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.

Kids and Salmon

Timothy Burke • 9/16/162/16/19

The greatest catch for me is the joy captured on the face of a kid with a salmon.

A Winters Day

Seth Burke • 1/20/162/16/19

Sometimes there is nothing you can do. Sometimes you hook fish and sometimes you do not.

I stepped from the fresh snow into the river and plopped my fly into the frigid water. The dry clump of black and blue fibers sprang into a dance of delicate, tantalizing movements. I worked out my line and lifted my gaze to take in the view—a fresh morning with a dusting of snow and low hanging fog quietly lifting as the sun began to radiate above the canyon walls.

This is where Red said it was going to happen, I thought. As I sent my fly out into the run, I believed him. The soft inside of the run was weedy and my fly extracted rich green plant life from the river. I cleaned it off and laid out another cast. As my fly swam through the run I stayed connected to the tension in my line, the beautiful snow covered hills, and the feeling of the rocks under my feet. The swing ended. My fly stopped moving. It was time to recast. I started to strip when I felt my fly grab some weeds. So, I lifted up my rod and the weeds pulled back. Wait. What? Then my reel starting singing and weight transferred through the line and rod into my hands. Fish on! I could lie and say how amazing the fight was, how the fish thrashed, bucked, jumped and ran. But honestly, after a few rolls and splashes I quickly landed an average fish for this river system. Still, I was pumped. I was bringing home fresh fish for the family.

It was not long before the seductive battle dance of my fly enticed a second steelhead from its lie. A delicate weight detected by the tightening of my line. The fly carried softly in the mouth of a steelhead, like a game fowl in the mouth of a well-trained retriever. Then, instantly my line was ripping off the water, momentarily splitting through the silent mumble of the river, and my fly went sailing over my head. I heard the words before they penetrated the serene surrounding. “Idiot! What are you doing?” I knew I had done it and I was letting myself know it, as well as the cows, ducks, and any other life forms around to hear me. “You totally yarded that fish!” The negativity penetrated quick and deep, but I rallied with the Believe River attitude. I didn’t stick him. Maybe I can get him to come back? So I took three big steps upriver and began to cast again. Four casts then my line came tight. This time it was not soft or gentle. This take was aggressive like the steelhead was pissed off and he wanted me to know that the fly on the end of my line was his. I heard the clicking of my reel and I lifted my rod thinking, Oh yeah, baby. I got you this time! As quickly as this thought entered my mind, reality poked me in the eye. My line lay slack and lifeless in the water. I closed my eyes and dropped my head. Foiled again. I half-heartedly worked through the rest of the run and then reeled in and headed up the river.

I missed yet another fish in a beautiful bouldery run and turned to walk back down river, chuckling to myself. What a great day. Active fish, beautiful creation and good weather. But no matter how hard I tried, my mind kept going back to the fish I had missed earlier. I stepped off the train tracks onto a muddy cow trail and decided to try again. The marrow in my bones told me to keep fishing black and blue, but experience told me, “You need to change flies.” I stood on the bank, looking at the run where I had missed two fish earlier, and changed flies. I started in the same spot, working out two feet of line at a time, as I did earlier in the day. Soon I was in the groove, feeling the swing, anticipating the tug. Swing, step, cast. Swing, step, cast. Every cast I believed, this is the one. But nothing happened. I laid out another cast and let my fly swing and do it’s war dance one more time. My line stopped moving. I am at the soft inside. So I waited because I knew my fly was still moving slowly across where I believed a fish to be. Then my reel exploded in song. The sound ignited a rush of adrenalin and thoughts raced through my mind. It worked. I knew you were there! Laughter, pride, relief. Don’t screw this up. I waited and my reel screamed louder. Now is the time, I thought. I lifted my rod, feeling the weight of a fish. Feeling victorious. The adrenalin-induced acuity sent a message to my brain. I refused to believe it. My line is not slack. Reel, reel, reel faster. My line is not slack. Then reality punched me in the gut and I doubled over.

Staring into the clear water, I was transfixed, confused by the moment. My body warmed as the peek-a-boo sun rays landed on my back. Nothing I could do, I tried to comfort myself. It just didn’t stick…. I checked the hook again and then flipped my fly back into the river. Man, that was a good fish.

The Desert Steelhead | Life & Challenges

Timothy Burke • 10/21/152/16/19

The fingerprint of this south-central Washington river is the native desert steelhead. Forged by the challenges that impede its migration home this sage giant knows only power and pursuit. Over time gargantuan obstacles shape the very DNA of this arid river dweller. Its ability to face and triumph over adversity forges its admirable character.

We know that the biggest and strongest fish have to face the largest challenges as they make their way up river to spawn. Over time these obstacles shape their genetic makeup and the outcome is a beautiful part of our handcrafted world.

The native steelhead causes me to think. What makes him so admirable, is it the reality that he was designed to shoot the narrows, run massive rapids, live in difficult conditions, travel unbelievable distances, and fulfilling the calling of his life.

Yes, the obstacles and challenges one faces if willing to overcome can produce unbelievable beauty.

The great Creator seemed to have designed it this way for us all. For those who overcome will produce a bounty of great admiration.

Always Believe

Tim

ps. run the rapids, jump the narrows, travel great distances, preserver through difficult conditions, bring joy to others, this is the calling of our lives…when the Lord holds us in heaven, may we be admirable to Him!

“Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts…” Romans 5:3-5

High Noon Pay Off

Seth Burke • 8/9/158/9/15

I was down in the count, as early in the morning a Steelhead grabbed my fly on the hang-down. The take was like this: pluck, pluck, grab, head shake, head shake, splash, splash, run towards me, slack. Gone. I’m down 0-1.

I shook my head in frustration as a nice steelhead launched itself horizontal with the river. “Thanks buddy,” I muttered and took a few steps up river to start fishing again.

The morning sun was already beating down all in its path. The sand was hot. The rocks were hot. My dog hid in a shady tangle of brush. The water was warming and I was the last spey fisherman within the two miles of river I covered. Am I crazy? Maybe. Am I confident? Yes. (Read my brother Dave’s article “A confident angler catches the fish”.)

So there I stood, the last spey wielding wizard, in direct sun, with a short head spey line and traditional fly. Just the way I like to fish. “This is the last run. It has to happen here,” I said to myself as I stepped into the water. Pleased that I had the run all to myself, I worked it meticulously. Nearing the last and most promising looking section, a spin fisherman steps in below me. Five cast later, he puts a steelhead on the bank. He makes a few more casts, loses his lure and leaves. Two other spin fishermen step in as well, but further down. “No way,” I mumbled. But as I watched, I noticed they were not fishing the water very well. They left and I kept my rhythm, cast, swing, three steps.

Before long, I was almost to the end. I mean, really–the river turns into a giant white water rumble 35 yards below my fly. Next cast, BAM! Fish on, no questions asked. No plucks. Just all fish mouth. A few minutes later, I had a nice hatchery hen to the bank. I look at my watch, 12:00 pm on the dot.

I could have hung my hat hours earlier with the rest of the spey fishermen, but I didn’t. I could have changed my line and fly, but I didn’t.

I was rewarded.

Always Believe.

Silent Salmon

Timothy Burke • 7/19/157/16/15

Bottom of the 9th with on a few minutes of day light glistening on Puget Sound Captain Sloan faithfully worked his cut herring in 150 feet of water. Dropping the mooching rig down till it bumped off the bottom, several cranks on the reel to avoid the sharks and flounders Sloan held the line steady. As the line tightened under the wait of a feeding fish all went silent. I looked over to see the captain focused and determined, then the magic began…Fish on!

Brite Eye’s & Salty Sea’s

Timothy Burke • 7/12/157/16/15

Heading down the Oregon coast you’re bound to slip through the cozy coastal town of Newport. Early Sunday morning the Gaynor boys and I skipped church and headed for the open seas. We jumped in the 28ft North River Seahawk Os named “Brite Eye’s”. Cruising out of the harbor we were determined to do some salmon fishing. Much to our surprise within minutes of placing the rods in the holders the left rod tip started to throb frantically revealing the hoochie rig was under attack.

The day ended up with 5 beautiful coho in the boat, calm seas, and some vey satisfied fisherman! One thing that really stuck out was captain Mike Gaynor Sr. said he “always expects to catch his limit”! Fishing with confidence is a big part of being successful!

Always Believe

Sailing for Sailfish

Timothy Burke • 5/17/156/12/15

On a warm Caribbean evening just outside of the Dominican Republic our sailboat methodically worked its way to the local Puerto Plata. With just a few winks of light left and a dangerously shallow entrance into the port the sailfish were waiting. The screaming drag on the reel told tale of a angry sailfish on its way back to the deep blue.

As it danced across the water with boundless acrobatics the varsity sail showed why its one of the top sport fish in warm water. After 25 minutes of prayer and praise the giant made its way to the ship. A shot of coconut rum in its gills and my hand on its bill we landed this beauty.

Shark Bite Tuna

Timothy Burke • 5/14/156/2/15

Fish-on, Fish-on, Fish-on was the call to the captain as we slowed the boat and dropped our sails. With mostly barracuda harassing our hooks this was a different kind of pull. Diving deep the shimmer of silver was breath taking. It looks massive until the line went limp and the struggling victim obediently made its way to the surface.

With little life or fight left it was obvious someone had interfered in the fight.

At least our foe had left us some of the spoil.

Tarpon in the Night

Timothy Burke • 5/11/156/2/15

Few things keep a fly fisherman on his toes late into the night. With a strong offshore breeze and the salty sea breaking against the shore even the darkest night holds great possibilities. Every cast with the clouser minnow skipping across sea foam and weeds is a blind effort to reach the Silver King.

The black water breaks with a gulp of delight and the small clouser is engulfed by the lurking tarpon. With an ariel display the jumps begin. I quickly learned the fly fisherman’s rule “bow to the tarpon” allowing the rod to ease the strain of the salty warrior. Jump after jump, after jump the show is on and the energy transfers to every nerve in your body. Leap up on leap either turns into a quick release or the triumphant landing of this spectacular fish.