Whew! While there are still adventures at hand, the inland trout season in Wisconsin has closed, and we’re thankful for the downtime to begin investing some time into our sport and community. We have a few things in store for all of us on the horizon, and while we have a pretty good idea of what we’re yearning for, we’d like to hear from you, too. Let’s start with an easy one (maybe). What sorts of skills or knowledge are you hoping to develop this winter, and what are the barriers in our angling community to your success? Why do you think that is, and what do solutions look like? For me, I'd generally like to connect with more fishy people more often, both on and off the water. Riffing with others on the fish and hunt carry me through the winter. - Firk

Cutbank Kids @riparian.life and @centralsands_angler hit the pavement last week for cool waters and fat trout. Group chats spiraled when the target area got dumped with 6" of rain the night before. The plan was four nights of mousing, and that was now mostly off the table. To be sure, much would be blown, but if we could find water on the margins, it could elevate the catch. We didn't, and it didn't. With a four hour drive behind us and low prospects in the region, we headed another three hours east to rendezvous with @dark_waters_fly_shop. Through a handful of scouting missions, we found a range of conditions from low and clear to high and stained. We ran the big stuff, but also spent plenty of time tossing terrestrials to brookies and tight lining jig streamers for bows. We decided to check out a mostly new river. Bombing through the woods for an hour without a trail put us on some comfortable big water. It was not a hike for the unprepared, but we found our focus in the UP. It felt like we were earning our fish. We picked up some browns and bows on jig streamers, and we schemed on our return another day. We eventually got out one night with mice and scorpions. A tank snapped us clean off with a headshake hookset. We landed a few modest fish. We finished off the trip on familiar waters and a handful of brookies on small streamers. An embedded comfort. Convictions only get an angler so far, and simplicity has its place, but adaptability and flexibility more than saved this trout run. Despite abandoning all previous plans, good packing and planning made for a memorial experience in the wilderness. Those convictions were not lost or abandoned, but tossed forward into our next great adventure to the cutbanks. Cheers to that.

A little larger for this batch, and some pink and chartreuse for that high, stained water. Been suspending these up to 5 sec after a foot glide, and the trout can't resist. Fished best with a loop knot and just a bit of slack after accelerating to a stop on the pull.

A couple cutbank kids are on the hex beat this week in the Wisconsin central sands. Things are just ramping up now, but the fish have taken notice. The duns had a hard time coming off the water last night and gave form like spinners, which also came at twilight. Suffice to say, spinner imitations caught every fish we targeted, except for the two we broke off 👀. With the fish sassed up, we decided to stay out and mouse our way back. We both went 0 for 3. Let us know what questions you have about gear and tactics in pursuing this infamous hatch. w/@riparian.life, @centralsands_angler

It's 12:30am on a calm mid-June night. You roll down your flannel sleeves as the dew begins settling in. The mosquitoes have finally peetered out, as have the duns. You netted a few teeners over an hour ago, but the action has slowed considerably. But you're still here for something more. You hear a gulp across the river. It sounded bigger than anything possible. Beaver, maybe? Another gulp. Spinners are still floating down, piling up in the eddies, trading places in and out. It's go time at that last chance at a spring pig. He's under the alder, as best you remember. It's black out now, and you can barely make out your rod tip, much less, the opposing bank. But you've been casting at that bubble line under the branch tips since 9:30, and confidence is high for a decent placement and drift. You send it, and it lands with grace. Too short. Again, and another, all too short. Conquering all reservations, you pull another 5ft off the reel and lay it out. Drifting, drifting, the line pulls tight, and you set! Your last spinner is now buried in the alder. Sure, you can wade over and grab it, but the fish is down, and the night is effectively over. "I should've tied up a dozen more like the post three weeks ago said," you mutter to yourself as you lurch back to the car. "Guess it's smallie season."

How do you define success on the water? How does one adapt to and plan for change? We didn't realize it was opening weekend when we set dates last fall for this scout. Also didn't expect the rivers to be riding 2ft out of their banks. Surely, we weren't going to wait another season. We were to canoe the low stuff and sniff out some lazy [chonky] browns, but getting down in the zone an extra couple of feet down from a boat seemed a bit much. It would be slow fishing even under good conditions. Nevertheless, we had pins marked up and down for miles from our winter studies. Width, slope, vegetation changes, street view, etc, etc. We knew enough to get oriented to alternatives, and we've been around the block enough to read high flows. We went up far enough to waters equally suitable to wading or canoe...under good conditions. A landowner came down to greet us. We talked fish, and he talked about the history of the stretch. Time well spent. Always talk to landowners. The silted banks were an unexpected challenge for a freestone, and sinking a foot further down or more meant elbows up. It seemed for a minute bank shots might be the ticket, but thickets of alder and prickly ash left us uncommitted to either approach. Debris was coming down, but the water was far from blown. That good northwoods tannin stain complimented the overcast sky. White, yellow, even light tan all glowed as we stripped across the runs. The fish noticed, or at least the ones that were still hungry. Conditions left the fish plump and round. They didn't need to move for another snack. So, slow and steady was the beat. The few fish we netted met the cutbank standard. The next day, we bumped up again. Too quick, but we hiked down until the relief slowed into deep, slow runs. We found some fish, again bruising through brush and silt. Exhausted by Sunday morning, we scouted some waters yet another 10-15 miles up the system. Far outside the program we had planned, but what the legs wanted. Five or six bridges later, we rolled up to a skinny riffle. A local told us there was better water a couple bends up. He was right. We spent the afternoon cleaning up on brookies in the cedars. Classic.

How do you prepare for the uncertainty of new water? The float was planned over months. We studied the system, spoke with the locals, forecasted the flows and water temps. We canceled and rescheduled until the river was ready and the roster was filled. We switched sections mere days prior, but the program was largely the same. The plan was set. But after vehicle staging, we found the launch path gated, and we quickly realized we were still in a planning phase. We made the roadside decision to bump up a bridge that would launch us straight into rapids we didn't plan for. Good thing the coffee had soaked in. Do we have the equipment and experience to run these? Do these life jackets even fit? We did, and they did. Though the drops were modest, carefully scouting our lanes and fluid team communications in the moment were important in carrying us through into the slower sections we were targeting. A lot can change with a team making split decisions in an unfamiliar setting, and we passed our trust fall exercise with grace. The flats were up and stained, temps were on the rise, clouds were drifting in, and stones and baitfish were making themselves known. The locals call it pike waters, but we know better, don't we? The caliber of trout that can hold their own with big pike, if only for a season, is next level. Intercepting trout on the move through temporary holding waters is a challenging undertaking in most systems without first developing that backlog of experience. And for these newcomers, the trout didn't show. One theory quickly shattered into many. We found us asking ourselves here, as with for each unique system. Are they laying in a reservoir? Up in the feeders since spawn? Are they on the move to their summer haunts elsewhere? We pondered a lot of data points here, the hard way. For us, being prepared also meant staying hydrated, good eats, trusting your gear and team, and the awareness to soaking in the great northwoods. And those can be important details that tip an adventure into a great day. Because if we got it right every time, it wouldn't be nearly as interesting.

When your cutbank is a snow bank. Streams change, and conditions are ephemeral. The ability to recognize and adapt to these changes is often critical to success. 📷: @dark_waters_fly_shop

Wood is good, but not all equal. The timber in back is above the bank and provides no substrate for invertebrates or much cover for fish. The log jam in the foreground is buried into the bed. It could provide complex seams and an ambush point at the head of a pool, but provides little here. With less than prime targets here, we clear some coverage casts to the cutbank along the left and move up to more promising lies. What are you seeing here?

What makes a fish memorable? What makes a stretch of river special? What modern harms threat your river secrets? And what all did you have to learn to assign such emotions? Welcome the Cutbank Collective, a group think on elevating our experiences and sharing them with others so we all may enjoy the experiences of wonder that is coldwater fishing in the Midwest. We strive to educate others, revel in our successes, and promote conservation for the next generation. We have a lot of ambitions with this project down the road, but it all starts with you. Engage, discuss, debate, and yearn for more. Stop by, say hi, and let us know what's been rattling around in the back of your head about your favorite waterbody.