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.

Freak Out

The drift started uneventfully, worked my way down river stopping and swinging through one run in the cold morning shade.  That was interesting.  The rod, guides, and reel froze up quickly making working a good length of line with a short head pretty difficult.  No fish, so I kept moving downstream.  As I approached a drift boat plugging a tailout I saw them jump up as a steelhead took their plug.  "Not a bad sign," I thought as a drifted past into the next run.

The next run already had anglers from boats in it, but they were focused on the lower end and drift fishing.  I walked down to one of the anglers and asked if I could work the head of the run, further upstream.  "No problem," was the response I was hoping for so I walked back to the raft, grabbed my rod and stepped into the water.  I flipped my line out and thought my fly looked funny.  I grabbed it and realized it was frozen solid... it was more number 2 pencil than a fluffy intruder-ish type fly.  I warmed it up and started working my line out swinging the fly through the water.  I was about to start stepping downstream after working my line out when I felt that pull.  The cold probably slowed my reactions down as line started coming off the reel... but quickly the frozen thoughts warmed up and I went crazy.  I lurched back on the rod like I was going to set the hook on a tarpon.  I picture myself with my back angled 45 degrees from my hips pulling the rod backwards.  Of course, I'm gonna blame the loss of the fish on a dull hook, a grab closer to the hangdown, or something other than the fact that I went beserk after months away from steelheading and then a massive slump since moving back to the Northwest fishing interior rivers enjoying record runs of steelhead.  I'm sure a muttered a foul word or two before getting back to business and working this run twice before drifting further downstream.

I didn't encounter any other fish that day, but I swung some beautiful water and tried some water types I might have passed over on previous trips with the hope that come warmer temps and warmer seasons (spring) some native fish might be resting just primed to jump all over a swung fly.

Hope to get back soon and find my steelhead slump-buster.  Hope these pictures get you thinking about swinging flies through emerald green glacial streams for your slump-buster, however long or short the slump is.

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.

How things have changed

Found this passage while re-reading Steelhead Paradise

"Tackle...

At the other extreme, I have a strong prejudice against the huge, two handed rods still widely used by British fishermen. I have found them very clumsy to handle, and not necessary on any streams I have ever fished either for steelhead or Atlantic salmon. My friend, Al Swinnerton of San Francisco, advised me that the Alta in Norway is just such a river. The swiftness of the current, the huge wet flies used, and the large size of the salmon all combine to dictate the use of unusually large and powerful tackle. It is only under such a set of circumstances, however, that I would concede the desirability of employing these old-fashioned 'telegraph poles.'"


My, how things have changed. Now, these old-fashioned "telegraph poles" are standard equipement on almost all steelhead rivers... of course they really are not telephone poles any more with the shorter and lighter weight spey rods. I know I really enjoyed fishing a 5/6 Loomis Metolius this fall. It held up throwing relatively large flies with tips on both the Deschutes and a Lake Erie trib. The trout I caught still were enjoyable and I didn't feel overgunned on the one bright lake-run steelhead I briefly hooked.


Hopefully, I'll still remember how to cast an old-fashioned "pencil" on smaller waters and the salt.