Steelhead Blues

“Uncle Tom, the fish are in the river, you’ve got to get up here!” The excitement in my voice must have been contagious. My uncle only needed a minute to look at his schedule.

“I can fly up tomorrow at noon,” he said. “Can you meet me at the airport?” Not a problem. We had been waiting for better than a month to get enough water into the stream for the fish to move up, and it was now at the perfect level. I’d just returned from the river with a big silver salmon and an equally solid steelhead so there obviously were good things happening.

I sent my son Andrew over to the airport to pick up Tom. I had to make a token appearance at my wife’s office Christmas party, but would be able to join him when he arrived. He flew his own plane over from Bend, dropped his stuff by the house and gave me a call. I headed up to meet him, loaded our gear in the truck, and motored across the bridge to my favorite stream.

Water Level
It is always tough to get folks to come over to the coast for the best steelheading. The water has to be just right, and during this year of record dryness that has not been easy. Finally, someone has to be willing to come over before the water level changes. This would only be my second guest in four years.

My first was my buddy Rob. One of my best friends in college, Rob was able to get up for three days of fishing a few Decembers ago. We had a great time and the water was fine, but somehow it all went sour for our fishing efforts. Even though everyone around us caught fish, we didn’t get a nibble in three days of trying. I was praying it would be different this time.

We dropped by a little store near the river to get Tom his license. While they were preparing the paper work, Tom grabbed a sack of chips. “I haven’t had a thing to eat today, so I better get something in my gut,” he explained. A typical Ellsberg, with fishing on the mind he had forgotten to do most anything else, like eating! I felt a little guilty with a stomach full of roast turkey from the office party, but they didn’t have anything that substantial on the chip rack so he’d have to get by with a little potato and salt!

Baiting Up
Tom crunched frantically as we drove the last mile to the stream. He had downed a few dozen chips by the time we reached my parking spot at my buddy Marv’s place. I popped out of the driver’s seat and started unloading our fishing gear. It was nearly two o’clock and the shaded stream was at its best right now. Soon the darkening sky would slow down the action. I put together our rods, Tom slipped on his waders, and we crossed the cow pasture, heading toward the inviting waters.

As we approached the stream, a local angler headed toward us. He was hauling something heavy. As we got closer we saw his catch, two bright steelheads and a heavy silver salmon! “How did it go?” I asked needlessly, as if there was any question about his luck! “Lots of action,” he replied happily. “I released a few, but got some nice ones to take home.”

We flew the last few yards to the water. As luck would have it, the anglers already there had left us one of the best spots. Tom looked a little confused as I showed him how to bait up his bobber and egg outfits. I was really proud of my gear, fine Loomis rods and season-new Shimano reels—the best stuff.

“I hate to admit this,” Tom stammered, “but I’ve only fished with fly gear. How does this stuff work?” Not a problem. A spinning reel is a cinch compared with operating a fly fishing setup. I showed him the basics and let him give it a try. The good fishing was close to our bank anyway, so he only needed to cast a few feet. What could go wrong? That question was soon answered.

Not used to so much weight, Tom gave the rod a good whip. Up went the bait and bobber, right into a tree limb hanging some 30 feet above the inviting waters of the river. This was not good news. Not only did the bobber and hook outfit take a lot of time to set up, and would be hard to replace at streamside, but that darned limb usually kept what tackle it was offered.

We took a good ten minutes to recover from that casting malfunction. As we were pulling and prodding the hooks from the tree, both anglers below and above us hooked and landed fish! By the time we got our line out of the foliage, the run had ended. Two fruitless hours of casting later, we packed up our gear and headed home.

This was not a problem, Tom could fish till ten the next morning and the water would be just perfect. We’d get here at daylight and surely get some great action.

Ideal Conditions
Rising in the darkness, we parked at Marv’s just as the sun was peeking over the hills. Marv met us with a gift. “Here are some good eggs for you and your uncle,” he volunteered. “Figured you could use some luck!” This was great. Marv was the best fisherman on the river, and his eggs were fresh and bright. This was going to be a good day.

We hustled over to the stream. It looked like the best drift was empty. Just as we headed down the bank, a head bobbed up from behind one of the trees that lined the stream. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you,” I babbled. “We’ll find somewhere else to cast.”

“C’mon down, I’m just leaving,” he said. It was Marv’s son-in-law Ed. “But the fishing’s just started,” I replied. “Not for me. I made three casts and caught two steelhead. I’m heading back to the Valley,” Ed bragged with a grin. He stayed long enough to show Tom how to hook up the pickled shrimp he used for bait. Then Ed wished us well, gathered up his hasty catch, and headed for home.

What could be better, a great hole, the best bait, and a hot river? Well, maybe a few fish. Three hours later we left the river. After Ed had left, no one had a bite all morning. I couldn’t believe it!

As I took Tom to the airport, I offered my apologies for the fishless outing. “Don’t worry about it,” Tom grinned. “I’ve fished enough to know that getting skunked is just part of the game!” I appreciated his attitude but vowed to do better by him next time. One of these days, I’ll have someone come to visit who will have some luck for my favorite fish, but if the word gets out about my past efforts, I may not get many takers!

Bob Ellsberg’s column, Fishin’, appears monthly in RV Life and rvlife.com.