Phil Monahan

The first brook trout I ever saw was about three inches long, little bigger than a baitfish really. But the memory of that vision—of that glittering flash of color and light—remains sharply etched in my mind fifty years later. I was about nine years old, floating down the Saco River in New Hampshire in an old, beat-up rowboat. My older brother Brian...

When the nights start to cool and leaves start to change colors, the thoughts of brown trout turn to procreation. To build up energy for the spawning ritual and to put on weight before the lean winter ahead, even big trout start to feed more aggressively, abandoning their notorious wariness in the process. Because spawning can be extremely competitive—as...

Most anglers consider themselves above the petty squabbles that so often erupt in the fly-fishing community, content to let other anglers define the boundaries of the sport for themselves. (Today’s topic: Is a pegged bead really a fly? Yawn.) However, it’s been my experience that there’s one group of anglers who don’t benefit from such...

In early July 1995, I was guiding two of my favorite clients of all time—a father-and-son team from Annapolis, Maryland—on the Copper River, which drains into Alaska’s Lake Iliamna. Tom and TJ were skillful anglers who loved the sport, but they didn’t take it, or themselves, too seriously. We were near the end of a pretty good day of catching...

Everyone knows that bass loves weeds in the summer, but to cover big weed beds efficiently, you often need a boat (although not necessarily a sparkly one). Especially in the South, the lake bottom around most weeds is mucky, with a thick layer of decaying vegetation on top. Plus there are snakes to contend with. But in cooler climes—the northern tier of...

Although I had been a fisherman since early childhood, I didn’t learn to fly-fish until I was in graduate school at the University of New Hampshire in the late 1980s. My older brother, Brian, lived nearby, and he taught me to cast one chilly January day in the backyard of his girlfriend’s house. Then we went down to the Suncook River to see if we could...

The small New Hampshire town where I grew up is within an hour’s drive of some of northeastern New England’s best striper fishing. Yet, instead of exploring the waters of Plum Island, Cape Ann, or Great Bay, I chose to hone my fly-rod skills by casting for eight-inch stocked trout in local ponds and streams. These were the quintessential “rubber...

Father’s Day is fast approaching, so we’re celebrating dads in the outdoors with photo contest on Instagram. If you’ve got a great image of a fly-fishing dad—it doesn't have to be your dad—then you can win one of three great prizes. Here’s how it works: 1. Find your best picture of a dad on the water. It doesn’t have to be your dad, but it...

“Found one!” Eric shouted from downstream. I hustled along the bank, making sure to stay well away from the water’s edge, until I reached his position. Crouching next to a bankside willow, he pointed to a spot near the opposite bank, where a stick protruding above the surface created a small seam. “Watch just downstream,” he whispered. Sure...

About 15 years ago, my friend Eric Rickstad and I made plans to go to Montana in late April for an Orvis Guide Rendezvous. As soon as our travel plans were finalized, Eric started talking about a river I’d barely heard of. “We gotta hit the [REDACTED] River,” he said. “I’ve heard lots of whispering about some big browns there in spring and fall...