Closure Thoughts

Great commentary over at the Osprey Blog regarding the Puget Sound River Closures

Osprey Steelhead News

This line got me thinking.
"All this is a painful reminder that without healthy wild runs there is no possibility of even catch and release angling opportunity."

Clearly we are starting to see the culmination of long term mismanagement of our fish stocks.  Promises of salmon (steelhead) without rivers and technological fixes to our fisheries has brought us to the precipice where we now stand.  Without healthy wild runs we have nothing.  We have empty rivers.  We have ecosystems starving for marine nutrients brought upstream by salmon runs for thousands of years.  We have reduced fishing seasons that likely will only be getting smaller.

Hatchery fish cannot fill the gap that losing our wild fish creates.  Looking at Puget Sound, as goes wild fish so go hatchery fish.  Marine survival affects both types of fish, so we are now facing almost zero returning hatchery fish and closed rivers when the few wild fish return.  Today's Puget Sound reality is a crystal ball showing us the future of our remaining fisheries.

Change comes slowly in fisheries management.  Too slowly for the remaining stocks of fish in Washington State and throughout the Northwest.  We are seeing rivers without dams and great habitat missing escapement goals due to continued overharvest and negative hatchery practices (which go together like peanut butter and jelly).  While Puget Sound wild steelhead fisheries are now closed, we have rivers like the Hoh, Queets, and Quillayute that have no dams, large areas of pristine habitat, and good marine survival missing escapement goals.  How much longer can we keep stretching the rubber band managing these supposedly "healthy" stocks of fish before it snaps like Puget Sound?

My last post was a humorous dig at the crowds likely heading towards the coast with the recent Puget Sound closures.  Humor hides sadness and I am sad to see closures.  Not only due to increased numbers of fishermen on rivers close to home, but also because these closures seem to end a portion of the rich history that is winter steelhead fly fishing on Puget Sound rivers.  The history of winter steelhead fly fishing would be far poorer without the storied history of fly fishing on rivers like the Skagit and Skykomish.  These fisheries form a link between today's fishermen and past generations who pioneered fly fishing for winter steelhead.  While the tackle, clothing, and spots on the river have changed when you stand in a river with the water pushing against your legs, fly under tension swinging across a broad run, and feel the grab of a wild steelhead you are experiencing something that spans generations.  We all need that connection.

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.

Good for the soul

Ventured out to the coast over the past few days.  I find the area therapeutic.  From long hikes through the rainforests to swinging flies through glacial colored rivers.  Truly a paradise, and every time I venture there I remember those who fought so hard to create the National Parks and protected areas that now are oasis's for our souls.  Also a reminder that the fight is not over and we need to continue to protect not only the land that sustains fisheries but the practices that cause harm that habitat cannot fix.  Maybe it was the beautiful native fish I tailed for a quick release but I cannot help but feel somewhat hopeful that change, however slow, can be implemented and conditions can improve.