Steelhead Fishing the Winter Solace

I’ve always been one to fish alone. It doesn’t feel like I am alone in the river; I’m not sure why. Maybe because with the current pushing against my side, the constant sound of the riffle, and the teeming activity underneath the surface of the swirling pool, my thoughts almost seem to be speaking aloud. When I speak to fellow anglers, I know that the same kernel of solitude is often in them as well. Seeking out wilderness filled with wild trout and isolation is why many people, including myself, began fly fishing. I used to prefer that method of fishing, solitude in a wild place, and I still make it a point to occasionally seek it out.

Steelhead fishing is certainly something I usually do alone. Only a select few friends and family members are willing to accompany me. So, when I was invited by Preston and Katie to chase steelhead in Northern California, I was determined to approach the day with a different mindset than my usual solo fishing attitude. 

The goal, the glory, and the prize. Maybe today will be the day… For those of you die-hard fly anglers who also brave the wintertime rivers in pursuit of trout or steelhead, you probably are well aware of the ritual. The dawn was breaking over the mountainside, spilling light over the peaks from outside the truck window. The steaming coffee rising from the thermos, and the bitter cold biting into your now useless fingertips as you try to affix a split shot to your nymph rig. These rituals become tradition; for an angler, the changing of the season also changes the experience. Success during winter angling isn’t measured by how many fish are caught; instead, it is usually determined by how well the water is fished.

And so, this early winter day began as my little Isuzu zipped through Redding on the way to meet my friends. The greatest benefit of working in a fly shop is the sheer number of fishy folks it allows you to cross paths with. Last summer, I had the opportunity to meet Preston while working at Henry’s Fork Anglers. When I say that Preston and Katie rank high in the ‘Izaak Walton’ list of complete anglers I have met, I mean it.

We backed the Ro drift boat into the launch. As Preston slid the boat into the water, I rigged up the starvation stick...also locally known as the spey rod. While Katie and Preston were busy running the shuttle, I was knee deep, sloppily shooting Snap-T’s in a shallow run, wondering what the day had in store for us.

There I found myself once again, alone during the rhythmic pattern of the presentation. Cast, drift, swing, step; the usual. As I stood alone in the cold river, I found myself thinking not just about my anchor placement but also about the time I would spend with K & P. I was fond of this private custom, but I was also excited to share the day with someone else.

Crisp mornings, in a maze of fog and moss. What steelhead junkies dream of! Moss-covered rocks poked through the clear, swift current, and Preston guided us through our presentation of rubber legs, eggs, and prince nymphs to each successive run. A good guide knows where the fish are and helps you catch them. A great guide will teach you why the fish are there in the first place and why they bite. As Katie and I lobbed Jaydacators, he gently coached us first into better drifts for our flies, then into the theory and strategy we were employing to fish for these ocean-dwelling nomads.

 But through it all, I was happy to have the company of other anglers along for the day. The jokes, the banter, and the conversation carried us from one run to another throughout the day as we caught half-pounders and sipped our beer. From shoptalk to fish tales, and inevitably the conversation moved to women, as we heavily implored Katie to help us find girlfriends, the fog burned away from the sky, and the sun’s light twinkled upon the riffle.

And surely, we saw other anglers and passed up a few sweet holes with a smile and a wave, but the experience we had was enough in itself. We caught fish, even netted a few small adult steelheads, and when Katie set the hook after the sun slipped behind the mountainside, I knew we had found the fish of the day.

It never jumped; it only ripped the line from the reel and shook its head like a demon. The chrome mirror of its side pulsated up to us from deep below the boat. Katie’s rod bent, and the fish worked upstream, slicing the water with an auditory laceration of the water’s surface. The steelhead then turned downstream and dived deep into the run. I fumbled for my phone for a video as Preston cut the water gently with his oars.

            As the fish worked its way downstream, it swung from river-left to river-right. But the tension from the graphite spring was too much. After two minutes of constant exertion against a worthy opponent, the fish lolled to its side. As the boat slid silently over the surface of the run, Preston snuck his net underneath the hen. In a final frantic break for freedom, she threw her head from side to side, thrashing for a way out of the Fishpond hoop. 

            It was a great day, and the fish was just icing on the cake. The cold crept in quickly, and because of the hour, we slipped downstream towards the take-out. Compared to the long, gentle summer days we had experienced in Last Chance, this short winter day flew by. As the drift boat was ratcheted from the river, I took the two-hander for a final cast in the run. The day was over, but unlike many days I had spent alone, the company along the way made it feel different. We began the car ride out of the canyon we had drifted. The blasting heaters in the dash delivered warmth to our fingertips, and as I sat with Preston at the bar in Lewiston, there was a tinge of gratitude that I know so many other people who enjoy fly-fishing much the same as myself.

            Lesson learned, it’s always better to share the water with friends. With the holidays around the corner, I find myself thankful for all the anglers I have shared a day on the water with this year. These days always seem to stand out in my mind compared to the days spent alone chasing fish.

So, in the spirit of the season, call up your fishing buddy and check in on them. Plan a trip to the coast to chase steelies, or to the Bahamas after bonefish. Just kidding, your next trip definitely needs to be on Henry’s Fork. Once winter comes to an end, big trout sipping bugs from the surface will be back on the menu. Make sure you and your fishing partner are ready to share an evening casting drakes in Island Park! Cheers to good company and great fishing partners. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.

“Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter.” -Izaak Walton