What is a Native Trout?

Redemption. It probably isn’t the most common word used to describe a fishing trip, but redemption was certainly one of the prominent emotions I felt at the highlight of a recent trip to the Olympic Peninsula of Washington. It was March 1, 2020. I was sitting on an airplane at Denver International Airport waiting for departure. Seattle was the destination, and my thoughts took me back to three years earlier when I was sitting on a different plane heading to the same destination in high hopes of catching my first Steelhead on a fly rod. That trip didn’t go as planned, as fishing trips oftentimes don’t, but I vowed then to return and set the record straight; and that is what I fully intended to do in 2020. It’s amazing how the anticipation of a fly fishing adventure can so easily erase the memory of the recent past. I mean, who wants to dwell on 10 straight days of steady rain causing every river in the Pacific Northwest to completely blow out, making them virtually unfishable? Pair that with the unfortunate reality that my good friend, and local Steelhead expert, Gary, came down with the flu on the day I had arrived. Sickness aside, the flooded rivers alone became the main factor in that trip being less than ideal. I obviously don’t blame the angling misfortune on my friend for becoming sick. No one plans for that. I felt terrible he was feeling ill, and he felt equally awful, as I would have in his shoes as well, for “ruining” the trip. The reality however, was that fishing for steelhead was basically out of the picture based solely on the river conditions alone, so I made the most of my time and sought out some sea-run cutthroat in the local bays around Tacoma. As I sat on that plane, memories still fresh in my mind from 3 years prior, I knew ‘redemption’ was just as much a lingering thought for Gary as it was for me. ***** The drive from SeaTac to the small town of Forks, WA. was simply put: breathtaking. The Olympic Peninsula is one of those places that grabs your attention in a vise and won’t let go. I wouldn’t have it any other way, and as the wild feeling of this vast wilderness settled on my soul, it felt comforting, and offered a sense of belonging. I’ve always felt that way in the wilderness. Glacial blue water, paired with towering old growth forests; a Pacific fog lingering over the valleys, and Roosevelt elk feeding in the open meadows along wild rivers, painted a picture nearly too grand for words. I was happy to be there, and couldn’t wait to get a line wet in the morning. Steelhead fishing is a lot like many jobs I’ve had over the years; especially the more service-oriented professions. When speaking with someone on the phone who was inquiring about a specific product or service, the common phrase I often heard from my manager was to always, “under-promise and over-deliver,” Gary must have heard a similar phrase at one time, because he had certainly mastered this art on our 2 hour hike through the forest to the section of river we had planned to fish on that first day. I’ll never forget his words: “If you hook-up with a fish, consider it a good day. If you land a fish, consider it a great day.” He went on to tell me how he had known plenty of people who fished an entire winter without landing one fish. He always ended these stories with the all too familiar phrase, “That’s steelheading,” as he made a shrugging motion with his shoulders all while sporting a grin on his face. My inner thoughts as he shared these stories ranged from, ‘Give me a break, who spends a whole season fishing without catching a single fish?’ to, ‘We better get on some water ASAP!’ All things considered though, I was well aware of the ‘fish of a thousand casts’ description when speaking of these silver ghosts. I absorbed the information in stride and kept my pace steady as we meandered through the most ancient and pristine forest I had ever stepped foot in. Day one turned out to be a “good day.” I had a strike, followed by a split-second battle, and then nothing. It was enough to release a primal scream from my lungs however, and share a high-five with Gary. I figured I had made at least a few hundred casts that day; well on my way to landing one of these river giants, or so I hoped. During the hike out, I felt much more present with my surroundings. I had fooled a steelhead on our very first day. My confidence soared as I thought about the remainder of the trip and all the water we had yet to explore. It was a good day. The next morning we left the hotel early, grabbed some coffee at a local drive through, and headed to one of the many local rainforest rivers. This particular river is one of the more well known rivers on the OP, and for good reason. Some of the largest trees in the world line the banks of this river in the National Park section, creating one of the most unique and incredible landscapes in the country in my opinion. Apparently the Steelhead fishing is pretty good too. It would be a dream come true to catch a wild steelhead in this gorgeous environment. I was already playing the scene out in my mind as we hiked upriver. A couple hours later we stepped out into the river. We both looked at each other and knew we were thinking the same thing. This was ‘Steelhead water.’ Our energy and excitement was high as we looked this stretch over in great detail and discussed how we would fish it. Gary started high on the run and I started 50 yards below him; both of us slowly worked our way downriver covering every inch of water we could with our nymph rigs. As I approached a large, partially submerged log on the far bank, I intuitively knew that my opportunity might very well be upon me. The deeper pool formed right in front of the log where the eddyline appeared was as ‘fishy’ of water as I had seen yet. I had to make the next cast count. I knew I had to let my nymphs drift for as long as possible along that seam and right up to the log before lifting my rod and ending the drag-free drift. The danger was that if I let it drift too long, I would inevitably end up snagging the log and potentially spooking anything holding in that run. Needless to say, I did not want to do that. I tried a few shorter casts at first just to make sure nothing was holding in the less attractive water, but it also provided some critical practice attempts before drifting my rig through the prime water. I took a couple more steps downriver to position myself in the most ideal spot to make the cast. The weighted flies hit the water with a soft ‘kerplunk’ milliseconds before my indicator began its course downstream in the current, nymph rig in tow. I made my mend just as the indicator passed by me and held my breath as my flies approached what could aptly be named, “Steelhead Lane.” I waited until the last possible second and began lifting my rod to avoid entanglement with the large strainer that loomed beneath the surface of the water. Too late. Almost immediately there was tension on my line and my rod bent nearly in half to let me know I had snagged on the log. I gave it a quick jerk upwards and downriver just in case, but the line did not even budge. I was convinced I had snagged on the log, until I watched my line zip upriver so powerfully and fast creating the sweetest music from my reel that anglers cherish the world over. “Fish on!!!” My mind raced and adrenaline surged through my veins as I entered into a battle that commanded every ounce of attention my entire being could muster. Gary reeled his line in and came over as fast as he could to help, offering encouragement and advice, and of course snapping a few photos along the way. This was after all, the very first Steelhead I had ever hooked up with for more than a few seconds. At that very moment, we had entered “good day” status. I was going to do my best to turn it into a “great day” by landing this submarine of a fish! We weren’t making that possibility any easier on ourselves by not having a net with us however, but Gary reassured me that we would bring it to hand and tail it. I couldn’t let myself worry too much about that scenario, as this fish demanded my attention and expected a worthy opponent in me. I slowly backed myself up to the edge of the river as my line stayed taught and my rod remained bent into a tight curve. I was what anglers call, “corked.” On three separate occasions I was able to reel the fish into shallow water and catch glimpses of its large torpedo shaped body, only to have it tear away again into deeper, faster water; with ease no less. Each time it ran, my adrenaline spiked and the smile across my face broadened. This fish wasn’t going to give up without a fight that I would remember for the rest of my life. About fifteen minutes since the initial moment when I thought I had snagged into that log, my rod straightened out and the tension in my line came to a halt, right after I watched Gary skillfully tail a large fish. I screamed and pumped my fist in the air as adrenaline once again raced through my body. It was much like the feeling you get after shooting your first deer or elk; and every one after, for that matter. It was an exceptional Steelhead; a double banded buck. I felt such awe and an overwhelming sense of gratitude and respect for this native fish as I held it in my hands. I had never witnessed such an intense string of feelings as I did when I was hooked up with this warrior only moments earlier; and now as it recovered right next to me, cradled in my hands, I was engulfed with another round of emotions including; thankfulness, joy, excitement, relief, awe, wonder, passion, and of course, redemption. Those emotions stayed with me long after we watched that beautiful steelhead swim away and disappear into the cold blue depths of the river. I sat on the bank, rod by my side, for probably thirty minutes just collecting myself and replaying that battle over and over in my mind. I took my phone off airplane mode and to my astonishment, I had a connection! I sent a quick text out to my wife back home in Colorado to share my excitement. It was a great day. About an hour later, Gary caught and landed his first steelhead of the trip as well! It had now become a doubly great day, and one which would not be forgotten for a very long time. Redemption had never tasted so sweet as it had on that rainy day in Washington. I was reminded of an important life lesson on that trip. Most simply put: enjoy the journey. My trip to the Olympic Peninsula had been a success; but it would have been no less a success had I come back home without landing that steelhead. Just being on a wild river with a good friend in God’s country, is as much a part of fly fishing to me as the actual catch. Henry David Thoreau once said, “Many men go fishing all their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after.” I think perhaps, Henry was on to something.