Albie Addicts Video

Albies are infamous for transforming the most reserved and patient fly fisherman into an obsessive maniac. When Alex and I go trout fishing, we walk at a relatively slow pace and shoot the breeze. We take our time positioning ourselves, choosing flies and exercise all sorts of politeness. “Alex, go ahead and take the first drifts through this run. You traveled a long way to get here and I have fished it plenty of times.” Then Alex catches a beautiful Maine Brook Trout and returns the favor. “Jeremy, thank you so much for showing me your home waters. You take the next cast; I will just sit back, relax and enjoy the beautiful Maine scenery.” So, I meet up in Rhode Island with Alex, Ed and Ray for a day chasing False Albacore (Albies, Fat Alberts) with fly rods. Ray is a Coast Guard certified Captain and owner of the 23’ Seacraft boat. Ray is a mellow dude. He travels at a very chill pace. His cooler is full of Mozerella, quality sandwich meat and cold drinks. Ed is as mellow, if not more mellow than Ray. Ed fly fished 360 days last season. He is the real deal. He ties amazing feather wing flies, has a deadly cast and reads water like a newspaper. Then there is Alex and myself. We are both coming off a bad Albie slump. Countless hours on lifeless beaches, sparse Albie sightings, a few hook ups, dropped fish and wasted time on boats with Albie guides who talk more than they fish. The Albie season is ticking and time is of the essence. Alex will really be out of the Albie game in short time. He returns to Argentina in just a few weeks. So, Alex and I had one thing and one thing on our mind. Find the Albies! All of the polite and politically correct trout tactics were thrown overboard. We were like two pirates. Instead of swords we had fly rods and instead of chasing gold we were chasing Albies. Ray was at the helm and Ed positioned himself safely in the stern. Alex and I were on the bow. I would like to say that we were sharing the bow, but that would be stretching the truth a bit. We were one small step away from fighting with each other. The Albies were up and we were both foaming at the mouth. Epoxy flies were whistling by my face as I somehow managed to throw a cast over Alex’s head. The fish blew up on the port side of the boat. Alex turned to make a cast and drove his 10 weight reel into my head. I was literally seeing stars, but I could still make out the busting Albies between the flashes of light and managed to get a cast into the fish. Then the mayhem really got underway. Alex was tight to an Albie and I was too. After a blistering first run, my fish dropped the fly. Alex’s Albie continued to peel off line and Alex was in heaven. All of the traveling in cars and boats and on foot, countless hours spent on lifeless beaches and all of the frustrations vanished as the Albie peeled line off Alex’s reel. After the fish was landed a brief sense of calmness came over the boat. Alex and I began to feel the guilt of all the swearing at each other, yelling at Ray to drive faster and hitting each other with reels, rods and flies. Just as we began to justify our actions with each other and offer insincere apologies, the Albies blew up again and we were casting over each other, swearing at each other and yelling at Ray to speed up and get us closer to the fish.