As most of you know, I'm a sucker for short sleeve steelheading. So much so that the season approaching us makes me do crazy things (ie: growing beards, mustaches, lifting weights (for stamina purposes, you know, walking lots of river miles and stuff
), and crossing out days on my calendar). I really don't know what it is about these skinny buggers that get my goat but my most precious steelheading memories come from these agressive silver bullets that have attacked not my jig, but my float on dozens of occasions. I caught a summer run with a cigarette butt in its gut for goodness sakes! Stupid agressive fish that when unmolested, will do anything for a bite of your offering......
Anyhow, my most amazing memory of a summer run occured only one year ago. Here goes:
Bob, my stepdad, had been pestering me to take him summerun fishing for a few weeks. It was mid may and the fishing was tough in the open streams and Blue Creek wasn't my idea of getting my stepdad into real fishing. Hence, I told him to wait a bit for the opener and fortunately, fish and wildlife opened a few of my favorite tribs early last year. Thank the good Lord.... Anyhow, armed with pink worms we hit the river on a late May Saturday afternoon with mediocre hopes of landing a tasty early summer steelhead. In a short stretch of water I found myself limited in short order when the whole "Will you punch my fish?" thought entered my mind. He obliged so the experiment began..... when I say experiment you folks out for meat know exactly what I'm talking about..... (You get your first fish quick, much earlier than you expect, so you throw random things to see if they work knowing that you've already got one on the bank so what's wrong with a little experimentation?"). I think I tinkered with crankbaits, rapalas, and only God knows what else without a take. So........ back to a pink worm I go. I remember finding a boulder toward the end of the tailout and calling the shot. It sounded something like this:
"Bob, watch this (cocky as ever). I'm gonna throw this worm behind that root wad and swing it behind that boulder. When I get to that leaf on the surface I'll get a hit." Sure enough, tap, tap, tap, BAM...... Fish on. I immediately swing the rod down to turn the fish. Big fish. He's running mach 3 down a chute until he decides to follow the lead of my rod tip when he turns and I holler "GONE"...... I "thought" I'd lost him. Wrong. As I scramble to reel in the slack (dang 5:1 gear ratios), I see this 12 - 14 pound beast completely clear, and I mean completely clear, my stepdad. About 2 feet prior to reaching Bob this fish decides to clear him. Bob was standing in roughly 2 feet of water and this fish jumped over him a good 12 inches, worm a danglin' from his cheek. If I had a camera I'd win every photo contest ever. Period. Needless to say, I eventually catch up to the bugger and the rest is history. Memory sealed. I'll never see anything like that again. Or will I? That, my friends, is why I love summer runs. Plus, they don't taste like old chicken like their winter brethren
.......
Relish your hours on the water, folks. Until we meet in the tailout, fish on....
