It’s
Midnight now and I still have not been able to hit the sack for some much
needed rest. I keep telling myself that in a mere five hours I will be
walking through the dark woods along my favorite Great Lakes Tributary
searching for silver. I find it extremely comforting that I still get the
same excitement and anticipation to go fishing today as I did as a young
boy trout fishing with my father for the very first time; I didn’t sleep
a wink those nights either. I decide to sit in my favorite recliner and
prop my feet on the warm wood stove and read one of my favorite steelhead
novels to pass time. The book I have chosen is Steelhead dreams, which I
have read from front to back many times over, and still the author is able
to capture my imagination and fill my soul with the same passion, respect,
and admiration for such an amazing creature. Some time later while
Thumbing through the pages of fly patterns I realized I better double
check my fly boxes, I only have a couple hours left and you can never have
to many flies right?
I walked
over to my tying station and opened my sling pack to remove my boxes. I
always felt that the organization of a fly fisherman’s box was a
reflection of not only his character, but a reflection of his sickness and
love for fly fishing and the fish we sought after. My boxes were sharp and
I always got great stream side comments on the perfectly straight row
after row of nymphs, streamers, and eggs. One thing I always noticed about
tying flies is that there was always room for a few more patterns in my
box. I was running low on my Steely blue wiggle stones and I know I was
definitely going to need them today, especially while searching some of
the deeper pools and runs. .
It’s now
four in the morning and the moon is brightly reflected off the dusting of
snow we had just received a few hours earlier. I can hear the small brown
winter sparrows starting to chirp in the bushes beside the kitchen window
and I knew it was time to leave. It was very cold outside about thirty
four degrees and while watching the eleven o’ clock news last night it
wasn’t going to get any warmer. In my opinion you couldn’t ask for a
better day to spend on the river. I couldn’t help not Laughing out loud to
myself knowing the fair weather guys were gone for the season, and surely
they would be posting pictures of themselves with pretty girls and goofy
looking fish in the online chat rooms from some where in Mexico or
Florida; Smiling I thought Oh well their loss.
As I
predicted there wasn’t even a fresh pair of tire tracks leading down the
road next to the river. I had plenty of parking spaces today and first
choice of pools this morning. The water was up a little and running smooth
with a glassy emerald green color incased in a steady rise of steam off
her surface. For those of us that search for steelhead in the chill of
winter this is what we call prime steelhead water. I wasn’t going to be
picky at all today there was no reason too. I walk over to the river and
slide down the bank in front of the first shale wall. Looking up for fifty
feet at the wall it was completely covered with monstrous ice cycles
spanning the shale’s entire surface. The hemlock trees that grow out of
the wall and help hold the shale together were bent toward the river
holding on with everything they have under the shear weight of the ice.
History here shows that the majority of the time the trees will prevail
even under such odds, its truly an amazing sight and show of natures
power.
Finally
I am here in front of a good steelhead pool, the reason why I have not
been able to sleep at all the past few days. I decided to take a day off
of swinging large marabou spey flies and concentrate on providing the
every-day, tiny morsels to which the river hold-over steelhead have become accustomed. I tied on a tandem rig of two size fourteen wiggle stones in peacock
and steely blue. I set my indicators depth at around six feet and started
striping line from my reel to begin casting. I begin by drifting from head
to tail out of the pool, mending my line and work the flies closer to
myself on each other cast until every inch of the hole is covered and then
repeating the process. I never rush in the winter and you can never cast
or cover a pool in the winter enough times. Basically it’s when you give
up and become totally satisfied you have given the pool everything you
have then you move on.
I know its
closer to the afternoon by now, and I have given a half dozen pools a
great work out with out a single pull of the line. My second wind is long
gone and my energy is all but faded away. The temperature on the river has
dropped and snow is steadily falling. My ears and fingers are numb to the
touch, and my mustache is completely covered with tiny ice cycles. I just
found out that my new waders have a small leak in the left foot which is
making the wading extremely unpleasant, but I can still see another good
looking pool just ahead and I am not even close to ready to leave the
water yet. I refuse to give up that easily!
As I reach
the next pool I begin the same routine over again casting and drifting
from front to back. The silence on a river that is totally barren of human
presence is completely eerie yet extremely calming at the same time. It
still astonishes me what types of surrounds we see when you are restless,
as you can see know I am getting pretty spacey and what I really need to
do is just watch my drift. A few Moments later my indicator falls from
the surface and slowly sinks into the pools depths. I finally get a decent
hook set and know I have a good fish because I can feel his muscular head
shaking and pulling my line where ever he pleases. He stays deep for the
longest time refusing to come up and show himself. I thank god that the
water is very cold because if this was a fresh out of the lake fish, and
if the water was a few degrees warmer I would be in serious trouble
considering the amount of tree debris in and around the pool.
He is
starting to wear out now, and I have gained a ton of line on him. I had
him close enough to see his dark shadow just under the surface and he
definitely was no slouch. His Olive and crimsoned red head finally breaks
the rivers surface and I am able to slowly direct him into the shallows.
He was a beautiful buck around ten pounds and full of the entire color
spectrum, I was proud to have met him today. I reach down and gently
remove the blue wiggle stone from his massive kype, and gently turned him
head first toward his home pool. It was only a moment he waited at my hand
before leaving, soaking me with ice cold water with a single thrash of his
tail. I smiled briefly at the good bye display while I stood their
cleaning off my glasses. I decided to call it a day after all that
excitement; besides it’s almost dinner time and I have got my appetite
back. Since I am wide awake again maybe after dinner I will start getting
things ready for tomorrow and read a few more chapters in my favorite
steelhead book. I know my family and work will understand because I am
always sick come November and December, and there is only one cure for
what I have!!!
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