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Back Fat, Phat Back
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I love the Summer Steelhead. The word “steelhead” means so many things, and when it has the word summer preceding it, that’s the meaning I can get up early for. The winter’s are a burlier fish for sure. Thick, strong, mean, empty stomached and less grabby. The winter steelhead is truly the fish of 10,000 casts. I spent a fun week fishing for BIG winter steelhead in the fabled waters of Washington’s Olympic Peninsula, and Skagit Valley this past February. I learned some new things, saw some new places; which always add to the draw of a trip.
For starters, the fly anglers in that area can throw their spey rods like a Tiger Woods 1-iron. So forget trying to be the third or forth group through a piece of water, and sticking a steelhead. The town of Forks, Washington boils with drift boats every dark morning the rivers are “in”. You cannot get on the water too early. And, after six subconscious days of casting sink tips with a two hander, it hit me. The “Skagit Style” spey cast (for the spey clave impaired, this is a short choppy casting stroke with short heavy heads and a lot of shooting line) is not about distance casting sink-tips more efficiently. It is by far the best, and only, spey cast than can be repetitiously mastered in a straight jacket. And I recommend a Gore-Tex straight jacket for pursuing these fish; the peninsula gets plenty of rain.
The magnetism of the rainforest, nevertheless, will bring me back for another attempt. After 6 days of getting up at 4:00am, and 6 days of wading mile long rock “bars”, and 6 days of single malt casting lessons my fatigued legs and jelled brain started swallowing the colors of the sounds I could hear. I achieved foundational relaxation in becoming part of the mossy, moist, fern covered landscape where man’s insignificants in the theme of nature can still be felt.
My brain, fermenting in the thoughts of being violently jacked (mugged?) by a 20lb. chromer kept me going on every cast. 20,000 casts later on day seven it was time to migrate home on my own river, of asphalt.
It’s the winter steelhead that can bring an experience fly fisher to tears. It’s the summer steelhead that is the energy center for all grabaholics, tug junkies, fin addicts and the united unspoken brotherhood (sorry Kate, sisterhood didn’t fit) of chrome devotees. No club meeting validation, no chat room approval, no immodest comments. Just the facial hand shake of a habitual caster to another that they had “a day”. Maybe even “the” day. Some times it’s a studder. Sometimes a blank, lost stare. Sometimes a book of non-fiction detail condensed into a simple three second long “Hey….” or “Dude….”
Manageable flows, pleasant weather, longer day light hours, warmer water, and fish that actually eat and/or move good distances to the fly. Oh………….ya. Summer Steelhead. I think what I love about them is no matter when, where, why or how there is still a margin of surprise to every hook-up.
The tug is the drug in these two very different games that can both be a trial of patience. It’s all cool, and it’s all fun.
I look forward to sharing a piece of water with you sometime……………
Todd Ostenson
Trophy Waters Flyfishing Shop
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