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Rough, Rowdy, Extraordinary.
Skykomish River
7:10AM-3:50PM
Lamiglas SI-IH 9'3"
Okuma Celilo 8'
The thing about chasing steelhead that differs from all other northwest fish species is the ruthless tenacity for these muscular, chrome submarines to escape every angling predicament. I wonder if steelhead realize that they've been hooked and thus know that simple 8lb copolymer wire the diameter of a needle is all that needs to be broken to set them free.
I would like to think so. Steelhead do seem to be more aware when something they clamp down on bites them back. It isn't very often that at the moment of hookset line is already screaming off of the reel and the fish on the other end shoots out of the water like a breaching whale.
I have never fought a fish that uses every weapon in it's arsenal to combat the nagging of a pesky fisherman attempting to bring it to the surface. Literally every weapon.
And when I though I had seen it all, Mrs. Steelie busted out a few more moves that kept me literally trying to dance fast enough to keep up. But my dancing boots were on, and two-stepped along to the rhythm of her finest salsa-tail-dance.
More on that later. The day has to start somewhere, so why not kick it off on the third cast.
I had made my way to a slot that has so far been 3/4 for me and steelhead this season. The third fish came on the third cast with a nightmare pattern jig, tied up the previous night. The the second time this has happened here, actually. The float happily sank down, and a bright, spunky steelhead thrashed about on the line. Upon bringing it in, an adipose was visible. I am not sure if it is a complete adipose or not, but I didn't want to take a chance and keep a native fish. I didn't know, so back into the water it went after a quick unhooking, photo, and moment of admiration.
I covered lots of sky river miles, many of which produced nothing. It makes me wonder why some stretches of river, seemingly identical to others: speed, depth, and bottom structure, are vastly different when it comes to holding fish. Not just steelhead, but Bull trout, Coho, and other trout species I can usually coax out of their holes if they are around.
Hours passed, a trout here, a trout there, but the target of the day, the Steelhead, still seemed elusive after the wee hours of the morning. Light snow was falling, adding to the majesty of the river in the winter. Like the snow, I decided to suspend a bit longer in the area, rather than just drip away into the crowds of people back on the streets and city blocks.
One last pool to cover, one that I knew held fish as recently as two days ago. Still a little bitter about that day.
Eight cast. Or was it ninth? I don't remember. The next events completely removed the sanity from my brain for a couple of minutes. Here we go. Float gliding slowly down the inside seam, and the time to mend has occurred. The Lamiglas was raised high in the apex of the mend when the float vanished below the frigid riffles. The hook was set behind my head, but lightly. I knew it was poorly executed, so as the fish began to shake his head, I put a couple additional hooksets into him. My drag was loose enough that I hoped my line would stay intact during this, and it did.
And so begins the most ridiculous fight I have ever seen or heard of. Maybe I haven't heard of enough wild battles with fish, but this one for sure takes the cake as my top one.
So here we go. The fish didn't take her time showing herself. Bright sides illuminated by the sun exposed a better fish under the surface. Vicious head shakes and thrashes on the surface furthered this notion of a good fish. I was taking my time, loosening my drag, and playing the fish out.
She came in pretty quickly at first, but I knew she wasn't done. I have learned from past encounters. I then found a suitable landing location, fifteen yards away. I began making my way down, letting the fish sip on air as I went down. There was no rush. She was on her side, bright chrome, slowly swimming along. I identified a hatchery fish, and prepared for landing.
She then sprung to life once more, diving down, attempting to go through my legs. Twice this has happened in the past weeks, twice has my line been frayed and cleaved in half. However, as her dance moves erupted into full form, mine were brought out as well. One leg up and a one-legged hop with the other cleared the line, and a quick spin brought me right back onto the fish.
That didn't work for her. So, she brought her game up to a whole new level. After charging across the the river into the middle of the slot once more, I brought her back, and amidst another surprising series of violent head-shakes, I heard a wicked snap. Looking at my gear, the tip of my rod had been seemingly sawn in half, only hanging on by a thread, literally.
Oh no, I thought. Now it's crunch time... bringing the surprisingly vibrant fish in with a crippled rod... quicker than I want. Hauling the fish in wasn't much of a challenge after a tiring series of thrashes, but the final moments of the fight are those that I fear the most.
And rightfully so. I am 8/11 this year (excluding this fish) up until the final landing phases. My landing amount drops to 5/11 during the landings; I need to work on corralling these fish in during close quarters environments. So here I am, fighting out of my comfort zone in my least productive time with a broken rod and a 28" steelhead on the line.
To the shore she swam next, but she was not done. Another thrash, leaping out of the water just inches form the bank, over a couple of rocks and back into the water to my right. Another snap resounded in my ears, and the fish swam off dragging my entire float setup. That son of a B-run.
She danced well. But I danced better.
Because the second that snap of the line hit my ears, my rod dropped, as did my jaw, and I turned around and blindly lunged into the water, head first, after the fish. Like a WWE wrestler, I Landed in the water flat, arms out. I was soaked, and then shocked to feel the fish moving around my arms. For ten seconds we fought, sparring as she tried to escape, and I tried with all my might to hang on, looking through blurry optics without clear vision. With open palms I was able to hinder her swimming off, and turned her around.But she rocketed through the gap in my armpit, behind me, scooting the edge of the river. Seeing nothing but a wake off to my right, I lunged sideways to the fullest of my reach and with one open palm tried to stop her last advance.
In a dead sprint she churned away. My outstretched arm was right there, and stopped her dead in her tracks. Her mighty metal head buried into my palm like a battering ram. Upon her attempt to turn around, my other arm swung around like a propeller to a plane, and landed perfectly onto the tail of the most skilled anadromous fighter I've ever seen. A firm grasp around the tail secured the prize.
"Oh no you don't. Not today" I said, hoisting the fish onto the bank. Those unforgettable words of my triumph stand as a testament to living, learning, and conquering.
Upon landing the fish, I took a series of snapchats (I'm still 18 after all). This is what I said in the moment:
"This is the result of a hard day's work, what it boils down to: Preparation, execution, passion, and excellence."
While not a conventional or desired method of landing a fish, I somehow managed to haul it in. The first time I've ever seen that happen. Maybe the last. I feel bad for the fish for being put under such strenuous circumstances, but the fish was confirmed as a hatchery fish and one to be harvested, which I did. Instead of a net, I used my entire body. The fish was in the end tailed in the water, and I somehow managed to escape victorious.
I hadn't even realized through all of the adrenaline that I had re-injured my knee, it was only until after I tried to stand up that my left knee bellowed out "nope" and gave out under serious pain. This was only temporary and swelling of the area was nonexistent, and soon I was walking again with moderate pain in my leg.
The day ended soon thereafter with a 20 inch bull trout, C&R on my 8ft ultralight-converted float rod due to my other one being broken now, and a long haul back to my awaiting Dodge, parked in the slop on the side of the road.
Tight, unbroken lines to you all. Hope the Christmas/Holiday season was great for you all and wishing that your own efforts and passions be rewarded with the Ghost of our northwest rivers.
"When Life Gives You Lemons"
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