Words by Jon Ruti

Co-Founder, Rivay

It started with a drive down a quiet road here in Bedford, New York.
Not fishing, at least not exactly.

More like what happens just before: pulling up, opening the tailgate, taking a moment to see what the day looks like. The kind of pause that happens along the edge of something, before you step into it.

Marco arrived in his Range Rover Classic, the back loaded with the kind of gear that suggests intention rather than performance. Waders, boots, a rod tube, some beautiful Japanese bamboo rod that Marco said would take an hour to put together. The plan was simple: walk the bank of a local stream here in Bedford, gather a few things and scout. No hero casts. No fish stories. Just movement and observing the water.

That restraint mattered. We didn’t want to pretend this was something it wasn’t. What drew me in wasn’t the idea of fishing, it was everything that surrounds it.

I grew up fly fishing with my dad, but haven't done it in years. One of those pursuits you quietly miss without realizing how much until you’re back near it. Watching Marco prepare brought that feeling back - not nostalgia exactly, more like a renewed curiosity. The appeal wasn’t the catch. It was the rhythm. The patience. The way attention shifts when you’re moving slowly, following a stream instead of cutting across it.

As we walked, Marco talked about fishing chalk streams in England - narrow rivers that wind through the countryside, often across private land. You walk the banks. You mind your footing. You cast carefully into water that doesn’t forgive impatience. There’s a pause for elevenses. Maybe a small nip of something warming. It all sounded incredibly civilized. Purposeful, but unhurried.

It struck me how naturally that world connects to the jacket we were shooting.

Waxed cotton has always lived along banks and hedgerows. It’s meant for damp mornings, shifting weather and movement without urgency. British Woodlands camouflage isn’t about concealment so much as belonging - it mirrors moss, bark, shadow. It settles into the landscape rather than competing with it.

Watching Marco move - opening the tailgate, adjusting a cuff, pulling the hood up and then stowing it again - the jacket didn’t feel styled. It felt used. The pockets made sense. The weight felt right. The fabric did what it was supposed to do without asking for attention.

That’s always the goal for us.

We don’t design pieces for single moments or specific outcomes. We design for that in-between; the walk along the bank, the time spent figuring things out, the weather that may or may not turn. Clothes that reward patience. Clothes that feel better when you’re not rushing.

This jacket isn’t about fishing. But it belongs to that world - the one built on observation, respect for place and the understanding that some things are better approached slowly.

That’s what stayed with me from the shoot. And it’s what I find myself wanting more of lately: fewer destinations, more time along the way.

— Jon

Jon Ruti: For those who don’t know you, can you briefly introduce yourself and your connection to fly fishing?

Marco Ciocca: I would venture to guess most of your readers here don’t know me! I am Italian, grew up in Miami then made my way to NYC after having spent my college years in DC. I spent the summers in Italy and developed a love for food, wine (now mostly champagne), tailoring and the countryside. I grew up on boats in Miami, fishing on big seas for big(ish) fish. Sometime in college though, I developed really significant motion sickness for some unknown reason, so I had to hang up the big tackle and silence the outboard engines. I was always captured by the romance and the artistry of fly fishing - not to mention the great gear and tailoring! So when I started building Montessori preschools in NYC and I was stressed out and at my limit, I figured I would give fly fishing a try to find some mental tranquility. Once I started, I was hooked - although it took quite a while to even catch my first fish on fly. I refer to it as fly “casting,” more than fly fishing honestly.

JR: When you arrive at a stream, what’s the first thing you do before anything else?

MC: Check the water! And then usually make a comment about how low the water level is, or how the stream is blown out this year - all excuses to temper expectations if the fishing doesn’t turn out as hoped. It’s a long held angler’s trick.

JR: Of all the places you’ve fished so far, is there one that stands out most to you?

MC: Tough one. Fly Fishing has so many manifestations. Patagonia, Henry’s Fork, Bahamas flats, the Dolomites, Scotland, Iceland - they are all so different and special in their own ways. But I think the one that stood out the most because so many things came together was in Japan. I was having a horrible day and my non-english speaking guide, Maki, told me we had two or three more casts before we had to run to catch the Shinkansen. He made some hand gestures and a train whistle sound. On the second one my line went taut, and nothing moved. I was sure it was caught on a log at the bottom, but then there was a shake and some line went out. I was on really light tackle so fighting it aggressively so we could catch the train was out of the question. About 50 minutes later, we finally netted an unusually large landlocked cherry salmon. I was just really emotional, which is rare. The land, the country, the guide, the food - all of Japan just came together in that moment. My future wife captured it all on video from the rocky bank, so I will always have that memory. Needless to say we missed our train.

JR: Is there one piece of gear you’d never leave behind?

MC: A rod! Just kidding, that goes without saying. Probably some sort of jacket, depending on the conditions. I would rather fish in the cold than the sweltering heat. I am particular to waxed canvas, it just feels more correct for the art. It needs lots of pockets so you can limit the size of the bag you need to carry all the technical accessories required to fish. The right jacket might mean you can fish without a bag, which is ideal. And.. a magnum of champagne. I always bring one on a trip to enjoy with the group. Now I can’t imagine going fishing without it!

JR: While we were driving around, you described chalk stream fishing in England to me and it really stayed with me. Can you describe it again for our readers?

MC: It’s another very unique style of fly fishing, likely the most original and pure. You basically drive into these romantic, timeless English estates - not too different from what you might have seen on Downton Abbey. There’s usually a gillie (a guide in American parlance, but on steroids) who is in charge of keeping the river and the bank in good shape. It’s usually landscaped at the bank, so you can walk freely as though you were on a leisurely stroll. The water is gin clear because it filters through limestone beds. You are not allowed to step into the water, so you can pull out all the tweed and vintage Barbour jackets and wellies. It feels grand. You sight fish, meaning you have to cast only upstream to fish you can see and let the dry fly drift down peacefully - never floating past 90 degrees from where you are standing. Then you pick it up and cast again to the stubborn fish. It feels pure and gentlemanly. You get to live like it might have been hundreds of years ago on these estates and stay in country towns that exist almost exclusively to host trout anglers. It’s pretty special.

Marco wears the

Waxed Cotton Field Jacket in British Woodlands Camo