The Lure

Ever since I sold my boat last summer before moving from Washington to Florida the siren song of owning another vessel has been a weight on my shoulders.  That is no longer the case.

Last weekend I had a three hour drive to a marathon on the East Coast of Florida and was hot to trot as I saw the boat of my dreams listed on craigslist.  It was within my price range and had the exact outboard I wanted (Honda).  Over the long stretches of pavement I kept thinking about the launching, storage, maintenance, and other associated issues of boat ownership.  These thoughts became a major buzz-kill to thoughts of the wind in my hair and being able to fish almost anywhere.  It was a heavyweight fight between the reality of ownership and the dream of boat ownership.

Reality won as thoughts from my past came flooding back.  I started remembering how much I enjoyed fishing from a kayak back in the Pacific Northwest.  I even wrote about the limitations of kayak fishing back in August of 2011 here.  I came to the decision that I was happiest when I was the horsepower.  I had already sold my kayak so I needed a new fishing platform.  There are differences between saltwater fly fishing in the Northwest and Florida so I decided on a Stand up Paddleboard.

My new boat is a Bote SUP and I cannot wait for the winds to die down a bit to test it out.  I have a ton of learning to do but I look forward to the higher casting position a SUP gives.

Here's to a summer of adventure and here's a little video of the board I just purchased.


BOTE HD 12'6" Stand-up Paddle Paddle Board from BOTE Board on Vimeo.

It Begins

It's that time of year, where chrome bright winter steelhead start moving up the rivers. The first part of the run is now mostly hatchery fish, but there are still a few resilient early natives mixed in. Yesterday I met one.

It was a classic NW Winter day. Low cloud cover, mid-40's temperature, and drizzle where the green of the forests is almost washed away by the oppressive gray pushing down from the sky. The river was dirty with about one to two feet of visibility, adding another surface of gray to the pallet. I worked my way downstream floating and fishing. I arrive at the run I wanted to focus on and start fishing. The fly is swinging well and about twenty casts into the run I feel a grab, and then nothing. The grab always feels like lightning going through your veins, but the lack of connection is always disappointing. This time of year, the question with a large grab is "what was that?" Was it a king, coho, or steelhead? A question I will never know.

I continued to work down the run as the current mellowed the fly started ticking the bottom and hanging up occasionally. The answer was a lighter tip, so I looped on five feet of T-14 and continued to fish. Then a swing was interrupted once a again by a pull. My mind quickly shifts back to fishing from gazing at the bald eagle squawking on the tall river side tree. I feel a second pull, then feel line start coming off my reel, and then come tight to a fish. Instantly the fish is running. I look towards the line streaming downstream and see white, the color of backing. Then a jump, and all I can see is a distant flash of silver in the air. I start moving down the gravel bar gaining back some of the line. This fish is strong and feels heavier than the fish I saw jump. I wonder if I have foul hooked a salmon because of the heavy feel. But I can gain line easily when the fish stops so that thought passes. Another couple fast runs and one of my favorite types of jumps happens. The fish jumps ten feet to the side of where your line enters the river. I work the fish quickly towards the beach. As I get it in the shallows I see that it is a steelhead with a big fat adipose fin and any thoughts of being foul hooked are gone when I see the fly lodged in the fish's mouth. I quickly grab the leader and tail this magnificent twelve pound hen as the hook falls out. I take a quick look at the perfectly clean fins and release my grip. She quickly charges off back into the gray water. After the release I am struck by this fish. The power and speed combined to make this one of the hottest fish I have ever hooked, including fish on rivers notorious for their hot steelhead.

I fished for a few more hours with the only other grab was a small bull trout, but I am struck by what a rare experience I had today. Early run native winter steelhead were historically much more abundant than they currently are. Decades of hatchery plants along with non-selective harvest have made this segment of the steelhead population a rarity. The fact that native fish continue to hold on in the face of everything we can throw at them amazes me. Sometime we fishermen get to see and hold a trace of the past, but far too often we are only left with the stories from old timers of what it used to be like. At least for today those are not just stories.

The Last Days

This summer seems to be winding down.  It's been a great summer to return to the Pacific Northwest after a long absence.  Coming from the brown desert to the lush green of the Olympic Peninsula has been fantastic.  Getting back to coastal fishing has been a blast.  It seems like I've fished far less but every trip has been savored.  I almost forgot about the diversity available here.  From ocean salmon fishing, rainforest steelhead, sea-run cutthroat and resident rainbows it has been a summer to remember.  It's been great to run into a few native fish, especially the native summer runs.  I missed that connection to the past while chasing browns in the Rockies.  I know soon the rivers will be filled with runoff, salmon and then the beginning of the winter steelhead run.

Not only has this summer been good to me in the fishing department, but growing a garden has only added to the connection I feel to this place.  We've been enjoying fresh food for a couple months now, but one can also sense the change of seasons in the garden, although it feels like a quicker end.  We'll soon be planting overwintering crops and flower bulbs awaiting the first warmth of spring to give us a colorful reminder of another summer to come. 

A couple days coming up to fish and the question is one that confuses all fall fishermen in the northwest.  What the hell do I fish for?  I think it may be an all of the above trip. 

Finally, The River

The next morning was cold and the alarm clock is especially jarring when tucked into a warm sleeping bag.  I shoved a quick breakfast into my stomach and started the car with enough time for the heaters to melt the ice on the inside of the windows.  I drove to the takeout, packed everything I'd need for the day into the Water Master bag and started walking.

Walking along the frost covered roadways was interesting.  The occasional log truck heading to work blew by.  I quickly turned off the headlamp as the half moon illuminated the clear morning.  Slowly, the gloves came off and then the hat was replaced with the hoody from my base layer.  Carrying a 45 lb raft plus my gear was at least keeping me warm.  Thank god for the Nice frame and sling I ordered from Mystery Ranch company (Mystery Ranch).  Nothing like being able to put some of that weight on my hips.

I eventually made it off the main road and onto the dirt road leading to the launch.  I walked another mile and a half as the distant sun started lightening the sky.  Eventually I heard the rumble of a couple vehicles coming up from behind.  The rattle was a sure sign one was towing a drift boat.  Even though I was within a half a mile of the ramp, my thump shot out to attempt to save a bit of energy.  The first vehicle passed but the truck towing the drift boat stopped.  I jumped into the back of the pickup, although jump might not be the best term for climbing into the back of a pickup with a 50+ pound pack on.  Off we drove to the launch.  We drove out onto the gravel bar and I hopped out, gave a quick "Thanks!" to the driver and started getting my gear together. 

I was still toasty from my human-propelled shuttle, but I was struck by something I hadn't seen before on river rocks.... hoar frost.

After getting geared up with foot warmers (the adhesive toe warmers work great), I pumped up the raft and slowly started floating down the river.

Feels Just Right

Finally have put stakes back down in the Pacific Northwest. It just feels right to be back after a long absence (September 2005).


It's always interesting how people determine what defines "home." For me, it seems the draw has always been the place, and the Pacific Northwest just feels right. After 15 years of living in one area, I guess it's normal to feel connected to the area. 4 years away does little to make that feeling go away. Of course, Central Oregon is different from Western Washington but a desert river with steelhead, salmon, and native trout beats a desert river with foreign brown trout. While the NW fisheries have been so damaged by hatcheries, one can still find native fish in their proper place, not just found in a few high mountain lakes and streams.

I look forward to exploring new areas and of course spending some time relearning fly fishing for steelhead. My few trips so far have been a lot of fun, of course without touching any steelhead. The lack of fish has not been without rewards though. The smells and sounds of the river are always a treat. From the juniper and sage along the river trail to the odor of rotting salmon resting along the river bank after hopefully having a successful spawn to create the next generation.

I've been watching the river flows for my favorite coastal river, and it looks like anything I learned about the river last February will be worthless, as the massive flows will wipe the slate clean and make each trip this winter a scouting trip. What's strange is that this is exactly what I love most about this stream and I look forward to tromping through the tangle of stream side brush with the ground covered with a new layer of glacial mud.

This blog will serve as a sounding board for me. I will post about fishing, tying, conservation, and basically any random thing I feel like.