I spent Father's Day weekend in the foothills of Washington's Cascade mountains, a couple of hours North of my home in Edmonds. We were fishing glacially fed streams and creeks, colored a milky blue from glacial runoff and snowmelt. We camped in a part of the Mt. Baker/Snoqulmie National Forest, surrounded by towering, ancient Cedar and Douglas Fir. I last visited this area about ten years ago, and I'd forgotten how beautiful it was. It was a special weekend, and I wanted to share a few highlights with you.
Allow me to introduce my family, Princess' Father and two of her brothers, Dave, Randy, and Stephen (L to R).
Fish are terrified of these two. Unfortunately, so are most of our friends.
Stephen and I hiked quite a ways upstream of our camp in search of likely fish hideouts. We were a bit early for the Dolly Varden trout, and high water volume made fishing difficult. Stephen lays out a bit of line in a nice looking eddy...
Pressing on upstream, I still had no luck. Stephen had picked up a nice trout earlier in the day on another creek, but I'd felt only one "bump" on a fly all morning, and no hookup. This is a view upstream, from a point a mile or so above our camp.
And the view downstream,
I finally trekked back to camp, pleased with the scenery but disappointed in the fishing. I sat down for a break, quaffed a few diet cokes, and began fishing my way downstream from our campsite. Having had no luck with my fly rod all day, I decided to work with my spinning rod instead. It is a light trout rod, with a shimano reel and 8 or 12 pound test, I'm not sure which. I'd been fishing for over 8 hours, and my neoprene waders felt like a sauna. I hiked through the stream wherever possible, and over boulders, undergrowth, and the trail when accessible, dipping into the stream whenever I found a promising hole.
Oh, and that trout rod? It was presented to me as an anniversary gift by Princess' brother Stephen in 1993. He was DF'd at the time, but he went out of his way to give us two rods in celebration of our 5th year together. We'd been friends when I first moved here from Texas in 1986, but then I met his sister, and he got bumped. Princess was and still is waaaayyyyyy cuter. Stephen is definitely the funniest member of the family though, and shares my love of fishing. Which makes what happened next so special.
About a mile down from camp, I hooked into a huge buck Steelhead. These fish are legendary for their power and stamina, and this one did not disappoint. I was fishing from a boulder in the middle of the stream, next to fast, deep water, and right above a fallen tree and waterfall. If the fish pulled into the fast water, he'd be gone forever. If he went around one of the tree limbs, he'd snap off like an old pencil. If he figured out that he was hooked on light trout gear, I knew he'd spit the lure and laugh at me. I struggled to control my racing heart, knowing I hadn't brought a net, seeing no suitable ground where I could land the fish. I also knew that my campmates would never believe I had hooked this monster if I didn't have proof, so I fought the fish with the rod in my right hand, while I reached into my vest pocket with my left for the digital camera. I snapped a bit of photographic evidence, put the camera back in my vest, and continued the contest, expecting him to break off any second. We battled for about 20 minutes, when I finally pulled him onto the boulder in the photo.
He was 30.5 inches long, and weighed between 9 and 10 pounds. I brought him back to camp, to the cheers and high fives of all. I held a dreamlike, euphoric high all night, made all the more special by the friends there to share in the event. These fish, more than any other, are the crux of Northwest fishing lore. All night long, everyone spun fishing yarns by the campfire, re-living old catches, making them new once again. Later that night, Randy reminded me of the need to pose with my fish. Thanks, Randy. Your copies are on the way.
This was a great day. But then, most are.
Steve
