First Trip Back

I left the Olympic Peninsula in September of 2005 after closing up my charter fishing business.  Leaving started a journey of jobs and cities I might never have discovered had I remained.  My journey back to the peninsula began in the winter of 2009.

My first trip back to the coast was in February 2009.  I had some vacation time so I decided to make the long drive out to the coast from Colorado.  What made this winter steelhead trip on the coast unique was the lack of rain for the entirety of the trip.  The upside was that the larger glacial rivers were low and fishable for my entire trip as well as the bright, sunny weather.  The bad thing was that there just were not a lot of fish around.

I fished hard for the first four days with nothing to show for it.  What I could have never anticipated was that the years away from steelheading messed up my mind a bit.  My memories gave more weight to the fish I had hooked in the past and had minimized the skunkings.  The tough fishing I had experienced vanished from my memories as the trip approached.  Of course the hyped-up fishing reports and blogs on the internet did not help.  I had this laughable notion that I could just come back and quickly start hooking fish again.  The first four days were a rude awakening.

The reality of steelhead fly fishing and my past memories couldn't have been further apart.  I was unsure of where I should fish and really started to question my fishing decisions and my skill swinging the fly.  I had entered a deep state of despair so I decided to take a break for a day and clear my head.  I decided that a walk through the rainforest would be just the ticket to calm the static in my brain.

The next morning I arrived at the trailhead and just started walking.  The hike was along a riverside trail but I was not wearing waders or carrying a fly rod.  Three hours later I was well upstream and feeling much better.  There is something calming about the simple act of walking and I sure needed it.  I arrived back at the car feeling refreshed and ready to fish the next day.

During the walk I realized that I was probably not going to hook a fish during my trip.  The low water and lack of fish were not working in my favor.  I had to find another way to make the trip great.  I came to the realization that the simple act of fishing the water well would have to do.  I had to let go of all of the expectations I had before the trip and just simply enjoy spending time on the river regardless of the fish.

This realization did not come easy for me.  It is hard to put aside expectations and push the ego aside and just fish for the simple act of fishing.  Even today it can sometimes be difficult to go against the grain and do things your own way regardless of how everyone else is doing it (often with more success).

After setting aside my expectations and just working on fishing well you can imagine what happened.  I ended up hooking a single fish about three hours of fishing "well."  The fish was only on for maybe fifteen seconds but that single fish made the entire trip worth it.

I eventually moved back to the Olympic Peninsula about a year later.  I try to remember the moment that fish grabbed the fly mid-swing whenever I am in the midst of a fish-less stretch or tempted to fish in ways I dislike just to catch a fish.  I try to remember that fishing well is its own reward.

The Ghost Run

If this series of videos doesn't get you jazzed to go swing some flies nothing will.


The Season Episode 2.8...Lewis and Clarke from Fitz Cahall and Bryan Smith on Vimeo.



The Season 2.10...Top Dog from Fitz Cahall and Bryan Smith on Vimeo.

The Season Episode 2.13...Down Stream from Fitz Cahall and Bryan Smith on Vimeo.

The Season 2.18...Disaster Prone from Fitz Cahall and Bryan Smith 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.

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.