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.
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.
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.
The magic of being young lives in the endless opportunities and adventures that lay ahead. For young Cody these new ventures center around fishing. Cody loves to fish and spend time with his dad. Their great journeys together include fishing rods, sandwiches, tackle, and a nearby river.
In summer conditions its important to remember that subtly can be very important. When a river is gin clear and had lots of pressure the profile and presentation of your fly can make a big difference.
On Saturday afternoon I fished the Cowlitz River. With lots of jet boats running up and down fishing eggs, shrimp, plugs, spinners, and a variety of different techniques I decided to go with a small wet fly. I knew the fish had seen lots of big presentations and must have been feeling the pressure.
You’ve heard it said that confidence is everything when it comes to catching, landing and releasing steelhead. Every season this idea grows and grows on me as I learn more about flies, fish and reading water. I’m sure general confidence is helpful, but I’d like to make a few recommendations that may help your confidence grow in the area of fly choice.
Let me start by stating that I used to carry the kitchen sink while out steelhead fishing, knowing that I may have to change my fly multiple times throughout the day. If one was not working, I’d loose confidence in it. If I went through three or four flies I would find myself in a bit of a neurosis, trying to dig to find that just right pattern. The truth is any fly with a hook will work, but some flies just seem to work better than others.
After spending countless hours on the vice I’ve learned that contrast, profile, and movement are the three key ingredients to a fly that will entice even the most reluctant steelhead. Warning, just because a fly looks super buggy at the shop doesn’t mean it will fish that way. Many flies are tied for the shop, not for the river. In order to achieve profile and movement a fly has to have the perfect mix of material. As I look back through my old boxes of flies, I find myself wanting to bust out my scissors and cut out material in order to reduce the amount of feathers or dubbing. I’ve learned that less really means more when it comes to flies. The new rule of thumb is: Less material, especially less of the same kind of material. Don’t ever tie on two of the same feathers, especially marabou. Why? It may appear to provide profile, but it won’t have the correct movement because marabou likes marabou, so it sticks together. Build profile with strong shoulder of dubbing or hackle, then tie your marabou in sparsely. You’ll be pleased with the difference in profile and movement.
The best day I’ve ever had steelhead fishing came when I put on a size 7 sparsely tied skunk pattern. The fish just couldn’t seem to leave it alone. Here’s why a small fly beats a big fly in clear water conditions most days. First, it’s subtle…I believe steelhead often act like a playful cat, chasing something down out of curiosity and then swiping at it. Something small triggers a fish’s curiosity. “What was that little thing that just swam by?” They then go in search of it and often times decide to take a swipe. A big fly triggers a completely different set of instincts for a fish, the protector, aggressor instincts. In clear water, fish are less likely to get super aggressive, as they don’t feel as safe. A small, sparsely tied fly will become your go to pattern once you begin to experience the curiosity of steelhead. You’ve probably seen videos of fish coming up and hitting at flies, only to return again and again on consecutive casts.
I’ve included a picture of one of my profile flies. I tie it in such a way that the materials repel each other, so that the front hackle actually bounces off the dubbing ball creating a large profile and lots of movement in the water. Additionally, the black head provides a great contrast to the purple body for low visibility situations. I have great confidence swinging this fly, plus I know no one else is swinging it because it cannot be purchased in the store and I have yet to see anyone build a fly that has the same compilation of materials as this one. So, when I step into a run that has already been fished, I’m casting with 100% confidence in my choice of flies. I’m sparser, buggier and better contrasting than most of what the fish have seen ahead of me.
John and Amy climbed into the drift boat hand in hand ready for a husband wife adventure. In the first deep run a sudden take on the far left rod caught everyone motionless and put us down on the count 0-1.
The morning was magical with gin clear water and blue bird skies. The osprey circled looking for a morning meal while dipper birds chased each other up and down the banks. Boulders slipped passed us as we slid into a run of cloudy clay banks and downed tree’s. Under the stain of the current rods danced playfully in the early summer air.
Amy called out, “John whats wrong with your rod” as the tip drove deep into the swirling water. John screamed “fish on” grabbed the rod and set the hook fervently. At that moment the chaos started as he plunged into his fish pack clamoring and crying out for his go-pro camera. “Amy take the rod while I get the go-pro” was his frantic logic as Amy grabbed the rod and fought the rising steelhead. With boils, runs, and reel screaming action she held on for dear life. The long and aggressive battle was won by Amy she tamed the wild beast.
The story goes, John hooked it, Amy fought it, John landed it, and Amy captured it on photo. A beautiful story of an amazing couple enjoying life together Hand in Hand!
