Howdy,

Steelhead are often on my mind. 

One of my first “steelhead” memories is from the early 1970′s when my Dad returned from a fishing trip to Northern Idaho with the biggest trout I’d seen in all my 7 or 8 years.  He explained how this trout was special and how it had been born in a river, traveled to, and lived in the ocean for a few years, then came back to the river it was born in.  I saw pictures of Dad’s trip a few weeks later (after the film was mailed in, developed and returned).  He and the guys he went fishing with were bundled up in every piece of warm clothing they owned, standing on the rocky banks of a raging river, holding their steelhead with huge smiles on their faces.  It looked cold, hard and not very fun – from my 7 year old perspective.

 My trout fishing up to that point in life had occurred at the local stocked ponds and reservoirs in southern Idaho close to home.  A few days before “opening day”, the Idaho Fish and Game truck would back up to one of these ponds and spew fish into the murky waters.  People would flock to these waters on the appointed day and lob chunks of worms, marsh mellows, hot dog pieces and whatever else they could think of into the water and pull out their 6 or 7 fish for the day.  This would go on for a couple weeks until the pond or reservoir was fished out.  It was fun while it lasted – again, from my 7 year old perspective.

As I grew older, fishing was still a big part of my life.  We lived on the banks of the Snake River.  Not the pretty, crystal clear, evergreen lined shores of the upper river.  We lived in the southern Idaho desert where the river makes it way through rimrock canyons and valleys.   The vegetation on the banks is mostly Willow Trees, Cottonwoods and lots and lots of Sagebrush.   Beautiful in it’s own way, but not necessarily picturesque.  This portion of the Snake contains various species of fish – Channel Catfish, Bullhead Catfish, Smallmouth Bass, landlocked White Sturgeon, Yellow Perch, and on rare occasions,  Rainbow Trout.   But this desert Snake mostly contained “trash” fish (as we called them).  Those species include Carp, Suckers, and Squawfish (Pike Minnow). 

My brother and I fished on a regular basis – at least 75-100 days per year.  We learned a lot about that section of the river, about fishing and about the fish that swam by our house everyday.  It was always a “good day” when one of us landed a 12-14″ Smallmouth, or a 24-30″ Channel Cat.  Those fish were mean and nasty, fought hard and had the potential to do physical damage to you if you weren’t careful.  We learned very quickly how to unhook a fish without getting “stabbed” by a bass top fin, or the spikes of a catfish.  We also experienced moments of wonder.  Not in a “magical” way, but moments that left us thinking about what we had just hooked into.  Two or three good tugs and a broken line.  Was it a huge channel cat?  One of those you hear about that is 5-6 feet long?  Or maybe a monsterous Sturgeon over 10 feet and hundreds of pounds in weight?  We never saw them, so we’ll never know.

We had a lot of fun catching the variety of fish on the Snake.  But even the good days didn’t seem to measure up to the photos of my Dad and his buddies from his Steelhead trip a decade before.  The looks on their faces were something different.  Something I wouldn’t understand for several more years.  That understanding came after I moved to Oregon and hooked my first steelhead.  The fish that would lead me on an entirely different path in my fishing life. 

The rod went down hard, the reel screamed and a silver rocket blew out of the river about 20 feet from shore.  I remember looking at the reel and seeing line spool off at an unbelieveable rate as the fish made a run for the downstream rapids.  I tried to turn the fish and it jumped again.  The silver beast was 3 feet out of the water with the sun shining on it’s sides so brightly it was nearly blinding.  Then a snap!  A straightened rod and limp line.  It was over in a matter of 10 seconds. Now that was fun!  I lost two more steelhead that spring before landing my first fish.  A hatchery steelhead, bright and shiny.  My hands were shaking as I filled out the harvest card. 

I now understood the look on my Dad’s face from 20 years earlier.  Catching a steelhead was something special.  I’ve spent the last decade and a half pursuing steelhead and salmon species.  I’ve put my share of hatchery raised fish on my harvest card over the years.  Catching a steelhead or salmon never gets old. 

My early days of salmon and steelhead fishing were by way of “combat fishing”.  I won’t go into detail here.  You can read more about that at my friend Rebecca’s blog (The Outdooress) in her article titled “Crowded with a side of Steelhead”.  Several years back I began pursuing steelhead with a fly rod.  Admittedly, it’s not the easiest way to catch them, at least not for me.  It requires a lot of patience, practice and knowledge about the fish… oh, and some luck.  One thing I’ve learned over the past few years is that when “luck” happens, you need to step back and make sure you learned something from it.  Don’t necessarily pass it off as “dumb” luck.  Make a mental note of everything that was happening around you when you stumbled on that steelhead – water clarity, temperature, depth, flow, etc.  Chances are, when you see those conditions in the future, your chances of catching a fish or two goes way up.

The first year I started fly fishing for Steelhead, I landed 1 fish and lost 2.  But that one fish gave me more than enough reason to continue.  For me, catching steelhead on a fly rod is another step up on the “fun” ladder.  It’s more of a challenge.  To me, the harder you work for something, the sweeter the rewards are when you succeed.  Two years later I landed my first wild steelhead buck.  A brute of a fish – 34″ long, thick, mean and beautiful.  He jumped, ran, jumped and ran some more before coming to my feet.  The heavy wire hook was beginning to straighten.  A couple more head shakes and I would have surely lost him.  After reviving and releasing him back into the cold water of the Little North Santiam that Feburary day, I spent some time on the river bank in the silence.  I thought a lot about that fish.  How he’d been born in that river, survived the journey to the Pacific, ate, avoided being eaten and become a specimen of his species.  I thought about his journey back to his birth water – avoiding gill nets and sport anglers as he swam over waterfalls, rapids and sometimes…… pretty crappy water conditions.  I guess you’d say I had a “moment”.  It was way beyond “fun”.  It was special.  I’d reached my pinnacle when it came to fishing.  I’d caught a fish in it’s prime, in a way that was a challenge for me, on a fly I’d designed and tied.  I think it was the fish that had been in my thoughts for all of these years. 

Since then I’ve caught several steelhead on the fly rod – hatchery raised and wild fish.  My preference is the wild fish.  They fight harder and are more sporting.  But these days, I find the most joy in teaching and helping others catch steelhead.  My son’s first steelhead a couple years back was a great moment.  I wasn’t with my dad when he caught his first steelhead.  I was alone when I caught my first.  I was there fishing with Christian we he hooked into his first.  I gave instruction, watched his expressions, experienced all the emotions along with him.  It took a coupled days for him to stop smiling.  I knew he was playing it over and over in his head.

Helping a client of our guide service catch a fish is extremely fun.  Watching the reactions when a hooked fish jumps out the of water or makes a reel screaming run.  I know that for most of them, it will be a moment they won’t soon forget.  For me, that’s what it’s all about.  I want them to have an “experience”, not just a “fun” trip down the river. 

Late last month I had a dilema.  As I waited at the lauch point for the clients to arrive, I watched as several fish were caught.  Bright, shiny hatchery steelhead that were part of the previous day’s “recycle” dump.  These are cookie cutter, Skamina strain steelhead that the trap facility upstream is not ready to process, so they load them in a truck and transport them back downstream to the Mehama bridge.  Locals that know the schedule line up on both sides of the river and harvest these “second time around” fish until they head back upstream to the trap (often, to be recycled again).   I had a moment where I considered rowing across and upstream with the clients to join in the harvest.  Our odds of sucess would have been higher for sure. I opted instead to forgo the harvest crowd and give the clients the river trip experience instead.  We saw several fish, had one steelhead hit and miss, and caught a few very nice trout along the way.  It was a beautiful day on the river and the clients had a good time. 

I don’t want to come off sounding like some sort of expert – there are folks out there that catch a lot more fish than I do.  Nor do I want to give the impression that there’s anything wrong with catching hatchery raised steelhead.  They have plenty of fight in them and the way I see it, those fish are bought and paid for by sport anglers through the purchase of licenses and harvest tags.  If the ODWF wants to give us 2 or 3 shots at catching them, then great!  Without the hatchery fish in the system, I’d have a lot fewer fish to show my fly patterns to.  With lots of fish in the river, I can learn which patterns are sucessful.

I think I may have learned something from that last guided trip.   Maybe I should have rowed into the combat zone and let my clients try their luck with the recycled fish.   I need to do a better job of asking what the client is looking to get out of the trip.  I can’t just assume that they want the same thing as I would.

Like I said in the beginning – Steelhead are often on my mind.  I will continue to pursue them “my way” for as long as I’m able.  But I will give the paying client more options in pursuing them “their way”, and work hard to get them into position to have that opportunity.

Tight Lines!

Dave