I know you. There you are flyfishing the Skagit River's famous Mixer Pool, again. Somewhere you heard a native steelhead was hooked on this very pool the day before. Right now this elusive fish eludes you, because you have never caught one.

Right now you find yourself sharing the pool with two walk-in's and a guy who arrived by pontoon boat. Cast after cast. Step down after step down, you work your way down the pool. As you reach the tail-out of the hole, you finally reel up and again wading back for shore.

You didn't swim a fish. Heck, you didn't even get a bite.

You don't mean to, but as this has been the umpteenth pool on the umpteenth trip, you ask yourself the question. "Is it me, or are there just no steelhead in this pool?


..........

You don't mean to, but as this has been the umpteenth pool on the umpteenth trip, you ask yourself the question. "Is it me, or there just no steelhead in this pool? Your lack of success seems to remind you, you are getting very cold.

You reflect on the fact you can catch trout. It took a couple years to get the drag-free thing down, but now you are finding them even in unfamiliar waters. Both dries and nymphs, no problem. That guide day out was worth it in gold.

You got the steelhead gear. You bought the latest in bugs. Heck, with the new stick you are throwing, you figure you must be worth $2,000 on the hoof. Where is the friggin steelhead?

Somebody said to join a club. A year later and whole lot of raffle and donations, it seems like the same four guys who constantly finding fish, haven't invited you once to join them. These guys huddle around each other at the meeting, practically talking in code. Yeah, like your fishing with them is ever going to happen.

Over time, you have grown a little suspicious if not cynical of the local experts, telling you to "hang in there". It's all a matter of blind luck, anyway. Could it be this noble gesture is simply a ploy to get you to quit?

Your own trout buddies think you are nuts. "Why are you wasting your time?" They ask.

You keep telling yourself that flyfishing steelhead is just a sport. No different than golf or tennis. You certainly remember the days when it felt like matching the hatch was dumb luck, but as you became familiar with your quarry, it seemed to all start making sense. Your success was part of the reward.

Find the fish & find what moves him. That's what your Madison River guide kept telling you. Maybe this steelhead flyfishing stuff isn't such rocket science, after all.

Dickson Steelhead Flyfishing Schools, "now, more than ever"