A Tail of Three Brothers

Timothy Burke • 6/6/1711/4/23

The hunt begins with the first swing, hands nestling around the custom handle to release pent-up anticipation with every cast. Somewhere beneath the surface, the giant waits and lingers unexpectedly, minding its own business on the journey to its gravel spawning grounds.

Methodically and strategically, each step through the run is a precise calculation. The game is a matter of consistency, cast after cast, combing the bottom of the river looking for a willing participant. Different parts of the run demand new and innovative ways to present the fly and fool the fish.

A few bad casts rattle your nerves…stepping back up the run provides a second chance, but then a few more snags on a big underwater bolder force you to wade out into the heart of the run or break off the fly.

The line slips down through the glacial-fed 43-degree water. Blind from fish or fly, it’s simply a feel and an impulse. The moment, the reaction, the grab is not wishful thinking but preparation, muscle memory, and many failed attempts. The success rate is never 100% and the one that gets away demands a year of self-reflection.

Friendship with perseverance and a little bit of insanity is the cocktail for success. Every run holds a new opportunity lurking, waiting. Somewhere below the surface lies a chance to capitalize or be left wanting.

The catch is sweet and best shared with the ones you love! Like Brothers!

Steelhead Mentors

Timothy Burke • 4/3/172/16/19

Five years ago my buddy JR Hall took me on my first fly fishing trip on the Olympic Peninsula. I had dreamed of fishing for big wild fish but didn’t know where to start. We left Hall’s house at 330am and made our way west to the land of bigfoot and big fish. It was there on a coastal river in early April that the way I looked at chasing wild steelhead changed.

I drove my 1997 Toyota 4-Runner through the early morning hours talking fishing the whole way with my buddy JR. Once we reached the river we winded along the old gravel road until we reached a rough boat launch and slipped the 17-foot fish craft into the glacial fed stream.

The weather was blustery with wind, snow, hail, rain, and breaks of the sun that peaking through the cloudy sky’s. In the mid-afternoon, a cascading bend JR launched his fly into the head of a beautiful run. As his fly swung down through the choppy drift it paused for a moment and then all hell broke loose. A ferocious wild fish devoured his fly leaping strait up towards the heavens. The fish was so big it couldn’t propel it’s self from the water so it tail walked halfway down the run at lightening speed. The battle was on as I watched JR fight the fish through two sections of the river till we finally landed it, admired it, and released it back into the wild.

Since then I have been fishing the winter wild steelhead run on the Washington Coast. The next season my brother Seth and I caught and landed two steelhead at the boat launch on a different coastal river where I met my friend Todd Sloan who has become a life time friend and steelhead mentor.

JR Hall and Todd Sloan have taught me over the years how to swing flies for big wild fish and there have been so many wonderful trips, conversations, and life experiences shared together. Just yesterday I had the privilege of taking both of these guys down the river in my boat and we had an awesome day. I felt so blessed to be in the presence of two amazing guys and outstanding steelhead fly fishermen. We caught two beautiful wild hens on flies we tied. It was a great day, one I will never forget.

Be Honest

Timothy Burke • 3/31/172/16/19

My brother David and I were fishing our favorite coastal river just after river levels had peaked and started to drop. Honestly, I had a lot on my mind on this trip and spent most of the moments while swinging my fly worrying about some foolish decisions I had made. When we pulled up onto the gravel bar, David, took the head of the run and I fished the gut. It was a long and challenging section of the river to fish (much like my life at that time) with each cast and step only inching me closer to the end of the run.

As I neared the end of the tail out, it deepened causing slowness in the current before the cold winter flows spilled through the rapids. In almost a daze I kept fishing until my fly was swinging through the very bottom of the run up into the grass clumps exposed in high waters. It was then when my fly swung toward the grass clump at the lip of the tail out that my reel let out an ear piercing howl and the battle was on. David, heard me yelling and grabbed the boat floating down to see all the excitement, but the swift current wouldn’t allow him to set the anchor so he drug the anchor over my fly line. I was not happy, but the fish stayed on my line. Trying to next a 20lb wild steelhead from the bank in fast current is not an easy task. After several failed attempts my brother miraculously pounced on the fish with the net gentling sliding it to safety. We couldn’t believe the size and beauty of this big wild male steelhead. And even more transparently speaking my conscience was a message form some bad decisions, but the river was faithful, healing, and the reward forced me to pause with gratefulness. For every angler that reads this story remember that if you’re honest with yourself and the river she will often give you something, you don’t deserve.