Fritztown Flyfishing: Texas Hill Country Flyfishing

Awesome day of flyfishing for carp in the Texas Hill Country 

Size #4 Pencil Poppers 

The Tequache, Mexican Spanish for "possum", is a carp pattern. Its based on McKittrick’s Texas Tickler but the hackle and dubbing is swapped for Aussie Possum fur. 

These are large foam poppers for catching Largemouth bass. Tied on Ahrex 4/0 Aberdeen hooks using the premade Zudbubbler heads. 

A Story: Hoppers and Hits   There’s a moment in late summer, when the sun bakes the riverbanks and every step through the tall grass sends a dozen grasshoppers into the air, clicking and flailing. That’s when I know…it’s hopper time.   I still remember the first time I saw a grasshopper meet their grizzly end. I was standing on a shaded stretch of Willow Creek or Live Oak Creek in the Texas Hill Country. It was mid-August, and I’d just watched a real grasshopper get blown off a tree limb and smack in the water. Before I could blink, a bass darted up and inhaled it.   Why Grasshopper Flies Work   Grasshoppers are protein-packed packages for fish. In late summer and early fall, they become a major part of a trout or bass’s diet, especially in areas where fields, pastures, or meadows line the water. Unlike more delicate dry flies, hoppers slap the water with authority. They float, kick, and occasionally twitch. To a hungry fish, they’re a jackpot.   Favorite Grassh...

A story: Kitchen Spiders and Hill Country Streams   There’s something magical about sitting at a cluttered fly-tying desk, bobbin in hand, thread twirling through the air. I still remember the first fly I ever tried to tie, a black foam spider, a shabby creation made from kitchen sponges I stole from my mother. Followed by rubber bands, and sewing thread, also borrowed. I’d cut them into rough shapes with old scissors, then color them with a black permanent marker. Then I’d clamp the hook in a pair of channel-lock pliers from my dad’s woodshed. It wasn’t pretty, but it worked. That first "kitchen spider" might not have been close to art, but it was alive in my hands, and it caught fish.   I started fly fishing when I was eight years old, growing up in the Texas Hill Country around Fredericksburg. Back then, the rivers and creeks were my whole world. Catching those first few sunfish on a fly I had cobbled together with scavenged materials lit a fire in me that never burned out...

"Slow Rolled Gold” It was the kind of day where the air itself felt like it had weight. Heat shimmered above the caliche road as I eased the truck down toward the Pedernales, dust trailing behind us like a ghost we didn’t invite. The river was low, slow, and green as a beer bottle and just as glassy. “Doesn’t look like much,” Bill said, stepping out, stringing up his 5-weight like he was prepping for a mountain stream. “She’s got her secrets,” I said, tying on a McKittrick’s Texas Tickler—my own version called the “Tequache”. I’d swapped the hackle and dubbing for some Australian possum fur. A preference due to success with Rio Banditos. Looked like a baby crawfish with a bad hair day, but the carp didn’t seem to mind. The Pedernales wasn’t giving up her fish easy that day. The carp were shallow, tucked tight to the banks under scrubby overhangs and flat limestone shelves. The middle of the pools looked dead silent, and stagnant, but the margins were alive if you knew ...