“Eighty percent of success is showing up” –Woody Allen

“It’s the brightest fly I’ve ever tossed. It’s orange and pink. It’s like a flame. A three inch flame. I’m a flame thrower. Even the icy, glacier fed big river I’m on can’t extinguish it. It continues to burn bright as I direct it to swing repetitively and methodically through each run that I fish. Occasionally a Seal surfaces and eyes me. It reminds me that saltwater is not far off. I’m a mere 30 miles from the pacific coast”– Bob

I arrived at the big river the last week of March and fished into the second week of April. When I got here snow was still in the river valley; deep in shaded areas and more sparse where the sun could get to it. The high peaks fringing both sides of the river valley had unbelievable snow pack. More than I’ve ever witnessed in any mountain range. Also the whitest. The moisture from the nearby ocean fuels a lot of precipitation: rain when warm and if cold enough snow, especially at elevation. Temperature the first week was often slightly sub-zero in the morning. On a few days it was iced-up rod guides until noon, especially if there was a breeze. Afternoons were usually above zero, in the 4 to 10c range The big river was low and clear, and open; no ice cover. That was important and why I made the two day journey here as my intention was to explore it on foot: walk/wading.

I was here to fish the brief late winter, early spring Steelhead run. I had read the run was not as prolific as the famous late Summer, Fall one but that what it lacked in the number of fish returning it often made up in the size; the quality of the fish. I had also read that the fish came in and “did their thing” and then quickly returned to the ocean. Most don’t take up residence. They are on the move and simply resting on occasion. My job was to try an intercept one along their travel path while they were on their quick journey up river and then back to the salt. Unlike the Fall run, no Salmon accompany them.

Finding foot access to the big river was not easy. It was the most challenging part of the trip. I had read that before coming here and it was true. Satellite shots were helpful but not always. Most anglers access the river’s many runs and prime spots via power boats. I found the local fly shop not all that helpful regarding information on river access even though I frequented it often, bought a lot of flies, leader material and sink tips. Finding car pull-overs (parking) was challenging, especially the first week as high plowed snow banks went to the edge of most roads. There were the ever present transport and logging trucks on my tail and I had to avoid several avalanche zones. When hiking to the river often there was thick riverside brush and dense willow growth to cope with; sometimes knee to hip deep snow; there were many huge impenetrable log jams; there were multiple side channels to traverse to get to main runs and some too deep to cross; there were huge islands to circumvent; and a myriad of other adversities to figure out as it was my first time to the region. I’d often spot good casting water from a distance, trek towards it but simply could not get to it. I spent a lot of time looking for access and good water to swing a fly on. Eventually I found several angling spots that I coveted and could rotate through during an angling week always hoping a fish would show-up; be present on one of them. A few were relatively easy access and nice to have when I wanted a light day. Most of the time I made my way to and hung-out on huge freestone/sand shoals/bars or the side of an island that had open terrain and an impressive long run. It was nice to spend a day at these locations. There was no back-casting limitations. I could overhand “beach cast” my two-handed rod.

Days on the big river passed quickly. Casting the two-hander repetitively became somewhat meditative. With time I started to wonder if there were any fish in the river. I had to remind myself that there were; some were out there; just “stick with it’. Sometimes I had to pep talk myself into making that “one more cast”. Then on my seventh day my line tightened up on something that was not a rock or a stick. It was alive and powerful. You gotta have faith…

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