Of shorter days and longer trips

It seems that October has lasted about all of a week.  I've been fishing a fair amount and writing very little.  A couple of weeks ago I made a quick trip to the upper Salmon.  No steelhead were harassed during my short stay but I had a good time fishing new water.  Last week the plan was to head back to the Clearwater for a couple of days then meet up with my buddy Mike on the lower Salmon for a couple more days.  The weather had taken a turn for the worse and with falling snow and rising rivers, I hoped this would be the trip that would turn my steelhead luck around.

Lolo pass was covered in a blanket of fresh snow and as I crested the pass and began my descent into the Lochsa the ever present and all too familiar obsession for steel and the draw of the Clearwater became almost overwhelming.  Damn Idaho and it's 50 mph speed limit on highway 12! 
Having packed the GoPro, the olympus waterproof digital and the trusty iphone, I originally planned to document the entire trip, complete with the campy travel scene video cruising down the highway with the soundtrack straight from my stereo blaring in the background (did I seriously just admit that in writing?  Fuck it, I'll still include it when I get around to making my "movie").  I had visions of self-shot GoPro video of the sloppy spey casting, the hookup, the fight and the release.  Some artsy abstract closeup stills of the tail, maybe the eye (wait wasn't that in the last post?  Again fuck it, this would be a steelhead so I would pull out all the stops)  Splash in some scenery and mood footage and maybe a short bit about Poppy and the Red Shed, hell I might even post it on vimeo and who knows, maybe it would end up on Moldy Chum but I digress.
The longer I paralleled the Clearwater and finally rolled past Kooskia, nearing the first run I planned on fishing, I began to get the feeling that the steelhead gods may not appreciate my greed for glory and recognition.  It harkened back to last year and how after pampering ourselves with soft beds at hotel rooms and promptly getting skunked, Marshall and I decided it was time to suffer a little and see if it would please the steelhead gods.  On the very next trip and after an uncomfortable night in the back of the 4runner, I raised a steelhead to a skated fly and although I didn't hook the fish, I was hooked and consequently knew that our bit of sacrifice the night before appeased the steelhead gods.  With that thought in my mind I pulled over, got ready and promptly left all of my camera equipment (even the iphone) in the 4runner on purpose.
As I hurriedly walked dashed to the river, my excitement was palpable (hell maybe it was the gut-bomb burrito from the convenience store in Lolo, steelheading requires sacrifice and sensible eating habits when you're hurrying to the Clearwater is one of them!)  Regardless I was excited to once again be plying the waters for steel. 
Being fairly new to steelhead fishing and having never fished this run, I guess I started at the top of the run and was mildly impressed with my ability to "read" steelhead water.  As I fell into the familiar rhythym-cast, mend, swing, two steps- I found myself waiting for that tug.  It's absolutely true; The Swing is the Thing and The Tug is the Drug!  Every cast brings another fresh batch of anticipation, and when the din of monotony and repetition begins creeping in a muffed cast is surely a sign from the steelhead gods.  The sign manifests itself as a voice inside my head "wake up, you're about to hook a steelhead" and my anticipation is full-on once again.  A few casts later I recognize a slight change in the run, a slightly different chop, perhaps a tiny change in pace and my excitement somehow elevates another notch.  I'm into what I'm pretty sure is the "bucket" of the run.  At least it's where I feel that if I'm going to feel a tug, this is the place.  Sure enough, some words of advice from Poppy, Dale and my buddy Mike creep into my head "slow down, pull with the bottom hand, make a good stop" and I manage a decent cast in anybody's book and one I'm downright proud of.  Midway through the swing I feel "the tug" and I undoubtedly have a steelhead that not only has hooked itself, but has gone well into my backing on the take and subsequent run downstream.  I somehow manage to make it to the bank without swimming and begin following the fish downstream.  After I get back to my fly line and almost parallel to the fish, I start to lean on it a little to gain more line.  This prompts a scorching upstream run and some impressive aerial displays and I am once again into the backing.  After what seems like an eternity but in reality is probably no more than 10 minutes or so I am now charged with the daunting task of trying to land what I guess to be 3 feet and 14 lbs. or so of a bright Clearwater b-run hen steelhead that is thrashing near my feet.  Before I get to make myself look like too big of a dumbass trying to land the fish, she manages to spit the barbless hook and defiantly fin back to the comforts of her run.  I sit down and spend a couple minutes replaying the whole scene in my mind. I'm completely in awe of the sheer power and beauty of this fish and although I didn't handle it, I'm satisfied in knowing that I hooked the fish on my terms.
Although this is not the first steelhead I hooked this year (I hooked up twice in one day on an earlier trip) this is by far the closest I have come to getting one to hand.  It is still satisfying to know that I have brought each one of the magnificent fish to my fly on my terms. 
Even though I haven't fished the entire run, I decide to call it good for now and head back to the rig.  With only a little daylight remaining I drive downriver and make it to another run in time to fish part of it before darkness settles in and I call it a day.
While I don't know for sure, I like to think that I played a small role in my success by my conscious choice to not bring a camera to the river with me, that I made yet another sacrifice and was therefore rewarded by the steelhead gods.  More than likely I luckily bumbled into a player and somehow put the fly in the right spot at the right time, but who knows?  Not to worry, I'm not swearing off of pictures and I fully intend on one day posting some hero, grip and grin shots, if and when the opportunity arises.  I'm just happy that I don't need that justification.  For now, I know, and that's good enough for me.
 After a celebratory dinner out and a cramped night in back of the 4runner, circumstances arise that preclude me from finishing my trip so I pack up and head back to Montana the next day.  Although I am truly happy with the trip and my obsession is once again satiated for the time being, I know it won't be long until I make plans to return and search for steel and feel that tug of a fish that has come to my fly on my terms.... 

Still chasin' steel

It seems lately every weekend is another trip over Lolo pass to the Clearwater, I guess that's because every weened in September so far has been a trip to the Clearwater.  Admittedly it's been a difficult year for most people I've talked to.  To say this year has been difficult for Marshall and I would be an understatement!  Every trip we learn something though, and every trip we're confident.  With each trip so far proving unsuccessful, we know that we have banked more credit in the steelhead karma bank and it's only a matter of time before we can cash in on that!

Marshall skated up a boil in this run as the sun peeked over the ridge through the smoke, what a rush!  It was Marshall's first experience with a steelhead on the surface and he was STOKED!!

Another bright note was this stick was incredible!  There were numerous tasty stogies enjoyed on this trip, thanks Mike!

This was also the last trip that I used my single-hander, but that's another story I'll share soon....

It has served me well.... I also met a guy that had quite an interesting story on the green pack.  Saturday afternoon I decided to try a promising run we liked to fish.  After we crossed the side channel and crossed the island we found a couple of guys already working the run.  Oh well, who could blame them?  Just as we approached one of the guys decided to take a break.  After exchanging greetings we sit down to shoot the shit with the guy.  Turns out fishing had been very slow so far this year for them as well.  The topic went from fish to gear, and finally to my pack.  The guy commented that he used to have a pack just like that but one of his kids had lost it.  I admitted I found the pack on the Clearwater last year, that definitely piqued his curiosity.  He asked where I found it, I told him ironically just about where we were sitting, under the power line.  He asked what kind of gear was in it but he already knew, it was his pack!  I offered it back to him but he declined, stating that I had a new pack and he had a great story!  What a good guy!  I offered him to at least take some flies in return which he also declined.  He was glad a fellow fly flinging steelheader had found it and was putting it to good use!
I'm  hoping this only adds to the steelhead mojo, but for now we are still just chasing steel.....

Steelhead Obsession ver. 2.0

So it's been awhile since my last post.  Sorry about that, but since it's my blog deal with it... Shit happens and life happens and blah blah blah....

I have now officially entered my 2nd year of Steelhead obsession.  To be more precise-Surface Steelhead Obsession.  To be even yet more precise, Single-hand Surface Steelhead Obsession. Apparently I couldn't have picked a more fickle, yet more rewarding river to feed my obsession on than the mighty Clearwater in Idaho.  Had I known going into this I may have chosen a different river, perhaps the Ronde, promised by many to be as easy as a drunken somphmore prom date... or perhaps the Methow, with fish as willing as any in the lower 48 to grab a skater.... Alas the Clearwater and all her glory caught my fancy.  The proximity of the Clearwater to Western Montana where I call home, the possibility of her giving up a magnificent 20 lb. b-run steelhead, whatever the reason matters little.  I am in too deep now. 

Many factors pointed to last weekend not being the best time for a steelhead trip; less than stellar steelhead counts, the fact that not many had gone over Lower Granite dam yet, flows still in the 10,000 cfs range (not exactly ideal), forecast for hot and sunny weather.  Ultimately none of it mattered when the calendar rolled over to September and the ever-intensifying burning in my gut took over, a trip to the Clearwater was the only way to satiate my almost-out-of-control habit.

It took hardly any convincing and I had suckered my son Marshall into making a weekend trip.  The stage was set.....

Upon topping Lolo Pass on highway 12, we were promptly greeted by a thick haze of forest fire smoke.  Descending into the thick of smoke was almost a trial in itself.  Almost ritualistic, descend the depths of fire and smoke to reach the steelhead oasis that was the Clearwater. 

A quick stop by the world-famous Red Shed Fly Shop in Peck is always in order.  Poking our head in the door, Poppy, the junkyard spey guru himself, was nowhere to be found.  A good omen perhaps that there were enough steelhead in the system to tempt Poppy into an afternoon swinging jaunt.  The report was just as expected-not many fish in the system, probably only worthwhile staying below the hwy 95 split and really the lower the better, hot and sunny weather making it pretty much a very early morning and very late evening type of affair.  Nothing we weren't expecting anyway.

We made it to the "Hippie Camp" hole, as we've come to know it by (actually a whole story in and of itself, replete with a broken down van and an armpit hair rockin' hippie chick that informed us, among many other amusing factoids, that she was packin and knew how to shoot) by about 4 0'clock.  Just as we were wadering up, a guy pulls up all ready to go and promptly headed for our run.  Well fuck.  What do ya do?  We give the guy a half-hearted wave and bid him good luck anyway, you never know when the steelhead karma gods are keeping points....

With palpable anticipation we wet set out for our re-baptism.  Upon arrival at the run we noticed the guy had chosen to start about halfway down, leaving us the top of the run.  Either he's a hell of a guy or he figured we would low-hole him and beat us to the punch.  I like to think it was the former, besides the run is plenty big for the three of us, things were starting out ok after all.  We were wading the hallowed waters chasing steelhead after all weren't we?  Shit was starting to feel right in the universe at that moment....

Having been a few months since I tossed my 8 wt., the first few casts were clumsy and unnatural feeling.  Before long I was into the rhythm... cast, mend, skate, wait, step, step, repeat. Marshall fell right into the groove as well...this was going to be a good trip, I could tell. 

To fish for steelhead, one must have the right mindset, or at least it helps a helluva lot.  Steelhead fishing is tedious.  They're not called the fish of a thousand casts for nothing.  To flick flies for steelhead is even more a cast of eternal hope and almost complete disappointment.  To flick floating flies with a single-hand rod in the Clearwater seems it's own special kind of crazy.  Regardless, as I continue my cadence, the constant thought running through my mind finally seeps completely into the conscious part of my brain.  I actually expect a take on every cast.  So much so that i find myself narrating the take.  First I imagine a take the second my fly hits the water.  Soon it changes to different points during the skate, natural progression lead me to imagine a take on "the dangle", and finally I imagine taunting a steelhead into a take by "popping" my fly just before I strip to make my next cast.  The funny thing is, even though I honestly anticipate a take on EVERY cast, my imagination even knows better than to land anywhere near 100% of these fish that take my fly.  In fact I realize that I've only imagined landing maybe 3 or 4 of these out of probably 150 casts that I made that evening.  Even funnier is that fact that Marshall informed me on the walk back to the parking lot, well after dark, that he imagined a take on every cast...interesting.  I confessed how my imagination had taken the same liberty with me.  Alas our imagined takes never materialized and we were left to spend the night dreaming of our first steelhead take on a dry. 

Dawn broke earlier than expected the next morning and we got a later start than we wanted.  Admittedly the enthusiasm factor was low from the start and with not a cloud in the sky, the opportune time to skate up a steelhead passed quickly without so much as a boil.  Shitfuck, with morning one in the books we decided to retire for a short nap before grabbing lunch.  Over lunch we decided to try "Hippie Camp" hole again.  One thing we've been told again and again, whether it's skate, swing or nymph,, fly selection or run selection, one of the most important factors is do what you have the most confidence in.  Even though we have yet to skate up a steelhead this particular stretch of water is the one we gravitate to early in the season when the fish are down low.  Any little bit of confidence can be a game changer. So we arrive quite a bit earlier than the day before and find we are indeed first in.  Oddly we feel like starting part-way down the run, whether it's again a karma related decision or simply where we subconsciously think we'll have the best chance or a combination of both we just kind of silently decide to start near the power line.  Again we slip into a comfortable rhythm and again I imagine a take on every cast.  Again we are left to wonder what that first surface take will be like...

Oddly enough, after about an hour of cast, mend, skate, dangle, step, step, repeat we are broken from out trance by voices.  Sure enough, near the top of the run, 3 have fallen into the same cadence, only they are actually talking with one another, perhaps they're alot more seasoned than we are.  Who knows, but for whatever reason and without really discussing it, Marshall and I tend to remain silent while we work a run waiting for that boil.  Maybe subconsciously we feel that talking will affect our focus and that we need every bit of Jedi mind power we can muster as we try to WILL a steelhead to grab out skater.  Anyway, another session of skating dries had yet to yield any results and we are left to deal with an ever-growing obsession.  I did manage to snap a nice photo during a quick break at sunset, sometimes it's the little things that add to the experience and ultimately help ensure that a return is imminent.

After dinner and another discussion of the imagining a take on every cast, the endless scenarios that played out from a mere boil, to losing one at hand to finally hoisting a giant b-run triumphantly for a quick photo op before releasing it back to the depths, we decide to arise considerably earlier the next morning to ensure maximum opportunity to skate up our first steel....talk about a fitful night.

With only the early portion of the next morning to fish (real world dictates that we get back home before too late Sunday) sure enough we are teased with a cool, partly cloudy morning.  As ideal of conditions as you can hope for this early in the season.  I can't think of many better ways to greet a sunrise....

We stayed longer than we originally planned because the conditions were so good compared to the previous two days...still to no avail.  Our fist steelhead on the surface will not come on this trip and that only serves to intensify my desire...

By the way, the three guys from the night before turned out to be from Bozeman in our home state of Montana.  We had a nice chat with them and learned that one had indeed caught a steelhead the day before, on the surface skating dries.  Turns out he was not actually one of the group originally.  The other two guys happened to make the almost mandatory stop at Poppy's and turns out the third guy's car had broken down just a little earlier when he stopped by to say hi to Poppy.  How cool is that?  The guy left his broken-down car to hop in with a couple of kindred spirits, choosing to deal with real-life shit later on... Fuckin A, I like his style.  And then how sweet is it for the two guys to offer this other guy a spot in their ride, to share their camp and to fish together for the weekend... I imagine that was a rather large deposit into their steelhead karma bank account, right on guys......