So as not to keep you in suspense, I’ll get right to the matter of our annual pilgrimage to the Firehole River: High Water.

We shouldn’t have been—and we weren’t—too surprised that we ran into plenty of high water this year. After all, it’s that time of year. Runoff, meltoff, whatever you want to call it, we encountered it. In some past years we’ve gotten lucky and found waters that were fishable despite the time of year, but this year was a big water year thanks to a big snow winter. Our first barometer for Montana river conditions is the Clark Fork, which we first encounter at St. Regis, MT. It’s as if the Clark Fork welcomes us back to Montana, and offers us a glimpse as to what we should expect everywhere. It’s nearly always big and brown, but this year the Clark Fork was bigger and browner.

Our first destination was the booming metropolis of Lincoln, Montana, where we spent the first night at the Three Bears Motel (not to be confused with the Three Bears Motel in West Yellowstone, where we often eat but do not stay). It’s worth mentioning that the rooms were small and quite tidy: perhaps the cleanest motel I’ve stayed in. So if you find yourself passing through Lincoln, Montana, and you need a place to crash for the night, instead of continuing down the road and risking a crash encounter with one of Montana’s many nocturnal big game animals, do not hesitate to stay at the Three Bears Motel.

Goose and Jimmy enjoying Happy Hour on the porch of the Three Bears Motel.

The day had been pretty nice, but a storm was rolling in from the south. While we were enjoying the last of the nice weather, sitting on the porch outside our rooms, Jay Dixon (our outfitter for the next day), pulled into the parking lot with his drift boat in tow. He was en route to the Missouri and, knowing we were staying in Lincoln, happened to see a group of guys that he assumed were the Firehole Rangers. There aren’t many folks in Lincoln, and since we undoubtedly stuck out like sore thumbs, his assumption was a safe one.  As the clouds won out over blue sky, Jay proceeded to tell us a bit about the next day’s planned float trip. He informed us that the Missouri below Holter Dam had been holding at around 8500 CFS, so it should fish well. He also mentioned that there was a w#nd warning for the next day. No matter, the w#nd is not an uncommon thing on the Missouri, so we all rested easy (except for Nash, who bunked with Goose) that night before getting up early the next morning to meet with our guides. As Jay drove off the rain arrived en force.

Just a gentle, Montana afternoon shower.

The Missouri hadn’t our first choice, but because of hellish high water everywhere, it was our only choice. We had originally wanted to fish the Blackfoot—a river none of us have ever been on—but it was milk chocolate in color, as expected. But the Missouri is certainly no consolation prize, as we discovered 3 years earlier (which I wrote about here: Missouri Loves Company). Anglers flock to the Missouri every year like flies to a rump roast. And for good reason: it’s like a ginormous spring creek chock full of trout. Mostly big, strong trout.

Prewitt Creek Inn & Fly Shop.

Despite that it had rained throughout the night before, when we pulled into the Prewitt Creek Fly Shop at 9 am the next morning the sky was blue, with a few broken clouds moving overhead at a rather brisk clip (when I say ‘brisk’ I’m being kind). The wind advisory had called for mild w#nds that would build throughout the day. If that had been the case, I would have hated to see what the w#nd would have been like later in the day because it was already ripping. That didn’t do much for our spirits because fishing in the w#nd isn’t much fun, and can in fact be dangerous on the big water of the Missouri.

Lewis and Clark were here 211 and 212 years ago.

But, like Lewis and Clark 211 years before us, our flotilla set off down the Missouri. Now, some of you may be saying, “Wait just a damn minute: Lewis and Clark came up the Missouri through this area in 1805, so that would be 212 years ago, not 211 as stated. UA sucks at math.” And if you said that you would be correct on all accounts. But read carefully what I wrote: “…our flotilla set off down the Missouri.” It was in 1806 that the Corps of Discovery floated down the Missouri on their return trip from the west coast. So, suck it, Trebek. I was write.

Marck and I first met Jay Dixon of Dixon Adventures in 2011 when we fished the Bitterroot with him (reported on here: Bittersweet Montana). We’d had a great time with Jay on the Bitterroot and Marck and I were looking forward to fishing with him again. Goose and Nash fished with “Antelope Pete*” while Jimmy and Morris took their seats with “Busdriver Billy*” (*Guide names altered to protect their identities). With a very strong w#nd at our backs, we pushed off, armed with double nymph rigs. Since I’ve already probably undoubtedly lost most of my small list of readers already, lets jump to some highlights of the day, and photos:

• The fierce w#nd would actually lessen as the day wore on (counter to the forecast), and did not dash our hopes of a fine day on the water.
• While catching was on the slow side, we did get into some strong Missouri fish. Marck and I had probably 10-12 fish to our boat, which was probably about the same for the other boats.
• All but two of our fish were caught on nymphs. I managed one big brown on a PMD dry and Marck enticed one on a streamer.
• It was a long day covering many—approximately 12—miles of river. We were nearly the only three boats on this lower stretch of the Missouri; a nice change of scenery from the boat show upriver closer to the booming troutopolis of Craig, MT. It’s always nice to see some new country. The float took us through a rugged canyon where the Missouri actually resembled a rushing river in some places before unfolding into a vast expanse of open country where the river resumed its flat, broad nature.
• We would not need the rain jackets that we brought along just in case. In Montana, one never knows what to expect from Ma Nature.

Nash and Goose early in the day. A still photo does not due justice to how quickly the air was moving.

Jay Dixon and Marck, with a nice Missouri brown.

Jimmy and Morris in a boat on the Mighty Missouri.

Mission Accomplished: Missouri brown on a dry. Rock on, and Eat a Peach.

Big water and big sky, but not big w#nd, on the Mighty MO.

Jimmy admires the fish handling skills of guide, Antelope Pete.

Busdriver Billy approves of Nash’s nice brown.

The Firehole Rangers: Morris, Marck, Goose, UA, Jimmy, Nash.

The dirtiest most attractive worm pattern ever (which we didn’t have get to fish).

Iconic Tower Rock on the Missouri, significant in the Lewis and Clark expedition,

Morris does something while Jimmy lands a fish.

Jimmy hooks up with a takeout fish to close out the day, while Morris does something else.

When w got off the water at 8PM we still had a 4 hour drive to West Yellowstone (not including a 1 hour stop for dinner in Helena). Following a chance encounter with Applebees—that left us with full bellies and heavy eyelids—we would be driving for another 3 hours in the dark, through daunting game country. With Jimmy behind the wheel, and Goose appointed as his wingman, I worthlessly occupied the back seat. It should be noted that when driving through Montana at night, there is no more important role than that of the wingman, whose job it is to keep the driver engaged and alert; and to be a second set of eyes. Goose was perhaps not the best man for the job as he was asleep before we’d reached the outskirts of Helena. It should also be noted that we were the ‘mine sweeper’ vehicle, with the other Ranger transport following close behind. Fortunately both vehicles would arrive, front bumpers intact, at the Ho Hum Motel in West Yellowstone at 1AM. After a few brief hours of shut-eye, the Rangers would begin the next day on our namesake river, the Firehole.

I wasn’t going to write anything about this, but then decided I had to, thanks to a really nice piece written by Mike Sepelak over at Mike’s Gone Fishin’: Sometimes I Feel. 

Duane Allman in 1971, and barely a year later, bassist Barry Oakley.

Two huge, crushing blows to a band that was just finding their sound. But the Allman Brothers Band found a way out and played on through the years, anchored the entire time by Gregg Allman’s iconic voice and Hammond B3. There were some highs and probably as many—if not more—lows during the years that followed the tragedies of 1971 and ’72, but they did produce some good albums after that—most notably perhaps, Brothers and Sisters.

Due to heavy drug and alcohol abuse, they also produced some albums that weren’t up to par, and in 1976 the band split up. They got back together briefly after that, but disbanded again in 1982. In 1989 the Allman Brothers regrouped, and despite more turbulent times that included original member Dickey Betts leaving the band, they soldiered on. It was during the 90’s that Gregg Allman finally got sober and clean, and it showed in the quality of the music, which only got better up until their final show in 2014.

I was too young to appreciate their music early on, but as I became a teenager in the late 70’s, with summers spent working in the woods with a bunch of older, stoner-hippies (terms of endearment), I was indoctrinated into the sound of the Allman Brothers Band. I would have to say that since then, if there was one band whose vinyl, cassettes, and CD’s I listened to most, it was the brothers from Jacksonville, Florida. Despite that referring to their music as “Southern Rock” is not really an accurate description, the Allman Brothers Band is often labeled as such. It’s best to save that label for Lynyrd Skynyrd, The Outlaws, Molly Hatchett, 38 Special, and others—all bands that I also really like. Southern blues-rock is a better way to think of the Allman Brothers’ music—it’s on a different level from other bands that are all lumped into the Southern Rock category. Everything about the Allman Brothers’ sound is what I love most in music: heavy emphasis on guitars that scream, but not gratuitously so. Songs with less singing and more emphasis on the instrumental. Songs that build and go on for extended periods, allowing for plenty of time to get lost in air guitar solos.

I imagine that most people casually know who the Allman Brothers Band are thanks to Dickey Betts’ Ramblin’ Man, which became a chart hit and put them in the forefront of the mainstream audience. The problem with that is, Ramblin’ Man is perhaps the least Allman Brothers sounding song of all. It’s a fine song, but if that’s what you think of when you hear the band’s name, you’re missing out. Many would say that their earliest stuff was their best, and it’s hard to argue with that because their first few albums featured the original lineup. The band’s first live album, At Fillmore East, is absolutely iconic. The Brothers have always been at their finest when live, and this album is a must-have in order to fully appreciate that.

What many folks don’t realize is that the Allman Brothers Band put out a tremendous album in 2003—an album that, when I first heard it, really rekindled a flame for me. Hittin’ the Note is a must-have because it shows that the band was once again at their very best, after decades of turmoil and personal and professional lows. While certainly not the original lineup, one can imagine that the original Brothers would have been proud of where this latest album had taken the group. I was fortunate to see them in concert in 2009 with my old stoner-hippy boss. It was the only time I got to see the Brothers. How I wish I’d been able to make a trip to New York City to see them during one of their many sold-out runs at the Beacon Theater…

Fittingly, it was my old stoner-hippy boss who sent me a text last Saturday that said, “Damn. Brother Gregg Allman died.” That hit hard.

Drummer Butch Trucks in January, and now just 4 months later, Gregg Allman. 2017 has been a rough year.

He lived hard and that took a toll. But Gregg had gotten it together and was living right, continuing to make great music, both with his own band as well as with the Allman Brothers right up until their farewell concert in 2014. One can’t help but listen to The High Cost of Low Living and think that it was more than just words.

“It’s a high cost of low livin’
Ain’t it high time? You turn yourself around
Yeah, the high cost of low livin’
It’s bound to put you six feet in the ground.”

Rest in Peace, Brother Gregg. Thanks for the music.

The Yakima is a finicky river that rarely gives up it’s bounty of fish over 12 inches, at least in my experiences (and those of many I know). Based on that, every 5-10 years or so I will hook into, and  sometimes land, a much nicer fish than the typical 10 inch rainbow. It happens so seldom that, when it does, I simply refer to the fish  as either a “5 Year Yakima Fish” or, if the fish is in the 20″ range, it’ll be referred to as a “10 Year Yakima Fish”, also  known as a not uncommon occurrence  on normal trout streams. Wait—that may be an unfair assessment—because not all rivers give up 16-20″ fish on a regular basis. However, most normal trout streams fish well—you know, if it looks like a trout should be right there, chances are a trout will be right there. Not so much on the Yakima. But I digress, back to the 5 Year Fish.

The last time I caught a 5 Year Fish was in September 2015. If so inclined, you can read about it HERE. The 2015 5 Year Fish wasn’t particularly yuge, but it was the biggest I’d caught in, well, 5 years on the Yakima River. I’d hooked a larger fish (a 10 Year Yakima fish) a year prior, but hadn’t sealed the deal thanks to an inferior net man (who shall remain un-named Marck). Suffice it to say, when I set out on a recent day to fish the Yakima for the first time this year, my expectations were appropriately low. They always are.

The day looked to be a rather nice one for fishing, if not necessarily for catching. In a year when the sun has seldom made its appearance, just the idea of warmth and blue skies was all I needed. If a fish or two were caught, so be it. I would be fishing with Bob, with whom I had fished the last time I had fished, which was October 2016, HERE. Bob seems to be a bit of a good luck charm, which is good enough to offset for his rather uninteresting story telling and otherwise unsavory demeanor. The only downside to the day was that we’d be fishing a rising river. But what are you gonna do when you have the day set aside and Mrs. UA mandated that I either finally get the boat out of the garage and use it, or lose it.

We chose to fish a stretch of the Yakima near Cle Elum, and we knew that we had to avoid the Teanaway River, a tributary of the Yakima that is know to spew its chocolate contents, affecting everything downstream for miles. Therefore we dropped the boat in at one of the worst launch sites on the Yakima River (South Cle Elum) and scheduled our termination point at my least favorite take-out on the Yakima River (East Cle Elum, or simply “State”). However, in between these two points lies some nice water. It’s one of my favorite stretches, actually.

This photo is for Mrs. UA, proof that the boat was actually used.

Bob was quick to land a 10 inch rainbow shortly after launching. Fish size mattered less than just getting the skunk off the boat early so that we could enjoy whatever might come our way after that. Not much did come our way after that, at least not for a few hours. The river was running at a decent clip, and while visibility wasn’t terrible, the water was pretty dirty from either runoff or a controlled release of water from an upstream dam. And the water was still quite cold, which is good and bad. Good for the health of the fish, but not necessarily conducive to abundant insect hatches. And when the water is still really cold, fish tend to be less willing to move to an artificial offering. But the sun shone and the w#nd wasn’t worth complaining about, so we had that going for us. March browns were fluttering about off and on, and despite that no fish were seen rising to them, it seemed reasonable to match the hatch with a nymph setup: A Hare’s Ear with a Pheasant Tail dropper. Bob was on the oars as I watched my pink bobber drift through a seam that looked like it should—and would— hold a fish, if only the Yakima were a normal trout stream. Surprisingly the bobber dipped. With nothing else to do, I set the hook and became instantly connected to a fish that revealed itself to be of better than average size. I criticized the fish for being less than particularly feisty, but it did a fine job of using the heavy current to its advantage and refused to give up easily. I would later apologize to the fish for the harsh criticism after noticing that it had a rather gaping wound in its belly, due to some sort of predator or another. Bob managed the net and we admired what would be an 18″ Westslope cutthroat (a Yakima 20″).  The chance to catch cutthroats is the beauty of fishing the upper Yakima, and this was a beauty of a cutthroat—my biggest to date. Lovely.

A 5 Year Yakima Fish, ahead of its time.

The problem with this fish is that I wasn’t yet due to catch it: It should have been another 2-1/2 years before a fish this size makes a poor decision and accepts the offering of the UA.  So basically, I’m screwed for the next 7-1/2 years.

The amicable passing of the torch—isn’t that sweet?

You know what “they” say about March—it comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb.

For those that don’t grasp the meaning, it’s a metaphor. It signifies that when the month of March begins, the weather is fierce—still winter-like. When the month is over, the weather has mellowed to gentle Spring-like conditions. That makes sense given that the Spring (or Vernal) Equinox occurs during March. The first official day of Spring—yay!

The season of Baseball—the quintessential fair weather game— has begun! The first significant bug hatch on most western rivers occurs in March—the march of the skwalas! Ah, the wonderous lambing season is upon us—let us rejoice in the season of hope, knowing that the glorious days of summer are approaching!

That may be the case where you live, but not here in the Pacific Northwet. Yes, March charged in like a lion, full of wind, rain and cold (for here, anyway) temperatures. We had snow accumulations during the first week of the month. As the lion marched on, the weather remained largely the same: gray, wet and chilly. I believe we had two days where the sun won the battle against clouds and rain. And in the last week of the month the weather has remained largely unchanged. Oh, sure, it looks as though on the 31st the clouds may part, the rain may cease, and we may actually see the sun for about the 10th time since October…but look ahead one day to April first and—no joke— we’re right back to the unseasonably cold, wet, shitty weather. 60 degrees?  We haven’t seen that yet this year.

Plants are refusing to burst out with their display of Spring colors. The grass is green, and growing, but it’s having a hard time keeping up with the moss. It looks like winter outside save for a few hearty trees that are budding out, slowly.

Below are some stats about Seattle weather since October 2016, but as you read the tally, bear in mind that Seattle proper gets considerably less rain that where I live, 25 miles to the east: Seattle sees 37.49 inches per year on average; where I live sees 52 inches annually.

Seattle Weather Fun Facts courtesy of the NWS (Nasty Weather Service):

Of the 178 days that have passed since the “water year” began, Seattle has had 123 days with rain or snow, 149 with more than 70% cloud cover, and just 9 days with less than 30% cloud cover (which apparently constitutes a sunny day). Seattle set records for rainfall in October (10.05 inches). November and December were gray and miserable, but not as wet as October. January wasn’t record-wet, but it was gloomy as hell with 7.45 inches of rain. February was nearly a record month for rainfall in Seattle, with 8.85 inches (the record being 9.11 inches). Come on—we’re splitting hairs here—we should get a trophy for February. March has been the 6th wettest on record, with 6.66 inches (about 3.38 inches more than normal). February and March combined have had the most precipitation ever recorded in Seattle, with 15.56 inches. Remember, that’s in Seattle, which benefits from a bit of a rain shadow effect compared to most other parts of the Puget Sound region.

Here, the lion wins by eating the lamb.

So, whomever “they” are that say, “in like a lion, out like a lamb” can bite me. This March the weather has sucked. The lion won. February, January, December, November and October sucked, too.

They also say that you can’t change the weather, but you can bitch about it, and I feel marginally better for having done so.

Pass the vitamin D—I’m clearly deficient. I probably need to go fishing, too.

The lamb succumbed to the incessant rains of March.

Last year at about this same time, me and the Albacore’s ventured to Forks, WA to do a bit of steelhead fishing. We got rained out, and instead of fishing we sat on our asses and watched basketball for 3 days (shoot me now). Here’s a recount.

This year, when it came time to schedule the trip to Forks, I just couldn’t get excited about it (Mrs. UA and I had also already scheduled a trip to Nashville in April to see Schpanky, so my Big Spring Trip was spoken for). I felt a tinge of remorse for taking a pass on the Albacore trip because I do rather enjoy fishing with those boys, so I wished them well. I also figured that, in my absence, they would have a banner year. Steelhead on the swung fly. Many.

Well, I just heard from Large Albacore, and they didn’t touch a single fish. Not only that, they didn’t fish at all—the trip was a bust this year. The difference this year is that they determined it would be a rain-out before even making the trip: a pre-emptive strike, if you will. We should have made that same call last year, but as Large Albacore said this year, “I’m slow, but eventually I catch on.”

I must admit that I’m not surprised. It’s a dicey proposition to encounter favorable conditions in Forks this time of year, any year. Given that western Washington has had one of the wettest, coldest winters on record, and Forks is the wettest that the Pacific Northwet has to offer, the writing was on the wall.

So, as far as I can tell, the best way to not go fishing is to just stay home. It’s considerably cheaper than the cost of gas, ferry crossings, motel and food for 3-4 days, all to not go fishing. And by staying home I can control what’s on the television, and it’s not basketball.

Madness, I say.

This has been one of those winters that beats a person down and has them thinking about moving to Arizona and taking up outdoor shuffleboard.

The Sauk River is one of three major tributaries of the once-fabled steelhead river, the Skagit, in North Central Western Washington. I’ve only fished the Sauk twice: the First Time in April 2009, during what was—unknowingly at the time—the last catch and release steelhead season before the WDFW closed that season down. The second time I fished the Sauk was when I dressed as a fisherman for Halloween 2016.

Ignorance was bliss (Sauk River, 2009)

In 2009 (when it was still socially acceptable to wear a fishing vest) I was a greenhorn Spey rodder, and on my first cast of the day, dumb luck struck and I landed my first wild steelhead on the swung fly. I’m glad I didn’t know it at the time, but it would be a long time after that day when I would land my next wild steelhead on the swung fly.

But let’s not dwell on the past, shall we? Jumping ahead to 2016, while no longer a greenhorn to the two handed rod, I am not a significantly better caster: ‘functionally adequate’ is how I describe my Spey casting prowess.

Late October is a bit early for western Washington winter steelhead, and while there may be a few early returning fish in the system, it’s not likely that they’ll be enticed to the swung fly. This time of year it was all about bull trout, or as some mistakenly call them, dolly varden. The difference between a bull trout and a dolly is fairly simple to explain, which I’ve done HERE in the past if you’re so inclined. At any rate, my friend Bob Margulis invited me to join him for what is one of his favorite times of year to fish the Sauk, when one stands a chance at a rather mixed bag of finned quarry: salmon, steelhead, sea run cutthroat trout, and/or bull trout. The bull trout have, at this time of year, recently concluded their annual spawn, during which they migrate from the main river up smaller tributaries. Once they’ve spawned they are spent, and hungry, and they move back down to the main river in search of a cigarette food.

As a very light, sporadic rain fell, we dropped into a run below a well known bridge and Bob set me up at the lower end of a run while he worked through to the top section. The Sauk was running a bit high due to recent (and current) rains, but not unreasonably so. There was a glacial green tinge to the river and visibility wasn’t horrible. In other words, the river was fishable. We observed a couple of chum salmon spawning in the gravel of an inside channel—a hen raking the gravel, creating a redd into which she was laying her eggs. A male moved in behind her to do his part. Cutthroat and bull trout would eventually move in later to snatch eggs from the redd, and eagles would eventually feed on the chum carcasses. Interconnected, the circle of life becomes quite evident during this time of year on Pacific Northwest rivers.

But I digress.

Bull Trout Candy

I laid out the first cast with my Spey rod—rigged with with a Compact Skagit head and type III sink tip—joined to a fluffy white streamer that, for lack of the actual pattern name, would best be described as “bull trout candy.” Just before the fly swung into the hang down, there was some resistance on the line. Naturally I assumed I’d hung up on a rock, but when the rock began shaking its head I changed my mind. There ensued no drag-screaming runs nor acrobatic displays, but the fish did communicate its displeasure and pulled with determination. After a short fight I landed what was a rather nice bull trout—somewhere in the 26-28″ range—certainly my largest to date. As Bob mentioned, “Where there’s one there’s more,” so after releasing the dolly bull trout native char I continued fishing the run with the hope of finding another fish. Apparently that was the only willing participant in the run as neither Bob nor I touched another fish. We moved upriver, above the well known bridge, to try our luck on a new piece of water.

A splendid Sauk River dolly varden bull trout.

I apologize for forgetting to put the rod behind my neck for the photo.

The rain began to fall in greater abundance as we situated ourselves on the next run. In my estimation, winter steelheading weather is wet and cold—a miserable combination that keeps most anglers inside by the fire reading about summer trout fishing. As the rain increased it certainly looked like winter steelheading weather despite that with temps in the low 50’s it was far too warm to be considered true winter steelheading weather (my hands weren’t even numb).

Despite appearances, not winter steelheading weather.

And that was fine, because we were fishing for bull trout. And I landed two more. These were considerably smaller than the first fish, each stretching the tape at about 18 inches. Despite their diminutive stature, they were game little fighters, one in particular was full of enough piss and vinegar that it jumped twice in protest. That would conclude the catching for the day, and in case you naysayers are screaming in outrage that my success is anything but an unaccomplishment, bear in mind that the day was not without unaccomplished incident: I had left home at 6:40 AM to meet Bob at 8 o’clock. I got 12 minutes from home when I realized I had left my waders back home in the garage. Fortunately I remembered before getting too far up the road. Wet wading would not have been a pleasant endeavor, despite that it wasn’t miserable enough to be considered winter steelheading weather.

Given that this is an election year, this seems appropriate to leave you with this:

“Hey, let’s go fishing. I’ll drive!”

Way back in 2011 I went to great lengths to compile a list of the Top Six Stupidest Fly Fishing Cars. I’m confident that my list saved many a reader from making a regrettable purchase. Since then I’ve been giving the matter some more thought, and because there is a whole new generation of cars available, I feel it’s my responsibility to once again be an advocate for the fly fishing consumer.

But Forbes beat me to it, more or less, with their list of 15 New Cars To Avoid.

Their impressive list of unimpressive cars doesn’t specify that these cars would be particularly stupid for fly fishing, but it’s a safe assumption that what’s bad for the gander (everyone) is also bad for the goose (fly angling types). So, there’s no point in me reinventing the stupid wheel since Forbes did it already, but I’ll simply add my brief commentary here:

1. BMW 7 Series. While not particularly ugly, one would feel rather out of place pulling into Twin Bridges, MT driving one of these. $80+K buys a lot of something else. And I doubt you can order one with a tow package.
2. Cadillac XTS. If you’re going to drive a Cadillac to go fishing, it better have massive fins and be 20 feet long and weigh 4000 lbs. And it should be a convertible.
3. Dodge Journey. Forbes says “Dodge’s 7 passenger crossover SUV is long overdue for a redesign…” Long overdue?  That means they’ve been out for a while. Never even heard of these. Looks like a station wagon to me.
4. Fiat 500L. I remember Fiat for it’s unreliable little boxy cars back in the 70’s (FIAT was a popular acronym before acronyms were popular). Then it seems, Fiat disappeared for decades. Now it appears they’re back, unfortunately.
5. Jeep Compass. Not surprising to hear that Jeep gets low marks for reliability—just about every Jeep I’ve owned was plagued with problems, except my 2000 Cherokee, which was pretty much bullet proof. I should have kept it.
6. Jeep Patriot.  OK, I can confirm that this is a horrible vehicle. We rented one in Nashville last summer, and it was dangerous to drive due to being so horribly underpowered that it couldn’t get out of its own way. Seriously—I pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The diminutive little motor would cry out defiantly but the vehicle would not move. It was as if it had square tires.
7. Jeep Wrangler. Well, Jeep is really racking up the points, aren’t they? Still, the Wrangler is quite popular. I guess, with its relatively spartan appointments and boxy sheetmetal that isn’t horribly removed from the days of the CJ, people are attracted to the Wrangler because there’s nothing else out there even remotely like it. (Hint: Hey Ford—bring back the Early Bronco in some form, eh?)
8. Lincoln MKS. Not sure why Ford even keeps the Lincoln division around any more.
9. Lincoln MKT. See previous comment.
10. Mitsubishi iMiEV. What? LOL!
11. Mitsubishi Mirage. The definition of ‘mirage’ is, “Something that appears real or possible but is not in fact so.” I wish that were the case with this eyesore.
12. Nissan Armada. I’ve long thought that Nissan was making some of the ugliest vehicles the past few years. Turns out they’re not only ugly, but unreliable.
13. Nissan Titan. By far the ugliest of all pickups currently offered up in the marketplace, and apparently one of the worst, too.
14. Scion iQ.  Huh?
15. Smart ForTwo.  The Smart car was on my list of Top Six Stupidest Fly Fishing Cars. Good to see it’s still getting the attention it deserves.

Thanks to Forbes for stealing my thunder doing the legwork so I didn’t have to.