like every day of fly fishing, will have its own rhythms and rewards. I’ve learned to fish these late-season days like I’m already planning to come back the following year—with focus, not desperation. In deepest, bleakest February, I won’t remember if I caught two fish or 12. Instead, I’ll remember the leaves, the sound of the water and the feeling of the line leaping out of my hand as I launch a cast. The last good day of fly fishing isn’t about cramming in everything you missed all season. It’s about appreciating what you had, and what’s still to come.