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Pacific Steelhead Video Hi Speed Only

Sixty degrees, sunny, warm-fish everywhere, twenty five caught by one flyfisher-very good conditions. That was the report last week. Not for me. Slush ice, cold, low and clear water were my conditions and the nagging brain starts again. What the hell was I thinking driving 10 hours to Idaho in the middle of winter for steelhead? The allure of 40+ inch fish had infected my brain. I was locked and loaded at the outset. The back seat of my truck was filled with four rods, 3 reels (extra spools for each), Sink tips, floating lines, hats, gloves, long underwear, sweaters, eight boxes of hand tied flies in an array of colors, a cooler for food and water (in a cooler mostly to keep them from freezing), 2 sets of waders and boots. Nothing was going to stop me from catching fish. Day one was frigid. The morning breeze smacks you in the face and makes your brain recoil in horror. I arrived at the river only to find it locked-up in 4 inches of viscous slush. The worst part, I was not the only angler waiting for the river to thaw. It was Friday morning

pre-sunrise and almost every pool had anglers waiting, some actually sleeping in their trucks all night. I built a fire and waited 5 hours before even wetting a line. Once the ice was gone it only took a half dozed casts to hook a fish. He was very large (35+inches) and promptly broke my line. That was it, the only fish in the pool in I imagine? The bait guys were not even hooking fish. This was the routine for three days each worse than the last, culminating in a snow storm on day 3. But when I say “worse” I only mean in terms of the catching. The fishing was great and the knowledge of what swims in these rivers can keep you going for days and stave of hopelessness. I did catch up with some buddies from Fin-Chasers in Idaho Falls. Dan managed to catch some nice fish on day one and I captured some great video of it. The weather is warming and I will have one more go of it in Idaho Steelhead country this spring. Hopefully the masses will grow bored of frozen guides and slushy rivers and I will have the place more to myself. Just as an aside, Hunter S. Thompson took his own life this week in Aspen, Colorado. I was reminded of one crazy night after fishing the Frying Pan in Aspen a few years ago. Big Ed Koh and I went on a late night search for the “gonzo journalist”. Writing about flyfishing can be a gonzo journalism of sorts. But that is different story for another day. What a tragedy.