Ross and I made the great Steelhead Odyssey again the weekend before Thanksgiving. Remember how cold it was? 16 degrees when we arrived in the dark at the LFZ parking lot Saturday morning. Why there? Simply because we have never fished it. We found places in the lineup in Cemetery Pool and started fishing at more or less the legal hour.
Both Ross and I were rigged with floats and worked hard to get good, clean vertical drifts. Guys started hooking fish above, below and across from us. What's the difference? As discussed in other threads, no float, long, fine leaders and lots of distance between weight and fly. We put in two hours of this before it was time to go meet UpstateDave at our usual meeting place. Ross resolved he will never fish the LFZ again because of what he saw. Pretty insightful for a 15 year old.
Saturday meant searching the river for unpressured fish who might get hungry. With the river being overly loved and the water temperature a frosty 37 degrees that proved a tough proposition. It was No Fish Saturday.
Sunday was warmer and the fish ever so slightly more willing. USD connected. So did Ross. Ross broke off a couple, which he never does. I had a couple of hard but tentative grabs.
Then my indicator went down hard and a real fish was on. A darkened buck threw himself out of the water, looking stiff and fake. Then twice more for good measure. He charged upstream into a deeper lick and sulked. My pulse was ever so slightly above normal. I started to feel just the slightest bit smug since Mr. Steel seemed to be nice and content at 45 degrees above me. Side pressure. Fish management, USD calls it. I call it forearm fatigue.
Mr. Steel abruptly decided he was having no fun and zipped 30 yards downstream. Guess we're going for a walk, then. Through deep spots, around trees and tangles, every one a potential dunking spot. But Mr. Steel showed signs of tiring. And we were at a good spot for the tailing. The hook pulled out and my rig ended up in the trees behind me. I swear Mr Steel chuckled as he slowly eased into the deeper current. Anguish. No fish for me that day.
The next day Ross connected three times and landed two. Beautiful fish, perfectly played. Then he broke off another...
I caught a nice domestic rainbow out of a neglected pocket and USD found a small brown in there as well. Not the fish we were looking for. Then, standing in the same pocket as the day before my indicator went down. Deja vu, except this time it was a hen, a couple of pounds lighter than Sunday's beast. It was the same game plan, similar fight but this time the tailing was successful, in exactly the same spot as the day before.
The river rose and warmed and discolored. The fish turned dour or else they couldn't see our offerings any longer. Or they'd been scared earlier by the sight of Sero's wading boots. We'll never know.
So a few fish were actually caught, played and ever so carefully released (minimal time out of the water).
It was a hell of a lot of work for just these few. And the same question gets discussed during every ride home. And I think the answer for us is yes, it is worth it. For me a lot of it is watching my son develop as an angler and a thinker. I was nowhere near where he was at age 15. And when we got home we watched the Patagonia movie Damnation. Life is very, very good.
Both Ross and I were rigged with floats and worked hard to get good, clean vertical drifts. Guys started hooking fish above, below and across from us. What's the difference? As discussed in other threads, no float, long, fine leaders and lots of distance between weight and fly. We put in two hours of this before it was time to go meet UpstateDave at our usual meeting place. Ross resolved he will never fish the LFZ again because of what he saw. Pretty insightful for a 15 year old.
Saturday meant searching the river for unpressured fish who might get hungry. With the river being overly loved and the water temperature a frosty 37 degrees that proved a tough proposition. It was No Fish Saturday.
Sunday was warmer and the fish ever so slightly more willing. USD connected. So did Ross. Ross broke off a couple, which he never does. I had a couple of hard but tentative grabs.
Then my indicator went down hard and a real fish was on. A darkened buck threw himself out of the water, looking stiff and fake. Then twice more for good measure. He charged upstream into a deeper lick and sulked. My pulse was ever so slightly above normal. I started to feel just the slightest bit smug since Mr. Steel seemed to be nice and content at 45 degrees above me. Side pressure. Fish management, USD calls it. I call it forearm fatigue.
Mr. Steel abruptly decided he was having no fun and zipped 30 yards downstream. Guess we're going for a walk, then. Through deep spots, around trees and tangles, every one a potential dunking spot. But Mr. Steel showed signs of tiring. And we were at a good spot for the tailing. The hook pulled out and my rig ended up in the trees behind me. I swear Mr Steel chuckled as he slowly eased into the deeper current. Anguish. No fish for me that day.
The next day Ross connected three times and landed two. Beautiful fish, perfectly played. Then he broke off another...
I caught a nice domestic rainbow out of a neglected pocket and USD found a small brown in there as well. Not the fish we were looking for. Then, standing in the same pocket as the day before my indicator went down. Deja vu, except this time it was a hen, a couple of pounds lighter than Sunday's beast. It was the same game plan, similar fight but this time the tailing was successful, in exactly the same spot as the day before.
The river rose and warmed and discolored. The fish turned dour or else they couldn't see our offerings any longer. Or they'd been scared earlier by the sight of Sero's wading boots. We'll never know.
So a few fish were actually caught, played and ever so carefully released (minimal time out of the water).
It was a hell of a lot of work for just these few. And the same question gets discussed during every ride home. And I think the answer for us is yes, it is worth it. For me a lot of it is watching my son develop as an angler and a thinker. I was nowhere near where he was at age 15. And when we got home we watched the Patagonia movie Damnation. Life is very, very good.
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