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.

Hand Tied

Timothy Burke • 2/21/172/16/19

I am very proud of my brother, Seth. He is genuinely one of the most talented steelhead fishermen that I know. He ties perfect flies, builds flawless rods, and grids out steelhead runs like an excel sheet. However, Seth, who we call Stealth, has been on a four-year journey trying to catch a 20-pound steelhead. It started back in 2013 when we did a float together down our favorite river. Honestly, I still feel kind of guilty because I was taking my time floating down to a really nice piece of water when an older fisherman steps out on the gravel bar in front of us and caught a 20-pound steelhead. I was so frustrated with myself if I would have just pushed down river 10 minutes earlier that would have been our fish. Anyways, this whole experience led to Stealth’s radical pursuit of some very big and very elusive wild fish. Later in that same day, I broke off an upper teens steelhead, “man was I frustrated.” So, fast forward to the next year and Seth comes out from Oregon to hunt his trophy steelhead and gets blanked after three days of fishing, not even a tug. Skip to the following year on the very last day in the cold morning he has a monster wild buck swing up the river with his fly in the same run he watched the old guy land a 20 pounder two years earlier. He explained “the eat” to me as “I heard two clicks come off of my Hardy, felt the line tighten and go up steam, then it just went limp”. How bazaar is that, well, not as unusual as we thought for big wild fish to swim upstream in the soft inside bucket of a run when the river is just above freezing levels. To make matters worse I saw the giant roll.

Now, the Stealth is furious and determined as ever to catch his fish. So in the offseason, he builds a beautiful Meizer 8WT 12’6 Spey Rod, ties up two dozen custom winter steelhead tube flies, and buys a reel called, “The Tank.” Stealth wasn’t messing around. To make the scenario even more dramatic he decides to drive 6 hours in a rainstorm to the OP and wait two days for the river to drop into shape before he could fish.

With only a day and a half to fish and the river just starting to drop we decided to take the boat down one of our favorite sections of the river. Halfway way through the day we pulled over to a nice gravel bar to swing flies and have lunch. It was Seth’s turn to make lunch, but he couldn’t get the BBQ started, so I told him to swing flies and I would cook the hot dogs. Ten minutes later I had some very hot dogs ready to eat and yelled to Stealth, “The Dogs Are Ready”, two seconds later his line when tight, the earth shook beneath his feet and the water exploded 20 yards in front of him as a huge wild fish grabbed his fly. The obese giant skimmed across the surface of the water on his massive belling proposing like a dolphin. The fish was so chunky that it couldn’t jump out of the water it just kind of flopped and burned off large sections of line from Seth’s reel. After a tremendous fight, we landed the beautiful wild buck and Stealth had done it, he had persevered and was given the just reward.

Why Fish Riffles at Last Light

Timothy Burke • 6/21/162/16/19

File May 29, 6 25 16 AM

Last light provides just the advantage that big redside Deschutes River trout thrive on. This minimal light environment creates a safe choppy top nutrient enrich feeding ground next to the grassy river banks. Large salmon flies who spend most of their day hanging out on trees, river grass, and sage take flight when the late evening temperatures soar. Their newly fertile eggs are released into the filmy rivers surface often causing the big bug to crash into the water turning into the perfect pray for a hungry trout.

File May 29, 6 27 34 AM

File May 29, 6 25 58 AM

The Last Day

Seth Burke • 6/21/162/16/19

It was the end, or so people were saying. I decided to find out for myself. I parked my truck and started walking along the highway.

I walked 3 miles, doing my own shuttle and floating the Deschutes river, but it was worth it. I fished by myself, no other anglers in sight and realized that there was so much good water that it was hard to fish it all during prime time. I tied on my special “Clark’s Stone” a homebrew “late hatch” version for picky trout. I started fishing at 6:40 pm and by 8 pm I had landed 9 beautiful Deschutes River redsides. I Caught fish in the flat, caught fish in the riffle, caught fish in the other riffle, they were everywhere I floated down to my secret spot thinking I didn’t really need to fish it, but I tied on a big purple chubby churnobyl and started fishing. Hmmm, how to describe that spot…Amazing! Big bugs hatched for about 10-15 minutes around 9 pm and the fish were going nuts. You won’t believe me if I told you how many more fish I caught, so I won’t tell you. What stood out the most were the three 20″ fish I landed and the 20″+ fish that came off at my feet. One of those fish was so hot he took me into my backing twice. Summer Steelhead hot!
The fishing was excellent and it was nice to be on the river by myself for a little quiet and reflection time, but every time I hooked a screamer I looked around for someone to share it with. There is nothing like fishing with my brothers.

I floated down the river as the weight of the night sky squeezed out the last bit of light and found my take out. I tied up my pontoon boat and started the 1/2 mile hike to my truck. As I walked I thought, yep, hatch is over. A sly grin cracked across my face and I silently thanked all the fishermen who stopped fishing the salmon fly hatch or who trust internet reports. The end is only for those who dare to not go.

The Natural

Timothy Burke • 6/7/162/16/19

The salmon fly hatch, during a warm evening on the Deschutes River, is a swarm of swallows and larger than life bugs clouding the sky while the sun rests its beams behind the towering canyon walls. In those late day hours beneath the cool trickle, large redside rainbow trout come out to feed on golden stones and salmon flies. These native fish have spent their spring on spawning beds raising their young. Towards the end of May, the hatch offers a delicious protein packed a meal to help rejuvenate their depleted bodies. As the fly line cuts through the air and places the natural clark stone into the soft foamy water, all eyes wait in anticipation for the rise.

Why Change Your Fly?

Timothy Burke • 4/26/162/16/19

There are often many thoughts that enter our mind standing knee deep in a beautiful cascading run. Tumbling through the fly box to find the perfect colors and size to present can be a bit of a guessing game. At times a certain fly stands out from the rest and ends up attached to your line.

With the right fly secured it’s time to start fishing but you have been swinging all morning and feel the mid morning fatigue. Do you work the run half exhausted just pushing through trying to find that fish or hit a quick refresh? I think being as relaxed and comfortable as possible makes a big difference. Grab a peanut butter and honey sandwich, drink a half cup of warm coffee, take a leak, relax for a moment then confidently work through the run.

Now that you’re comfortable it’s time to get back out there. Stepping into the water you notice everything is changing. It’s late season winter steelhead fishing and the days are growing longer and warmer. The trees are speckled in newly emerging leaves and the sun pops in and out of the clouds warming your skin with its gentle rays.

During this time of the season, I find myself switching between dark and bright flies on these partly cloudy and somewhat sunny days. With more light, I put on a brighter fly and with less light, I go darker. Different fishermen have different theories on fly color depending on water visibility and overhead conditions. I like to fish darker flies on darker days with lower visibility and brighter flies the rest of the time.

On this particular day my, brother and I were both working through a run together and we picked drastically different colored flies. He chose a darker intruder and I put on a brighter pattern with lots of flash. We had about 20 inches of water visibility and broken skies just after lunchtime. We swung through a beautiful bending run together. Midway through the run, my fly was hammered by a magnificent winter fish. The fight was unbelievable with cool aerial displays and big long powerful runs. I spent most of my time fighting the fish in the backing, it was awesome! Seth and I landed the fish just at the head of the next run. I thought for sure we would have to chase it through the rapids but we got off easy. One of my favorite lines from Seth came as we admired the beautiful creation. He said, “thank you so much I really needed that”! It was cool because Seth and I had been fishing for two-day strait and this was the first fish we landed, so I totally understood his excitement. I also know my brother really well and he has a deep deep love and admiration for these fish. They are so amazing and it really is a privilege to have an encounter with one.

Always Believe!

Consistency is Key

Timothy Burke • 4/18/162/16/19

Early morning came quickly after dawn to dark fishing the day before. The river had just turned and started to drop between weather systems. We decided to fish the lower river where we had found fish just 12 hours earlier. As I launched the boat my two brothers David and Seth made their way to the gravel bar above the put in. The run they would swing flies through had produced a very large fish the previous day and been home to the highest numbers of steelhead we had hooked in the past.

David stepped into the head of the run. The deep rich currents ricocheted off large black boulders used to protect the roadway. This created a sloping gravel bar at the top carving out the perfect resting place for traveling fish. Methodically Dave combed the lid of the run with his hand tied marabou fly. As his line sunk down into the drift and softly meandered its way towards the shore a sudden hesitation and violent pull was the split second signal that the fly had made its way in front of a willing participant. The battle erupted with shouts of joy, reel drag blaring its tension-filled song, and eager fisherman waiting to connect with the wild.

After many brilliant and powerful runs the wild buck finally tired and unwillingly made it’s way to the inside water’s end. Seth the youngest brother gently reached down and slide his right hand around the fishes tail. Universe size grins covered both boys faces. The fish was held in the shallows with it’s gills in the current to increase the fishes rate of recovery. Seeing all of this in slow motion I was still making my way over from the boat launch sprinting up the bank just at the perfect moment to see the majestic fish. We high-fived, hugged, and admired the winter buck for a few moments before releasing him back to the wild.

Our rivers and fish are a wonderful gift. This natural resource deserves our utmost love and stewardship. Over the years fishing for these beautiful fish, I have learned that consistency is so important. This starts with belief, you must believe a fish is waiting for you below the surface. Next, comb the run in small sections (the size of a steelhead) presenting the fly slow and the same every time. Make sure the fly is swinging at a depth that is mid hight from the bottom cobble so the holding or moving fish can look up and see the fly in the currents. This is a combination of understanding the depth of the run and water’s visibility. Fish the runs you have caught fish in and fish them slowly, confidently, and thoroughly. Chances are if you have caught a fish there before you will catch a fish there again.

Always Believe!

Bonded By Steel

Timothy Burke • 4/2/162/16/19

I absolutely love swinging flies with my brothers David and Seth. From the time the first smile of reconnection is passed to the moment our Simms wadding boots nestle amongst the river bed stones we share a constant joy and brotherly bond.

The river is the estuary where our friendship flourishes. For months on end our group text thread is a constant buzz of river levels, fly patterns, lines, rods, and weather conditions.

This year we spent 5 days together on the Washington Coast pursuing winter steelhead. The fishing was not easy with heavy weather conditions produced by El Nino limiting the fishable days and causing high water flows. The first fish of the trip came at noon from my brother Seth (nicknamed “Stealth) who met us halfway through the day.

The run at the rendezvous gravel bar was the perfect place for a winter steelhead to hold. Seth with less then 20 casts through the head of the run enticed a nice middle teens winter buck to the swung fly. I was late in picking him up, rounding the corner just in time to watch him release the fish. Although I didn’t get a picture of his fish seeing his reaction with the the double fist pump and water slap is the beautiful image left in my mind.

The second fish of the day was in the lower section of the river but came unbuttoned do to a dull hook (note, check hooks regularly).

The first day left us without fish pictures but with a lot of joy and a great start to our trip!

Always Believe!

Tim, David, & Seth

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.