Great story Ryan and to echo the others...Happy Birthday! Al Peterson ---------- Original Message ---------------------------------- From: "Ryan Davey" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> Reply-To: [EMAIL PROTECTED] Date: Mon, 10 Feb 2003 06:55:06 -0800
> It all started many years ago, when a close friend called me >to explain his problem. "Every year, I've gone fishing for my birthday. >It's a tradition." That year, he was without a vehicle and dying for >some fishing. Always looking for an excuse to go fishing, I called in >sick and took him to the South Platte for the day. While the idea is by >no means unique, I adopted it and have gone fishing on my birthday every >year since. One year I spent four days catching huge rainbows on an >obscure lake on the North Island of New Zealand. Another year, a friend >took me smallmouth bass fishing in a small creek. > All week I pondered the options of where to go. Since I had >gotten recent negative reports on lahontan cutthroats, and I was >convinced that steelhead were a myth anyway, I was leaning towards >fishing some hidden desert creeks. I called a friend, who happened to >be a steelhead bum, and he said the rivers on the Peninsula were in >shape and the forecast was good. Well, I thought, I wouldn't mind >catching a steelhead for my birthday. I have spent a considerable >amount of time trying to figure out why quite a few perfectly normal >trout fisherman friends of mine now only fish for steelhead. There must >be something to it, I thought. > The night before the trip, I called my friend to confirm our >trip. He said he had a bronze casting class that he just couldn't get >out of, so I gathered a few spots off him and arranged to meet him at a >certain campground on Wednesday night. Hurriedly, I tied 3 dozen flies, >packed my gear, and was ready. > At 6:30am I left work, and made it to my destination on the >Peninsula absolutely exhausted from not sleeping and the long drive. >After an hour cat nap, I downed some caffeine and began scouting a place >to fish. This was a very popular river, and even on a Wednesday most of >the pullouts were full. Chris had said one of the keys to success was >finding fish that hadn't been pressured, and he should know, last season >he caught more steelhead than most people catch in they're lives. Aside >from that knowledge, I like to get off the beaten path. > After locating a likely spot, I parked my car, suited up, >and followed the overgrown road deep into the first growth forest. Soon >the forest service road ended, and after a few minutes of searching, I >found a rough cut trail disappearing into the dark overgrown bush. The >trail slithered and snaked it's way deeper and deeper, and soon I could >hear the rushing sound of water. The trail suddenly ended at a huge >fallen log, and following it's length, I found myself standing out over >a forty foot cliff overlooking the river. Instinctively I reached for >my digital camera, and turned it on to capture the beauty of this rugged >river valley. Nothing. I stared at it in bewilderment for a moment, >before realizing that I had forgotten my battery in the charger at home. >Damnit, I thought, hope I don't catch a steelhead. > While the thought of sliding down the cliff to access the >river looked more appealing than I'm sure it would have been, I couldn't >ponder a way back up to return to my vehicle. Eventually, I backtracked >to my car. > I spent the next hour driving up and down, in a state of >delirium, trying to figure out where to fish. Eventually, I found >another forest road. This one was as overgrown as the first, and I saw >no other footprints. It also terminated without warning, and I found >myself bushwhacking in the direction that I knew the river lay. >Following game trails, drainages, anything I could find, I secretly >hoped I would be able to find my way back out again. Soon, I arrived at >another cliff. Walking it's length, I found a way down, crossed a small >feeder creek, a flood plain, and arrived at a braid of the river. > This braid of the river was small, intimate, with lot's of >good structure and holding water. After rigging up, I walked down to >the river and saw a shadow slide away. Aaah, I thought. A steelhead. >On my side of the river lay a slot about five foot deep, the far side >was a shallow fast flowing flat, well oxygenated. As I watched the >flat, I noticed two dark shapes in the water, moving occasionally. A >spawning pair of steelhead, I thought. Slipping into the river, I >crossed the fast current slightly upstream of a fast rapid, and slowly >creeped up the flat. The spawning pair spooked off into some nearby >structure, and my eyes crisscrossed the flat, searching. >Slowly, the techniques I had learned for spotting trout in New Zealand >came back to me, and as still as a hunting heron, I watched. I >eventually noticed a shape holding in a foot of water in the lee of a >small rock, and took a few steps forward. Is that a fish, I thought? >Another two steps. Looks like a fish, I mumbled to myself. Slowly I >slid into position, the same as I would stalking a New Zealand South >Island brown. The shape lay just within casting range, not close enough >to spook in the shallow water, and five feet to the right of it. Make >the first cast count, I told myself, as I stripped out line. >It was perfect, I couldn't have asked for a better cast. The indicator >went down, and for a second, my fatigued mind just stared at it. I set >the hook, and the world exploded. I was hooked into my first steelhead >on a fly. Upstream she ran, then down as I palmed the reel and applied >side pressure in a feeble attempt to stop his descent. Unaccustomed to >a 13 foot spey rod and 8 pound Maxima, I was amazed at just how much >pressure I could actually apply. She ran, of course, straight for the >nearest log jam, directly below me. I felt the sickening feeling in my >stomach when you realise that the weight at the end of the rod is >static, not moving. She had wrapped me around a tree limb. I'm done, I >thought. >I had one chance, a trick I had learned in trout fishing years ago, and >it was only a slight chance. I slid slightly downstream of her, and >holding the rod sideways low to the water, I let off the pressure, >praying she would swim out. Nothing happened for what seemed like an >eternity, and then I felt the head shaking. > It was about this time that I looked downstream to see a >large log jam, covering nearly the entire width of the river. I know if >she made it to that, I would be finished for sure. For a few tense >moments I applied side pressure, and managed somehow to beech her in the >shallows. I guestimated her at around 6-7 pounds and 28"(measured >against the rod), not particularly large as steelhead go, but I was >beaming. She wasn't chrome, but wasn't dark either. As I released her >and watched her kick effortlessly upstream, I realised, she would do. I >had caught my first steelhead on a fly. > > >Ryan Davey >worldanglr > >Calling Fly Fishing a hobby is like calling Brain Surgery a job. >- Paul Schullery > > >
