Every spot has its master. The possessor of the knowledge of utmost importance and all things holy. For the Salmon River in Pulaski New York, his name is Stanley. With his swirling-ly regal and white mustache, you recognized him as a legend at first sight. And legend he was.

The PigFarmInk Noreastah crew headed to Pulaski for Easter chasing drugs. I mean tugs. We were fishing for Steelhead so it’s basically the same thing. Unfortunately for us not many fish were caught. But for Stanley… what a slayer.

The Saturday before Easter I posted up on the bank made a chair out of the snow, and watched Sir Stanley as he waded waste deep in ice cold water, absolutely slaying Steelhead. I crack open a beer and try to siphon as much information from this man as possible.

He tells me he has been coming to this river for 25 years, up to 12 times a year. That’s a lot of river time for anyone, so it makes sense that he’s catching fish when nobody else is. He tells me bright colors in the morning and night, and something blue during the day. Easy for him to say.

It felt like he hooked up almost every drift. You could see his neon, make-shift indicator drift through the run. A bob in the indicators fluid movement induces a hook-set. Fish on for Stanley.

Catching fish doesn’t matter. What I took away from Stanley was more valuable than any fish I would have caught, unless it was a state record obviously. Persistence and dedication in following your passion will yield success. Just put in the time and the work. More fish for Stanley and more beer and whiskey for the farmers. Happy Holidays, and tight lines.