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November Steelhead Chronicle


solopaddler

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Joe is one of my favourite people to fish with.

Having spent a full week in Alaska with him last year I was familiar with his perspective and wit.

"Do you think she'll fish today?" he breathed, as we peered over a 100' precipice to gain a glimpse of the big river snaking its way through the bottom of the gorge.

I had fished it successfully only 3 days previously and even from afar I could tell it was higher and chalkier.

"Only one way to find out" I said, and we carefully began to pick our way down the steep trail.

When we reached the canyon floor there was a bit of rigging to be done. With the stained water and the increase in volume everything had to be bumped up.

I selected a long, lean 15 gram balsa float and pegged it to my mainline with small pieces of tubing.

Larger split shot, it's placement on my line more of a bulk shot pattern, heavier tippet, larger hooks, and large oversized roe bags tied in a variety of bright colours were the order of the day.

It's a frustrating river to fish. As is always the case in order to get fish to bite you have to get your bait down to where the fish are.

The problem here is the literally miles and miles of heavy braided line that cover the river bottom.

Earlier in the season when the salmon run is at its peak the "anglers" (and I use that term loosley) tend to leave annoying reminders of their earlier presence on the river bed.

It's not uncommon here to get snagged and lose your entire rig on multiple consecutive drifts.

Patience is a must.

There were surprisingly few anglers on the river as we positioned ourselves on one of my favourite runs.

First drift, nothing.

Second drift my float disappeared and my rod arm was literally pulled forward as the fish hit. An immense chrome bright fish boiled on the surface and shot downstream through the heavy churning water.

A long drawn out game of tug of war ensued and I eventually managed to slide the fish, spent but dazzling in it's chrome plated armor, into the net.

 

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A quick twist with the forceps and he shot away no worse for the wear.

 

What a great start I thought.

After most long battles in this river it's necessary to re-rig as the tippet tends to get abraided beyond repair.

Preoccupied with my re-rigging I looked to hear a shout from Joe. He was fast to another bright fish and stumbling his way along the bank in pursuit.

 

The long soft rod did it's job and soon Joe was rewarded with his first fish of the day.

 

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Great start indeed!

 

The temperatures were chilly, and there was a steady light mist falling.

It was textbook steelheading weather and if you didn't know any better you'd believe we were on some far flung ribbon of water in the pacific northwest.

Numb, cold reddened digits, runny noses, feet bereft of feeling from standing in the icy water....a run of fresh fish in the river.

This is what we live for.

 

After a short dry spell the fish came fast and furious.

 

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We took shelter from the mist in the lee of a house sized boulder.

Joe found a flat dry rock and lowered himself down onto it, stretching his cold stiff legs.

"I wonder if we should stick it out" he mused.

It's almost criminal to walk away from fish, especially ones that are eagerly biting.

We had thoughts of another nearby river in our heads, and sometimes as you know, variety is the spice of life.

 

"Let's wait just a bit" I replied.

There was a short seam directly below the waterfall that I knew was stacked with fish.

Unfortunately a lot of other people know it too and the only feasable spots to fish are almost always taken.

The best spot is a large table top flat rock easily 12' in diameter. It sits just under the waters surface about 8' from shore.

That 8' is a doozy though. Waist deep water, moving swiftly and riddled with sharp, jagged slime slickened boulders. It's sketchy getting over to the rock in even perfect conditions.

When the water is coloured enough that you can't see bottom, it's trecherous.

 

Still it's a tempting spot.

We walked upstream closer to the falls and watched the anglers.

There was one lone sentinel perched on the rock, mist swirling around him from the thunderous falls.

Just downstream were 2 fly anglers anxiously flailing the tailout while standing slightly downstream in very marginal vantage points.

 

"There's no room for us" lamented Joe.

Just as the words were uttered the angler on the rock began to take down his rod. He was leaving.

 

"Let's go!" I said as we hustled across the rain slickened boulders to the spot.

 

We had a bit of difficulty getting to the rock, slipping, sliding and almost falling, but we managed it and climbed up with anticipation high.

 

The spot sits at the tailout of the pool below the falls. A perfect spot for steelhead to rest after running through the narrow gauntlet of boiling whitewater that exits the pool.

The problem is obvious.

When fish are hooked it's difficult to hold them in the pool. They almost always shoot downstream through the heavy water making following them your only option.

For obvious reasons following them is difficult if not dangerous.

 

Most of the time I refuse to do it.

I'll simply stand on the fish and pray that I can work them back upstream to me.

That works maybe 30% of the time.

The other 70% shoot out of the pool into the rapids and I break them off.

 

Joe, gentleman that he is, let me have first crack.

Not unexpectedly my float shot down with authority and I set the hook into a fish on my first drift.

A long protracted battle ensued and amazingly I was able to work it towards me and slip the net under it.

 

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It turned out to be an embarassment of riches, my first 8 drifts produced fish.

Some were enormous, rolling and wallowing in the current downstream from me before shooting through the rapids and losing them.

Some however were brought to hand.

 

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Joe had hooked and lost a few as well.

 

"Next fish I hook I'm following it bud, I don't care".

 

"Well" said I "If you manage to land said fish we'll leave and head to the other river. Deal?"

 

"Done" says Joe and he began to cast with a little extra oomph.

 

It didn't take long.

He had let his float drift downstream right to the brink of the rapids. It was pulled sideways, either by the bottom I thought or by the faster flowing water.

Still he struck and the water exploded as another thick shouldered steelhead felt the sting of his hook.

"This is the one buddy, don't give it an inch!"

The fish shook it's head back and forth then not surprisingly turned tail and bolted into the rapids exiting the pool.

 

Joe had already been in the process of clambering off the rock when the fish took flight. He quickly made it to shore, and rod held high he took chase.

 

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I watched from atop the rock and silently cheered as Joe slid his fish into the shallow rocks after a lengthy battle.

 

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A deal is a deal I thought as I took down my rod and slipped off the rock into the water.

 

Time to move on. With daylight precious at this time of year if we did indeed want to fish another river we'd have to leave now.

 

As we huffed and puffed our way up out of the gorge Joe paused and said "Y'know I don't think I'll ever forget that last fish. Man that was something else."

 

I smiled and nodded, I knew exactly what he meant.

 

We did make our way over to another nearby river, this one containing a healthy run of lake run brown trout along with it's steelhead.

But then, that's another story. :)

 

Cheers, Mike

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Guest ThisPlaceSucks

good stuff as always. i've said it before but i'm truly envious of the numbers you guys can get into!

i'm going to have to pay a visit down there more often.

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Being a relatively new member to the OFC, but, a long time steelheader, I truly enjoy your reports and long for the days when I have the time to pursue these fish as often as I would like. For now it is weekends and the odd day off in the latter part of November (co-worker with more seniority takes the first two weeks for deer hunting)! Keep up the amazing work!!

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