Starting Time: 7:00 AM
Location: Skykomish River
Method of Persuasion: Jigs
Setup: Okuma Celilo 9'6" 4-8 Pound Test Rod, Shimano Stradic Reel, 10 Pound Test Hydrofloat

Life has a way of interminably piquing my curiosity. From the simplicity evoked from watching a dime sized ember transform a lifeless pile of logs into a living, raging entity, to the mystery of a float slipping beneath the surface, coercing the most ornery of Steelhead. Though small in physical size and seemingly insignificant, the ember and 1/32nd ounce jig are very much alike, each harnessing the capacity to positively impact this world.

Three things come to my mind each morning I have the privilege of waking: gratitude for another day in my wading boots, curiosity regarding the current location of my Simms waders and the puzzling thought of how I'm going to tuck my better half back under the covers (without waking her) with one foot haphazardly hanging 2 feet off the bed. After achieving victory for the latter, I threw my yellow jig box in my left jacket pocket, synched tight the cables of my boots and groped the darkness for my fishing rod. It was my day off and the time to resynchronize with the rhythms of nature, further ponder Steelhead holding water and probe the depths for spotted olive backs.

Though the conditions were not ideal -the wind was raging and the water was off color- gratitude did not evade me, knowing how the river is a constantly shifting puzzle, never content with it's current course nor depth. Glacial runoff stimulated by the rise in air temperature had caused the resurfacing the entire river bottom; once known fishing haunts had become distant and cold to the touch. I accepted the fresh challenge presented before me, relinquishing all desire to control the conditions, redirection my approach of angling, like water flowing around the rocks. After all, nature is the most concise and candid instructor for the "Academy of Life," never faltering nor wavering during instruction.

A half mile into my walk, favorable water finally presented itself. Out flicked my 27th cast like a trick kite in Long Beach, slicing through the force of the assailing Northern wind. With laser guided precision, my Asian eyes traced the faint fluorescent top of my 20 gram DNE float (we're well known for our astounding peripheral vision). As it glided parallel to the far side of the bank -the river had etched a small pocket into the hillside- my float was no more. I saluted my opponent with 9' 6" of graphite, with the speed of a hand raised during a "volunteer call" from the Reptile Man at an elementary school. I was met with a solid "thump" on the end of my Okuma Celilo. Five ferocious head shakes and a barreling sprint down and across the river send a shock of fear through my spine. Would my Hydrofloat hold up? Only time will tell... He assailed the upper water column and darted to and fro, slapping his speckled, silver-striped tail against the water surface, like a boxer rattling a speed bag. I took a knee down on the grapefruit sized stones of the bank, being forced to play this Steelhead low, and leveraging the rod sideways. Three more attempts to sprint in the shallow water left this Steelhead panting for the now distant oxygenated water, churned by the rapids below his tranquil pool.

If you're reading this from your desk, you have my compassion; the weekend will return and so will you to your true residence. If you're reading this clothed in ACU or NWU, illuminated by infrared light on foreign soil, you have my deepest thanks for your commitment and for your life's service. The river, she beckons, and so echo the pages of history, as an answer to her call has never disappointed. As we near the season's close for the rivers of the Puget Sound, we enter the time of return for behemoth-like hatchery Steelhead, and the preface of the native stock. Like thumbing through the pages of your favorite novel, the river begins to reveal her favorite chapters. I dare you to take a day off from work, and push the envelope to pursue your "fish of a lifetime." Wait not another year, for truthfully, you have this day alone in your possession. When all is said and done, we but scrape the surface of angling, understanding how the art contrasts with the sole pursuit of winching silver-plated silhouettes to the bank. May your rods stay flexed and your creels overflow. Reel Priorities, out.

Rock to rock. Cast by cast.

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