“Grab your gear and get over here” the voice on the other end of the phone called out. It was my friend Amy Zieser. I had not heard from her in quite a while, but she had been a good friend growing up, so a call out of the blue was not unusual. Growing up, in Western New York, we hung out often and shared many experiences during our adolescence. “I got a couple nice Steelies yesterday afternoon at my new place and wanted to see if you could give me a couple pointers today” she finished. “Sure” I said and I quickly hung up the phone. The weather was fantastic. It was warm, around 75 degrees but it was getting late in the afternoon and the sun was fading fast. I was excited about the prospect of Steelhead fishing so close to home. As I hurriedly gathered up my gear my thoughts drifted. What Steelhead river was she talking about? I had grown up here and I did not remember any Steelhead rivers five minutes from my house? I wondered about the fish too. What would they be like? Would they be the brightly colored, long, slender torpedoes I have found out west, like the wild Steelhead I have caught in Idaho and Alaska? Or would they be the stout, shouldered, chrome bulls that I have come to expect in Upstate New York. “Be sure to grab all the egg patterns and the camera” I thought to myself. Checking the time I had trouble focusing on the clock. The numbers did not make sense and faded in and out of recognizable shapes. My eyes struggled to peel back the layers of sleep and the numbers finally came into focus, 3:58 am. Then I realize. I am in Utah, it is winter and there are no Steelhead rivers within 500 miles. Damn! Rolling over I tighten the sheets and blankets around my shoulders and consider throwing another log on the fire. “I wonder if the Steelhead dream about me” I thought to myself.