Last weekend, I holed up at winter steelhead cabin that’s every angler’s dream. The water runs just outside back door. There is sleeping space for friends, and there’s a private slide for adventurous boaters.
Rob’s friend Mariusz stayed with us, a spey casting champion and protector of some of the world’s greatest salmon runs for a conservation organization. He told stories about the amazing fishing on the Kola Peninsula for Atlantic Salmon, a species that actually eats swung flies. He talked about how hard it is to convince Russians to limit hatchery programs when our own systems are out of control in the U.S. Then, he stuffed two pretzel sticks up his nose and made a face so Rob can take a picture. He’s one of the coolest guys I’ve ever met.
That night I tied a half-dozen flies for swinging at winter steelhead the next day: yellow saddle hackles, hot-orange ostrich plumes, overlapping jungle cock eyes, and UV crystal flash, all clumped intruder style on a cut 7999 shank with a trailing hook. I call it the Porno-Prawn. Mariusz offered color combination suggestions. Rob heckled my sloppy methods.
In the morning, Rob braised chunks of lobster tail in Coors Light in a cast iron pan, hoping the giant prawns would transfer some crustacean mojo. Something about leggy sea-bugs appeals to my inner fish-brain.
We ate breakfast, and then jumped down the back steps to fish in the rain. I can’t emphasize enough how amazing it is to go directly from breakfast to fishing, putting on dry waders indoors, and then slipping outside into the river.
The river was a deep chalkboard green, clearing. Snow piled in pockets on the ground. No fish on the camp water, we packed up the rig and headed to the boat ramp.
At the first swing spot, the river was too high to wade, so we fished from the boat. I had the best sink tip for this spot, so I took the run. My spey casting from shore is passable. My spey casting from a boat? Ridiculous. But Mariusz was in the front of the boat with me, and he guided the rod after a couple flubs –he literally cast the rod with one hand, while I held it in both of mine. And the line flew out perfectly, the fly landing inches from the far bank. Spey casting champ… blah blah blah.
After working the run over a couple dozen times, we hooked a wild hen on a pink jig under a bobbicator, pulling it out of the water we’d just fished. Quickly landed and released.
Despite all the pretty spey casting and the jungle cock eyes, the fish wanted a dead drifted pink thing. We were the seventh boat through the run today, and the aggressive fish may have been picked up already.
But this outcome was actually very reassuring to my angler’s psyche.
I was fishing with the best steelhead fly tyer and the best spey caster I’d ever met. It was pretty clear to me that we were swinging as effectively as possible. And yet, nobody got a grab.
But we were in fact swinging over fish. We had a shot at catching some big chrome brute, every time we stepped through that run. And even more reassuring, we hooked and landed one. Steelhead lived here, and they do indeed bite!
Rob down below, swinging what looked like even better steelhead holding zone, hooked up with a couple trout and moved out of the run.
Following the routine, I ran through with the pink jig. Continue reading →
