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.