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It started out simple enough.
Ron turned out to be a quiet spoken, elderly gentleman. I loved his slight
Aussie accent. Our day turned out to be a lovely July morning on the North
Fork of the Stillaguamish. The steelhead had entered early that summer
and in good numbers. Weather was warm, flowers were out. The woodland
smells of early summer were in the air. Life was good.
Now tell you the truth, the trip didn’t start off so well. Our trio
no more than took to the forest trail I was using daily, when I hear,
"Oh no!"
I was leading the way so I didn’t exactly see what had happened,
but as I wheeled around, there on the ground was Ron, flat on his back,
Harry was kneeling next to him. Apparently, the blow-down log that lay
over the trail at head high, was just over Ron’s line of sight.
He must have walked right into it. He sat up a little chagrinned and shook
out the cob-webs.
Speechless me, all I could come with was, "Wow, you ok?"
I thought we were done before we were started. Not Ron. He bounced up,
grabbed his rod, off we go. Tuff old bird. Harry and I just looked at
each other.
We hiked into a North Fork pool above Hazel, an old time friend, Jackson
& I had dubbed the "Honey Hole". It was a little deeper,
and little faster than most guys realized. We really took to the Teeny
200 fly-line that summer because it out sunk most fly-lines on the market.
I am sure Jim Teeny would have cringed as the first thing we did with
his line was chop it back to 15’ as opposed to the standard 24’.
We also fished it in a steelhead swing, instead of nymphing the fly down
through the pool.
The bottom line was, (bad pun) Teeny’s ultra
fast sinking line allowed us to get our flies down in the depths to the
steelhead that other guys were passing right over. Get it down in Honey
Hole pool, and you were practically money. Oh, those were the days.
Ron caught on very quickly to this fly presentation, and it wasn’t
long before a steelhead was hooked up and heading to parts unknown. Ron
may have been a little new to the presentation stuff, but it was obvious
that when came to playing a large violent fish on the end of a fly rod,
he was right at home. The steelhead would run, Ron gave him line. The
fish would jump and Ron would bow. A move back upstream that would slack
most lines and Ron was all over him. Give & take, rock & roll,
Ron would answer every steelhead move. He was a pleasure to watch. The
only time I got nervous at all, was just as the steelhead was finally
coming to shore, they always have that last move. We call it "touch
belly". Sure enough, just as this steelhead came into shallows, the
fish not only shot back out into the pool, but because we had ended up
down in the tailout, the fish scooted out of the pool and into the big
currents, downstream.
"Erg", I thought. I should have had Ron walk the fish back up
into the upper pool before touch belly. Experience had taught me the fish
would probably have stayed at home, instead of shooting down the rapids.
Now I got this old man tethered to a steelhead with an attitude of, "You
want me, you are going to have to come get me!"
The boys and I had no choice. There was no place to land the steelhead
from where we stood all the way down into the next pool. Wading our side
of the river was so gnarly, staying on this bank was simply not an option.
We had to go across the river.
I knew of only one place to safely cross. I grabbed my goody bag and Ron,
Harry and I made our passage to the far shore. Good thing the steelhead
was tired. He just swam down into the lower pool and rested. Fine, I thought,
we had enough going on wading without worrying about what the friggin
steelhead was doing.
Ron asked a little anxiously. "Do you think
the steelhead is still on?".
His rod was still up in a full arch as we crossed, but he had so much
line out, it was impossible to tell if the steelhead was still attached.
I was leading Ron by the elbow as we waded.
"We will find out, soon enough", I exclaimed, as we waded out
onto the opposite shore.
Ron reeled up as we closed in on the business end. Luck was with us. The
fish was still there. We landed the bright hatchery summer steelhead in
short order. His snout said he was a male fish.
I asked Ron if he wanted to release it. He confessed he has always dreamed
of such a fish. Could we keep it? I said sure. We took some pictures before
killing the steelhead. I didn’t know about the other half.
Ron informed me he has always envisioned carrying a steelhead in the back
of his fishing vest. This was not a good idea. First of all, he was wearing
a little K-Mart vest with an open back better suited for carrying a rain
jacket or sweater. This was a 30" long, ten pound steelhead.
"Man, you don’t want to do this." I protested, "You
will not only have fish hanging out both sides of your vest because there
is no way it is all going to fit in there, but it is all slimy and you
are sure to get all gunked up in the process." It was also a hot
summer day by now, and we had a good 30 minute walk back through the forest,
to say nothing of wading aback across this friggin river. He was going
to smell like a fish market by the time we got back. Yuck.
Ron was so disappointed in my response I didn‘t have the heart to
disagree.
I finally conceded, "OK but you better let me carry your fishing
gear."
So there we were, wading back across this nasty stream section with a
big hunking steelhead hanging out of his back. To make matters worse,
I couldn’t be there to steady his wading, I was too full of rods
and gear.
And we almost made it across, too. I was leading
the way. We got about three quarters across the river, when I hear behind
me, "Oh No!" Sure enough, Ron had semi-stumbled into the river
and in the process, the steelhead became dislodged from the vest pouch,
and was now rolling down the river, dead.
I was in too much of hurry to be mad. I fairly ran to the near shore.
I threw down the fishing rods, and turned to sprint back across the Stilly
after this dead fish, washing downstream. I was determined not to waste
a steelhead, if I could help it. I wasn’t really wading. It was
more like running in fast water. How I ever stayed up and didn’t
fall in, I will never know.
When I hit the other side I managed to run down the gravel bar and enter
the river below the steelhead. I could see it rolling in the depths like
a large neon sign. I waded out into the current just above the head the
next pool downstream. I knew it was a really deep, really fast pool. I
had one shot. If the steelhead goes in that pool, its gone, its that simple.
Somehow I managed to get below the dead fish rolling down the river, but
the water here, was thigh deep. I am not sure what I was thinking. I shoved
my foot in front of the steelhead carcass from downstream side, and kicked
my leg up hard. I can only tell you, I was simply hoping to get the steelhead
a little higher in the water column as it passed by. Maybe I could get
my hands on it.
What did happen was when I kicked my boot up, the dead fish shot up from
the depths and out of the water, head first like some friggin missel I
was swear I was looking at the steelhead, eye ball to dead eye ball. All
I had to do was close my hand over his gills. Just like that, I had him.
Even from across the river, I could hear, "Oh my Gosh!" Apparently,
Harry & Ron witnessed this whole "dead steelhead out of the water,
thing".
I slogged my way back across the river with the carcass and to my waiting
guests. I was exhausted. I simply said, "I think maybe I should carry
the fish."
As we trudged for home, all the boys could talk
about, was this amazing feat their guide performed, to recover this trophy
steelhead. I just shook my head. I didn’t bother to tell them I
could never pull that move again. Not in a google-plex.
Best of fishing,
Dennis
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