Trout camp is a special place for storytelling, ribbing comments, and enjoying good company. Every May a few of my closest friends and I migrate south for a long weekend of fly fishing for very large and very hungry rainbow trout on the Deschutes River. After seven months of wet soggy Western Washington weather, the dry hot arid temperatures of Central Oregon are a breath of fresh air. We make it a point to fish the Salmon Fly hatch and tan our pale skin. Selfishly I get to hang out with people I love, do something I love (fly fishing) and be in a place that I love. For me, this scratches all the necessary itches all at once. Maybe you’ve witnessed a Labrador Retriever receiving a good scratch from a loving owner with their tail wagging and one back hind leg thumping on the ground with that look in their eye like, “I hope this never ends.” Well, that’s what I feel like come late May on the Deschutes.
Golden Stone FlyFishermen
Although my buddy JR would never admit it the trout I am holding is bigger then any trout he has ever caught. Notice his jealous grin…
My brother Seth and I share a special bond through fly fishing.
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.
Stepping out of my car at first light the heavy rain was so thick I was instantly covered with a blanket of moisture. It bonded to my fleece pants before I could reach the back of my 4-Runner to wader up. After wrapping myself with Gortex from head to two, I pieced together my 13’6 #8 weight Redington Dually. With anticipated larger than normal flows and the need to throw heavier tips and flies I left my favorite rod buttoned up for more permit-able conditions (Bob Meiser’s Custom 7 weight). It seemed like a good idea to line the rod with a 620 grain skagit rage compact, to this I added a 10 foot section of T-14 and a 2 1/2 ft 15 lb maxima leader. The unweighted pink and purple intruder pattern tied by my brother Seth was the starting fly.
So many thoughts fluttered through my head that morning, like why did I get up so early, should I have gone to this spot or the other one I was thinking about, should I fish through the Seahawks Game or wrap up early and head to the cafe, will I get eaten by a cougar walking through the forest, how miserable will it be out there? My caffeine-fueled mind spun over the questions like a zealous spider wrapping itself into a web of over thought confusion. As I finish lining my rod I hear a giant snapping sound behind me, I jumped to see a large tree come crashing down just across the road. Wow, that would suck if the tree fell on me, I thought to myself.
With every zipper zipped tight and my hooded jacket keeping me dry I started the short walk through the rainforest. Picking my way through a maze of ferns, downed logs, and old stumps my mind wondered off to deeper thoughts. Perplexed by why I spend so much time and money focused on comfort from the kind of shoes I wear, to the car I drive, to the home I live, a paradox seems to exist in the inner souls need to endure the elements. Suburban life is controllable, the environment was created for my comfort, but on the river, there is a sense of unbridled vulnerability. It comes from the bone-chilling cold tugging at my core temperature dropping it every minute I stand in th43-degree water. Heavy winter flows creating the most challenging fishing conditions. Rain pelting me in the top of the head playing its soft and constant rhythm. Maybe its an ancient sense of survival that is evoked, a test, the faint-hearted would flee, but the strong and brave will survive. I am sure this is just as true in a spiritual sense, those who preserver receive a different kind of reward.
With the river in sight, my mind immediately drifted back to the current conditions and what the best approach would be. Slipping down a muddy bank to the gravel bar I scaled a few washed out logs, waded a side channel, and tiptoed out on the finger of gravel that was left to the rising flows. Starting with short casts my fly combed the soft inside water. As I extended more line something didn’t feel right. I didn’t like the size and speed of the river compared to the type of fly I had on so I removed the unweighted intruded and put on a purple and pink dumb-bell eyed bunny leach. Instincts and countless hours whispered in my ear that with high flows and only 2+ feet of visibility in the glacial water every cast would need to be down in the zone. In these conditions most of the fish sit in flat runs and tailouts, the bigger fish don’t mind the heavier flows and that’s where you will usually catch them if you can present your fly correctly. After the quick change, I stepped back into the top of the gavel finger below the two downed logs and started to swing. Once the shooting head was fully extended I could feel that heavier fly working with the T-14 to bite down into the current working its way to a foot or two off the bottom where the fish typically hang out. The run averaged 4-6 feet deep I had checked out the run in the summer to determine the couture of the river bed.
A half dozen casts and my line was fully extended across the run. Held tight by the current I could feel the tension in my fingertips. In a subpar speed, the line made its way to the inside of the flat. As it met the halfway point something changed instantly. Instead of a soft swing, the monofilament blistered through my fingers. I quickly clenched down with my dominant hand and lifted the rod to the bank. The energy from my reaction traveled down into the water igniting aerial show of power. The angry fish burst through the surface of the water, furious it walked on its tail for a few feet and disappeared into the cloudy flows. With a bullish head shake the mighty steelhead ran for its life peeling of the dacron backing at an unbelievable rate. Its next move was a counter sweep across the run to the soft inside pocket and then a burst of authority sent it up through the soft water leaping into the air just feet in front of me. Prayerful about my fly staying in place I buried the end of the rod deep into my growing hunching over and holding on. With a brave move, the fish jetted upstream barely evading a downed log. From there it danced several more times with explosive jumps coming sideways out of the water slapping down with a loud thud. Minutes seemed like hours as I held on for dear life. I started to wonder who would wear out first me or him. Then I thought just how powerful this fish truly is, I am a 38-year-old man who weighs 205lbs and works out 3-4 times a week. Within a matter of minutes my arm was cramping, the fish had caused me to question my own strength. I guess we don’t know until we are truly tested. His next move was to settle into a tug of war. He sat midstream and shook his head in fury. Keeping constant side pressure I did my best to hold my own. Finally starting to tire the massive steelhead made his last move of desperation. He turned sideways in the heavy current and let the pressure of the river on the broad side of his body keep him in the game. This tactic work but over time the angle moved him into the softer water and I was able to make up some ground. Finally, in exhaustion he turned on his side and I reach down locking my fingers around his broom stick tail. I couldn’t believe it, the rose colored side, deep copper slitted eyes and silver body captivated me. The back shoulders and forehead were so well developed for the heavy river flows the fish looked like a lineman. Measuring him on my rod he was an easy 38inches with a 21.5 inch girth. I was still in shock everything had happened so fast and now for the few second he lay in the water at my feet, I thanked him and wished him a wonderful life. For me it was other worldly, a moment of joy, thankfulness, and satisfaction. He had given me his greatest fight and I had given him mine. Two warriors met in battle to depart in peace. I don’t know what his thoughts are but I looked into his eyes with complete admiration.
After saying goodbye and the clinched grip from my right hand loosed from around his tail, he swam back to continue on his journey. I was so glad we met. A chance to peer into eachothers eyes. I hope he finds what he is looking for because I did.
This is what it might be like to be on one of the Believer River brothers’ fishing trip. This short clip captures a candid conversation between the middle brother, Dave and the youngest brother Seth. Dave just so happened to be having a lights out day while younger brother Seth, who usually out-fishes everyone, was on the camera. If you this doesn’t make your day, or entice you to go one a trip with Believe River I’d be surprised. What you may not know about Believer River is that our passion isn’t just about steelhead, it’s about a true brotherhood of love, respect and fun. See what it’s all about.
Where the road ends the adventure begins. A short hike through sitka spruce and red cedars the river makes a sharp bend on its way to the pacific. On the inside of the rapids rests a soft blanket of slow moving currents perfect for a traveling steelhead to catch its breath. With a bright fly for the sunny day and a slow steady swing from the 11ft Meizer Switch it feels like heaven is near. Drifting off in a mid morning slumber I am instantly awoken to a disappearing loop and the throb of my rod as lightening strikes. A split second later the Hardy reel screams a frantic cry for help as an invisible river thief tries to steal the fly.
The greatest quality found in the heart of a winter steelhead fisherman is perseverance. The willingness to endure the elements over come the odds and swing through every drift is no small task.
Will Chester is one of those fisherman who stands out on the cobble strewn banks of this lower peninsula river. With his #7 weight 13/6 hand crafted Meiser Rod in hand the advantage of shimmering chrome and a screaming Hardy Perfect sings true to a “steel will”!
It was a mid morning start on the Olympic Peninsula. Boats lined the launch on a sleepy river and fishermen prepared for the days drift. Everyone one knows the first couple boats down the river have the best chance of finding fish. But this day was different. While fisherman launched their boats the keen senses of three seasoned steelheaders notices fish porpoising in the tail out just above the launch. But who really fishes at the boat launch?
The stealthy anglers snuck their way up the bank to the top of the tail. The water shown a slow, soft, mystical movement as it made its way down the cascading banks. Seth Burke (AKA Stealth) made quick work to extend is fly across the tail out swinging for the steel below.
The porpoising fish were active and on the move. Stealth wasted little time enticing them with his hand tied intruder. The fish’s first grab was a miss but Stealth kept is cool and let his line continue through the swing. Within seconds the fish returned and grabbed his fly in a hellacious boil of fury. “Fish-on” was the cry of an enthusiastic spey fisherman as the battle begun!
Yesterday, I had the privilege of having surgeon Stan Kopp and business owner Jim Slayton in my boat. We selected fly rods as the method to persuade the elusive steelhead. Once arriving at the boat launch we readied the drifter for our journey down the Wynoochee River. We launched and set anchor in a small drift just across the way. I prepared the rods with doc Kopp’s the first one ready to go. With Sage in hand the skilled surgeon made quick work of the water in front of him. Next I set up Jim’s rod but just seconds into stringing up the rod I hear shouts from the seat behind me “fish on”, “fish on” the doc had hooked the first steelhead of the trip.
After Jim skillfully netted the first fish, the crafty surgeon hooked another one just around the bend.
We finished off the day with 2 caught and 2 that got away. What an amazing day with two incredible guys! God is good and we had a blast!
