Mastering the Rusty Trombone Fly for Big Fish
I remember the first time I actually gave the rusty trombone fly a fair shake during a slow morning on the Deschutes. The sun was barely over the canyon rim, and the water had that deep, tea-colored tint that usually screams "streamer weather." I'd been cycling through the usual suspects—black wooly buggers, some white articulated messes—and getting absolutely nothing. Then I saw this copper-and-orange monstrosity sitting in the corner of my box. It's not the prettiest thing you'll ever tie on, but man, does it get a reaction when nothing else will. ...