The Perfect Steelhead Trip - WARNING: long story with lots of pictures of big fish!

I was still surprised that it was actually happening when I started loading all my gear in Rick's Suburban early one morning. I'd been so busy lately that it seemed like a Clearwater River steelhead fishing trip would never happen. But here it was, 6 am on a Thursday, and a few days ahead of us to fish. The biggest surprise of all though was my best friend, and long time Clearwater steelhead junky, Camron, was also joining us. He and I hadn't fished up there together in 5 or so years. Whether we caught a bunch of fish or not, I was just happy the 3 of us were getting to fish together.

We picked up Camron and loaded his gear into the suburban.

"Wow. All this junk for a few fish." I said, as we crammed stuff into the last remaining void spaces of the full-sized Suburban.

"I guess we'll be using the side mirrors." Camron said, chuckling.

We all loaded up and made our way up to the Clearwater River. On the way, Camron and I tied up several double corky and yarn rigs for drifting on the bottom. Although we planned to do a lot of fly fishing, this was how we learned to fish on the river and it was very effective. Rick had never caught steelhead before and I wanted him to see lots of success.

As we neared the river, it was time to make a decision where we would fish. We had heard that most of the fish, and therefore the people, were higher upriver. Camron and I had a favorite spot lower in the river we thought we'd try first. We dropped down onto the river, checked into our campsite, threw our tents up and loaded back into the vehicle to start fishing. We headed downriver, and low and behold, no one was in our spot.

"Sweet!" Camron said, as we pulled up and started rigging. "There's almost always people here!"

"Everyone is upriver. I bet there's still a few fish in here. We know right where they lay." I replied, with confidence.

We made our way into the spot and Camron started casting. I hadn't even finished feeding the fly line through my line guides before I heard two glorious words.

"FISH ON!" Camron said, with a big smile.

"Already?! What was that, your 4th cast?" I asked.

Rick was quite surprised too as he grabbed the net. Camron's fish gave him a good fight before shaking free of the hook. After I finished rigging my fly rod, I went above Camron and Rick and began casting. I couldn't see them because of a large rock, but in a couple minutes, I heard some sounds and commotion. I reeled in and walked around the rock to see what they were doing. Camron made a lunge with the net and captured Rick's steelhead.

"Another one?!" I said as I walked over to them. "This is awesome! I still can't believe there's no one in sight!"

Rick posed with his first B-run steelhead.

We released the fish and I went back upstream to fish. It wasn't long before I heard more commotion below me and heard Camron say 'fish on'. I came back over to net his fish.

   

Shortly after releasing his fish, Rick hooked up again.

"You know Rick," I said, as I grabbed the net. "Most people spend hours and hours fishing for these things before they catch their first one. You're going to get spoiled. Don't expect it to be this good the rest of our trip. But this is pretty awesome." We landed Rick's fish and took a picture.

I continued to fish above Camron and Rick with no success as they put on a clinic. It was early afternoon and they had each landed a few a piece. I was trying different water than they were and it wasn't paying off. I was fishing water that I'd caught fish in before, but it seemed the fish were all stacked into the small area that they were fishing. I came back down and made a few casts into the eddie and watched my indicator. It slowly dipped under in the soft, bubbly water. I set the hook and felt the weight of a fish.

"WOOOOO! I got one on." About as soon as I said that, the fish shook my hook and left me, once again, fish-less.

Before I could even re-cast, Camron had another one on.

"Fish on." Rick said quietly, right below me.

"You both have fish?!"

I grabbed the net and prepared for a crazy double. Camron and Rick both played their fish for some time before Rick's released itself. I netted Camron's fish and he posed for a picture. 

A little while later, Rick hooked into a monster. The fish played around in the hole for a little while before it decided to head back to the ocean. It took off downstream and through the rapids. We both ran after it. From my experience, if a fish leaves the hole, it's either really big or foul hooked. This one was just really big. We finally netted the fish over 100 yards from where Rick hooked it.

   

 

It had turned into quite the afternoon of steelhead fishing. The pressure was off of me now. My job was done. We had found fish and starting catching them. Rick had even caught several. So I didn't care that I hadn't landed one. I was just happy that we were catching fish.

We finished the day with Rick and Camron each landing 4.

Before light the next morning, we were already parked at the spot we fished the afternoon before. As it got light, we spotted a group of turkeys in a field near the vehicle. Being the turkey hunter that I am and being gifted with the ability to speak 'turkey' without a call, I went in pursuit to see if I could get one to gobble.

I spotted them a couple hundred yards away near the tree line and walked down the road to get closer. I could see one of them puffed up and strutting, but so far, none of them had responded to my calls. I started calling more aggressively and noticed the birds bunch up and start making their way towards me. Interesting, I thought to myself. I wonder if they are going to come over here. I continued to call and the birds kept coming toward me. They were now within shotgun range (40 yards) and I had yet to make one gobble. I could see now that it was a group of jakes, or yearling males.

 

I continued to talk to them, and now they were starting to get fired up and were talking back. They were within 15 yards of me now and didn't seem to think I was anything different than just another turkey. They started gobbling at me and I gobbled back at them. This only made them even more fired up and we just kept gobbling back and forth at each other.

I continued to talk to the turkeys and took a couple videos while doing so. If I didn't catch a fish all day, I would still be happy. This was cool! I started walking back to where we were fishing and the birds started following me! I got down to the river and told Camron and Rick what had happened.

"Yeah we know. We heard it all. Just sounded like a whole bunch of turkeys going crazy up there." Camron said, as he fished.

I decided I wasn't going to mess around this morning and grabbed my baitcaster, starting to drift small corky's and yarn on the bottom. It wasn't long before I hooked up. I landed 2 fish out of the hole by 11am and we decided to move upriver to a spot I had fished with success a couple of years ago.

We didn't make it upriver very far before we were quickly missing the serenity we had experienced in the lower river. There were people everywhere! We got up to a spot I wanted to fish and sure enough, no one was in it. Score! We parked and were casting in no time. 

After trying the far bank for a while, I made a cast about half way out into the river and the indicator disappeared into the water. I set the hook and felt a steelhead.

"Fish on." I said, with a smiling face.

A few minutes later, we had a nice 31 inch fish in the net.

"He took the crystal meth." I said, as I pulled the fly out of his mouth.

 

Camron hopped into the spot I had been fishing and began casting the spey rod. It didn't take long before Camron hooked into a fish.

"FISH ON! He took it way over there near those rocks." Camron said, as the fish pulled more line out.

"Good job dude. First B-run on a fly rod right?" I asked, as I grabbed the net.

"Yep."

Camron played the fish for quite some time before it was tired and I slipped it into the net.

Rick casted for a little while from the "magic rock" and it wasn't long before he hooked into a fish. The battle was short lived as the fish shook the hook on the first big run.

I stood on a rock just slightly upstream and began making both short casts and long. The depth was relatively consistent from bank to bank and we'd seen fish porpoise throughout. A half hour later, I hooked into another fish. This one was strong. It fought me for awhile before deciding to leave the run. Camron and I followed it downriver to the next pool where we had an audience of 6 or 7 anglers. After a long battle, we finally slipped the big fish into the net.

We walked back up to the run after releasing the 34 inch wild fish. I made a few more casts and hooked into another one. This was just my day! We fished all afternoon before leaving to find a spot better for all of us to fish on Saturday. This run had been very good for fly fishing. But Rick had not casted a spey or switch rod and didn't want him to learn on the big slippery rocks we were standing on. I ended up landing 6 fish that day and Camron landed 1.

The spot we decided to fish on Saturday was a big, deep hole that had a tall rock cliff plunging into the water. We estimated that this hole is close to 20 feet deep, making it a great place to hold lots of resting fish. Camron and I had done well here in the past, drifting on the bottom. Saturday morning was very cold and frosty, but within the first half hour, Camron hooked into a fish. 

He landed that fish, and several minutes later, Camron hooked into another. This one immediately left the depths of the big hole and headed downstream. We were both running in 6 inches of water with football sized rocks to trip us up. We must have been some sight to see running down the river. I, with a big net, and Camron trying not to get spooled on his reel. The current was quite fast and we could barely keep up with the fish. I suspected the fish was foul hooked by the way it just took off. We finally got down to another hole where we were able to land the behemoth. The fish had not been foul hooked surprisingly and it's massive size was all we needed to explain why it did what it did.

We released the 36 inch fish, and made sure we apologized to it for making it run downriver and have to run back up the rapids. We walked back up to the cliff hole and continued fishing. We fished the rest of the morning with a couple more hook ups, but no more landed. We decided to move upriver and check to see if anyone was in the "Pretzel Hole". 

Of course, no one was in the Pretzel Hole. This was really turning into the perfect trip. Things had gone our way since we had gotten on the river. The "Pretzel Hole" was a small, deep hole that was usually good for a few fish. However, it was so deep it was hard to fly fish. I let Rick and Camron work that spot with the corky and yarn. It wasn't long before Camron had one on. The fish totally dominated him. Camron had no control at all on this fish and it went where it pleased. The fish decided to head downriver into a large boulder garden. The fish tried to wrap him around every one of those big rocks until it finally succeeded in breaking him off. We were pretty disappointed, because we never got to see the fish. There are 40 inch fish caught in this river every week and you never know when you'll get one.

We were walking back upstream and a splash caught our attention. We looked out in the river just in time to see the tail of a steelhead disappear back into the water. The fish had porpoised in a spot that looked perfect for fly fishing. I grabbed my 7 wt switch rod and began to work the area. I couldn't see very far into the water, but in a short while, I had a good idea of the topography of the bottom. I saw another one porpoise in the same area as before and made a cast to it. My indicator drifted along and took a plunge. I set the hook hard and felt the weight of a hefty fish. As the fish battled, it made it's way upstream to the hole where Camron and Rick were fishing. I looked up just in time to see Rick set the hook on a fish.

"Double!" I shouted.

Of course, Rick's fish made it's way downstream, while mine went up. This could get interesting, I thought. The two fish seemed like they wanted to battle each other, and Rick and I were like dog owners trying to hold back our fiery pets with fly rods and lines as leashes. Like stern pet owners and well disciplined pets, both fish were conquered and placed into the same net.

Rick and I grabbed our fish and took a classic double picture. We both released our fish and continued fishing.

I continued to pound the lower end while Camron and Rick fished the upper hole the rest of the day. Everyone hooked and landed some fish in this spot. Our landing stats for the day were: Camron 5, and both Rick and myself, 3. 

Sunday was our day to leave. However, we had a couple hours in the morning to fish to before heading home. Before light, we were in the "Pretzel Hole". It was very cold and frosty and our line guides were freezing up. I would only get a dozen casts in before my fly line was locked up in the guides. Despite the difficult conditions, my indicator went down and I set the hook. The cold didn't seem to bother the fish I hooked. It was very active and fighting quite hard. Normally I'm pretty excited when I hook a fish, but all I could think of was how much I was dreading sticking my hands in the water.

"Hey Cam, do you want to pose with this one?" I said as he scooped up the fish.

"Nope, he's all yours."

I grabbed the fish and took a picture. The water felt like death on my hands after releasing the fish and I decided that was a great place to stop. It had been an absolutely phenomenal trip. We had all caught lots of fish and on the drive home, we all added up our numbers: 43 hooked and 24 landed. Now that's a great trip!

Speckle Belly Goose Hunt

I'd waited for this day for a couple months. Jim Bottorff, of Bottorff Guide Service, had been sending me pictures of stacks of speckle belly geese from last year. Jim had promised me a spot on a special spring goose hunt in Eastern Oregon. Jim guides waterfowl and fly fishing in Oregon and certainly knows his stuff when it comes to both. It was no wonder I barely slept the night before our hunt. At 3 AM, I sprang out of bed in anticipation of a great hunt.

Greater White-Fronted geese, or "specs" as most call them, are a species of goose marked by dark bands across their bellies. They also have orange feet and a pale, pinkish bill. They travel through in late winter on their way back North to their breeding grounds. For some reason, they tend to only travel the Idaho, Oregon border, so most people in Idaho don't see much of them. Snow geese also travel with them and can be seen in massive numbers this time of year as well. Jim concentrates on the specs because they tend to be a little easier to hunt. Add a generous limit of 10 geese per person and you can see why he's booked solid for this special season.

I met Jim at 4 AM and we headed off to meet up with a few more guys that would be joining us for this "preliminary" season hunt. We met up with Jim's son, Bryce, as well as Blake Brown and his son Hunter. Blake owns a waterfowl call company called Browns Waterfowl calls. A couple of his buddies would also be joining us. We followed Blake to a field he'd scouted the day before. We all helped gather brush from the edge of a small creek. We would need this brush to help conceal our blinds in the field.

We threw all the brush into the back of a couple trucks and drove the rest of the way to where we would set up. I helped brush up the blinds while Jim and Blake set up a small spread of spec decoys.

You could hardly tell there were 8 blinds along the ditch when we finished. Concealment is imperative in waterfowl hunting and I think we had that taken care of. Seven AM came quickly and we all hopped into the blinds and eagerly awaited the first flight.

It wasn't long before we heard the first group of specs coming our direction. Like a high pitched Canadian goose going through puberty, the speckle belly goose has a distinct voice. I was practically trembling with excitement as the first group began to circle. Through the mesh in the blind I could see them working our decoys. Another group showed up and began to circle as well.

Those geese eventually left, but in the distance we could hear more coming. LOTS more. The first big group showed up and began circling. Then some more, and more, and more! As they got lower and lower it looked like we might get a shot. Several small groups had landed in our field just out of range. A big group of snow geese showed up and joined the couple hundred specs that were circling our field. I was so excited I was shaking in my blind. I wondered if the many eyes circling the field would spot my uncontrolled movement. Most of the birds were now landing in our field. More geese showed up and joined the group in the field. Through the mesh and brush I could see the snow geese, who stuck out like a sore thumb in the bare dirt field. By now there had to be a few hundred birds in our field and more were working. It was quite noisy with so many birds on the ground and in the air. We knew it was only a matter of time before a group came over us.

I eyed a low group of 15 or so birds that looked like they might be the catalyst to mayhem. From the right side, I could see them swing around and close in on gun range. Jim and Blake let out a few clucks to help guide the birds our way. The birds responded and flew right towards us and into range.

"Let's get 'em!" I heard from the far end of the line.

We all flipped open our blinds and began shooting.

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM! Shots rang out and birds fell. 

We dropped several birds and the whole field erupted. All the geese that were in the field flew off. We quickly jumped out and retrieved our birds before the next ones came. 

I set one of the birds next to my blind to admire. Seeing orange feet on a goose was foreign. I barely got a chance to look at the bird before the next group approached. We all covered up in our blinds just in time to see a group lock their wings and decend upon us. They made a few passes before making a fatally wide swing. 

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

A few birds fell and Hunter ran out to grab them. 

 

We all quickly covered up, because another group was coming. 

 

A group of 10 or so birds circled a couple of times before giving us a great shot. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Several more birds fell. This was turning into a fantastic hunt. Hunter once again ran out to grab some birds.

 

It was crazy to see birds so attracted to a plain, dirt field. The farmer had just seeded the field and it made me feel even better inside knowing I was helping a farmer from almost sure destruction from so many hungry birds. 

 

A couple more groups of birds gave us shooting opportunities and before long we had a decent pile of geese.

 

By 10:30 AM, everything had slowed down and we decided to pack up. It had been a wonderful hunt and even though we didn't kill 80 geese, it had been fun. This was just the beginning of the season and more birds would be coming as the season progressed.

 

Hunter held up a couple fist-fulls of geese for a happy hero shot. For a great waterfowl hunt or fly fishing trip, definitely give Jim Bottorff a call! 

Taking Turns : A steelhead story from the past

When I was 14, my dad missed Thanksgiving because of work; most kids my age would've been disappointed, but as for me... I was jealous.  I was jealous, not because I hated my family, but because work took my dad up near Kamiah, Idaho, right next to the South Fork of the Clearwater River...Yeah, he got to go steelhead fishing on Thanksgiving day. Even at my young age, I would have rather been doing that than partaking in holiday traditions.

When he returned, he presented a crazy fish story. He said he hooked a monster steelhead and described the battle as epic!  He went on to say that he had little control over the fish and he guessed it was close to 40 inches; which made his trout net a joke. Eventually it broke him off. Eager for redemption, he did a little research and discovered that the prime time to fish the South Fork of the Clearwater was late winter. A few months later, we choose a weekend, loaded up our gear, picked up my best friend Camron and headed to the South Fork of the Clearwater.

We were complete steelhead rookies; I had landed one steelhead on my fly rod on the Little Salmon when I was 13, my dad had only caught a few on conventional gear and Camron had never even fished for steelhead. We had heard the fish on the Clearwater system were big, but all we had for rods were a couple of single handed 8 weights and one 6 weight. Also, as a backup, I brought my 6 1/2 foot bait-casting rod. We made it up to the South Fork and stopped in at Dales Cashway for some advice.

"Here are a few flies guys like to use for them around here," Eric said as he pulled a few egg patterns out of a bin.
Eric was the manager of Dales Cashway near Kooskia, Idaho. He was very friendly and eager to help us.
"We have a bait-casting rod as well. What should we use on it?" I asked.
"Bring it in, I'll rig it up for you." Eric said with a big smile.
I brought in my rod and Eric rigged it up, explaining how to fish a bobber and jig.

We left Dales Cashway with high hopes of catching a monster steelhead. We pulled up to what looked like a decent spot to fish and started fishing. We fished the spot for a while with our fly rods and eventually decided to move to a different spot. There was a fair amount of people on the river, so we struggled to find places to fish. The next place we fished, I tried the bobber and jig for a bit. It didn't produce anything for us either. Before we knew it, the first day was over and we headed back to our motel.

The next morning we awoke to snow. It had snowed a couple inches overnight and it was still snowing. Staying in the motel until it stopped snowing sounded temping, but we knew we wouldn't catch any steelhead that way. We headed out to the river and began fishing. We waded into the water as large chunks of ice and slush drifted past us. These chunks made fishing very difficult; you had to time your cast perfectly or else you would snag the ice and often break your fly off on the sharp chunks. After awhile, I became very frustrated and suggested we move on.
"We should move. I can't fish with all these fricken Titanic sinking FRICKEN ice burgs!" I said in pure frustration.
My dad and Camron laughed. We decided to move on. It had stopped snowing, but the iceburgs continued well into the afternoon. We tried another spot with no luck as well. Were we doing the right thing? Were there even fish in here? Despite people around, we had yet to witness a steelhead landed.

We drove back downriver and slowed near a promising looking spot. Our truck came to a screeching halt.
"That guy's got one on!" Camron yelled.
Below us, on the other side of the river, a man was battling a fish. His buddy was ready with the net. We all stared intently waiting to see what was on the other end of the line. The fight carried on, and after several minutes, they netted a steelhead.
"Wow! That thing's big!" I said in excitement.
"I think that's where we should fish. And look, he's using a bobber and jig, Ryan." said my dad.
We had about an hour of daylight left, so we hurried down there and began casting. Camron and I took turns casting the bobber and jig, while my dad stuck with the fly rod. We hammered the water with new optimism. It's amazing what seeing an actual steelhead will do to you. We casted until it was so dark we couldn't see our bobber anymore. Despite not catching any that evening and not seeing another one landed, we knew the next day was going to be different.

The next morning was bitter cold. So cold in fact, the river was full of ice burgs again. It was cloudy, but not snowing. We hiked into the fishing hole where we finished the night before and began casting. Once again, the ice burgs made for difficult fishing. Despite our struggles, Camron and I kept taking turns. He'd cast the bobber for half an hour, while I took the fly rod and fished the run down below, then we would switch. Our "friends" across the river had not hooked any either and were showing signs of boredom. Several would reel in and stand by the fire and talk for bit before picking up the rod and giving it a go again. The morning wore on and the ice burgs began to thin as the air warmed to the low 40's. The clouds slowly began to dissipate and we wondered if we might see the sun today. My dad, who had been fishing downriver, came up to eat lunch with us. He hadn't hooked or seen a fish either.
We had almost finished our lunch, when the sun finally broke through and shone it's marvelous warmth on us.
"Maybe the sun will make fishing better?" Camron said optimistically.
"Everything I've always heard is that the nastier the weather, the better the steelhead fishing." I replied with a frown on my face.
"Well, we won't catch any sitting here!" My dad chimed in.
I decided to go fish the run down below with my dad and leave Camron with the bait caster.

I hadn't made many casts when I heard someone yell in Camron's direction. I looked up to see Camron waving. Does he have one on? I quickly reeled in my fly line, set my rod on a willow and started running up to the hole. I made it up to Camron, whose rod was bent and his bobber was nowhere to be seen.
"Dude, I think I've got one." He said, partially unsure.
"Are you sure its not a snag?" I said, giving Camron a doubtful look.
"No, it's moving. Just not moving very much."
"What? Let me feel."
"No, I don't want to lose him!"
"Just let me feel the rod and then I'll hand it back."
Camron slowly passed the rod over, making sure not to lose any tension on the line. I felt the bend of the rod and tried to decyfer if there was indeed a fish on the other end, and not just the bottom. Feels like bottom to me. I almost said those words, when I felt the rod slowly flex and the "snag" came to life.
"Dude, it's a fish!"
I passed the rod back over to Camron and ran to get the net. I was so excited I didn't stop to realize we wouldn't actually need the net for quite some time. Camron's fish woke up and began to peel line off the reel. The "dinky" bass rod was doubled over and the reel was making noises I'd never heard before.

(This photo was taken a few years later, but it accurately describes the moment.)

 

"Dude, I hope your stuff holds up to this fish." Camron said, as the fish continued to run.
The fish ran 50 yards upstream and then stopped. It was all Camron could do to gain line on the fish. Slowly, Camron brought the fish closer, only for it to take all the line back out he had just gained. Camron could hardly move the heavy fish, going wherever it pleased. Ten minutes passed and it seemed the moving snag had hardly expended any energy. Camron began pumping the rod and slowly gaining line on the fish.
"I'm getting somewhere now!" Camron said as the fish got closer. "Look! I can see the bobber!"
The orange bobber neared the surface. Just when it looked like the bobber would break the surface, the fish made a screaming run. The reel began to screech as the undersized drag was tested. This time, the fish decided to run dowstream towards a riffle. The fish continued to pull line as it neared the faster water. Just when I thought we might have to chase the fish, it stopped. Camron managed to bring the fish back into the pool and close to netting range. My dad had made it up to us by now and was also very eager to see the fish Camron had hooked. The bobber had now broken the surface and it looked like we might get a glimpse of the fish.
"There he is! Holy Crap, he's big!" I said, as the fish darted back into the depths.
Like kids on Christmas, Camron and I both looked at each other with wide, excited eyes. We then looked at the net I was holding and laughed. This fish was so big it didn't look like we could get it in the net. We would have to make it work, it was all we had.
Once again, the fish came close to shore. This time it showed signs of tiring. I made an unsuccessful thrust at the massive fish, making Camron nervous. The fish came close again and I made a lunge with the net. The massive fish thrashed as I attempted to lift it out of the water. The last third of the steelhead hung out of the net.
"Wooooo! Look at that thing!" Camron laughed in pure joy.
"Dude, he's huge!" I shook my head in disbelief.

My dad took some photos of Camron and I with the fish. I had one thing on my mind though.

"Ok, my turn!" I said as I grabbed the rod and waded out to the magic spot where Camron had been standing. 

"Alright let's get another one." Camron said encouragingly.

 I began fishing the hole with intense focus. I just knew there was another fish in there for me. After 45 minutes, I began to lose a little optimism. Movement caught my eye and I looked downstream just in time to see the tail of large steelhead disappear back into the water.

"Did you see that Cam?! One porpoised down there."

"Oh really? Well get him! Oh, and can you scoot over a little bit? My feet are getting cold." 

Camron and I were both standing on a small, sand island that barely fit the two of us. Camron had always had cold feet when we fished. It didn't matter if it was summer or winter. 6 pairs of socks or 1, his feet were ALWAYS cold!
   

I watched my bobber intently as it rocked back and forth with the current, gently drifting down towards where I guessed there was a drop off. Suddenly, the entire bobber plunged downward, disappearing into the depths. I quickly lifted the rod and started backing up to keep tension on whatever was on the other end. A few steps back was all it took to come tight to a monster. I felt the fish begin to shake his head and make powerful kicks with his tail.
"FISH ON!"
The excitement I felt at that moment is hard to describe. Maybe pure joy, or elated happiness comes close. There's a magical feeling when the mysterious object at the end of your line comes to life and begins to pull. I knew this was just the beginning of a long, enjoyable battle.

I played the fish for quite some time before we maneuvered him into the undersized net. We took a few pictures and measured the fish out at 35 inches. What a dandy. Before I could even slip the fish back into the water, Camron was already standing on the small sand island making his first cast.

I released the fish back into the water and watched it jet into the darkness. The sun was now shining away and it was probably in the mid 40's. Hardly steelhead weather, according to the so called "experts".

I waded back out to the tiny sand island just in time to watch Camron's bobber go under.

"FISH ON!" Camron said, with a huge smile.

"Another one?!" I replied in disbelief. "This is awesome!"

After another long battle, we landed another toad of a fish.

"Ok, my turn again!" I said as I grabbed the rod, unhooked the jig out of the fishes mouth and flung it out into the river.

I made a couple casts and realized my dad might want to catch one.

"Hey Dad, do you want to try for a little bit?"

"Nah, I'm just going to go back down below. You boys are having a blast. Holler if ya need me."

I continued to cast and watch "Bob", the name we gave the bobber. Very original, I know. In the mean time, a gentlemen across the river hooked into a fish and we all reeled in to get out of his way. We stood and watched until he had landed his fish before I threw back in. Several minutes later, Bob took a plunge. I set the hook and felt the power of another B-run steelhead.

"FISH ON!"

The fish exploded to life and took off for an incredible run. My little bass reel was screaming as the fish made for the spawning grounds.

"Wow! This one is strong!" I said, as the fish made another run.

I regained much of my line only to lose it again. Several minutes later we netted the monster. She was a 37 inch wild hen.

After releasing the fish, I handed the rod back over to Camron. We both waded out to the island and Cam made a cast. We both watched Bob as he drifted effortlessly down the river. His peaceful float was halted when he was suddenly pulled under by a sea monster. Camron set the hook and his jaw dropped.

"FIRST. CAST. Holy crap." Camron said in amazement as the rod doubled over and line peeled off the reel.

"I can't believe this. This is so cool. First cast." I replied in disbelief. "I didn't even know steelhead fishing got this good."

I netted the fish after a long battle. My dad took a few photos. We released the fish and once again it was my turn.

 

Camron and I both landed another steelhead a piece before the day was over. Seven steelhead in one afternoon on one little bass rod. That poor rod and reel got a serious workout that day, and so did Camron and I. At dinner that night, I was still so excited I couldn't stop talking. I was high on steelhead fishing; a habit to this day that I have yet to kick. 

 

The next morning, we fished for a couple hours before we had to head home. If I recall correctly, Camron hooked another fish that morning but lost it. It had been an amazing trip for us. One I will never forget. It has now become a tradition for us to fish steelhead on the South Fork every late winter. I have caught many more of those steelhead and have many more great stories, but none will quite top this one. 

You snooze, you lose

I arrived at the meeting place 10 minutes late. However, Erik Moncada was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he's running late? I thought as I wadered up. The sun was beginning to rise and I was looking forward to it's approaching warmth. These early morning fishing trips before work can be cold, but productive. With my waders on and rod rigged, I looked at my watch. It was now 20 minutes past our original meeting time. I wonder if he forgot? I sent a text message to Erik telling him I was here and that I was going to head down to the river. 

I made my way down to the water and began casting to the places I have caught steelhead in the weeks past. The river was noisy with the honks and quacks of too many fearless feathered fowl. Whenever I'm on the Boise River in the winter time, I dream of what it would be like to hunt such places. Let's see; I'd build a blind over there and set my decoys here. The ducks would try to land there. BOOM! BOOM! Two greenheads that backpedalled into the shallow gravel cove to my right, fell to my minds deadly shotgun. My blissful daydream was interrupted by the tone of a text message. I retrieved my phone and read Erik's message. 

"I completely forgot."

Of course you did. I'm not replying, you lazy bum. I'm fishing! I snubbed my cold nose and put my phone back into my pocket. My warm bed did sound nice...

I decided to head upstream and try a few places I had not fished yet this fall. I crossed a channel and began walking up a gravel bar when movement caught my eye in the bushes. A young antlered mule deer stood up several yards away. I quickly took out my camera to take a picture of it. The deer was frozen, convinced I couldn't see it if it didn't move. We had a stare-down for a while before I eventually won. 

I fished a bit upstream and decided, with my limited time, to focus my efforts where I knew there were likely steelhead. I headed back downstream as the sun started to shine. I was looking forward to some sunshine. As I came around the corner I made an awful discovery. Fog was rolling in, thick fog.

The fog quickly consumed the river and seemed to quiet everything, even the geese. The clock was ticking and I'd have to leave for work soon. I began casting with intensity. My flies slowly drifted through the calm tail-out of a deep run. Every other cast I felt the resistance of dead leaves and the soft bottom. I knew my flies were right where they needed to be. I took a few steps downstream and threw a short cast that would swing next to an undercut bank. With my sensitive Helios 2 rod, I swore I could feel if a fish even sniffed my fly. My line stopped and I gave a big strip. I felt resistance and lifted the rod. Time stalled for a second as the heavy object on the end of my line slowly shook its head and turned into a steelhead. Every steelhead angler knows the feeling. That magical moment when you set the hook and you feel that slow distinctive head shake that only a steelhead will give you.

The fish took off downstream and nearly disappeared into the dense fog as it thrashed on the surface. I made my way downstream to a more suitable landing spot. The fish ran back upstream and tried to tangle me in some willow roots. The fish had somehow managed to wrap itself up, and now had unusual leverage on me. I barely managed to keep the fish out of the roots as it tried with all it's might to wrap itself up some more. After several minutes, I managed to bring the fish close enough to net. I scooped her up in my small trout net and she hung over the edges. Sometimes, a small net is better than no net.

I stood there amazed that I had actually hooked and landed another Boise River steelhead. It was the end of January and they planted these fish in mid-November. The latest I had fished for them in the past was early December. It's pretty neat to be able to catch fish like this all winter long.

The fat hen measured out at 27 inches. Besides being very delicious smoked, I feel like I'm doing these fish a favor by keeping them. Boise River steelhead are resilient survivors but I know their lives are practically over when they enter this foreign river. I admired the beautiful colors on the fishes tail for a moment.  

I looked at my watch and realized if I was going to keep this fish, I better leave now. I didn't even have time to make another cast. If there were more fish in that spot, I'd have to get them another time. I grabbed my fish and gear as I headed back to my truck.

I couldn't wait to send Erik a picture of my fish. You snooze, you lose!   

A Wild Goose Chase

Goose hunting is often a fruitless endeavor. You wake up super early to set up your $2,000 worth of fancy goose decoys that required you to buy a new storage trailer to haul them. Then you spend a half hour concealing your high-tech ground blind in the middle of a bare field. You get out your $150 acrylic goose call, knowing you haven't practiced enough on it. You load your new semi-auto shotgun you had to buy just to shoot 3 1/2  inch goose loads. Then you crawl into the little frozen coffin you call a ground blind. Despite your best attempts to sound like a flock of happy little geese feeding in a field, all the geese fly by and ignore you. So why do people bother goose hunting? It's because of days like this one. 

My friend Ryan lives in Caldwell near Lake Lowell. He is fortunate to have a "pit" blind in his back yard for goose hunting. A "pit" blind is basically an underground box blind that gives you complete concealment while goose hunting. Many hunters will bury a pit blind in the middle of a field so they can set up and hunt where geese would naturally land and feed. The field Ryan hunts is a mixture of alfalfa and grass. Geese like this kind of forage, but not nearly as much as corn or wheat. This explains why our success hunting here is usually mixed. Ryan said the geese had been flying good lately and told me it was time to hunt. I brought Rick, my future father in law, which took some convincing after last years unsuccessful goose hunt there.

   

We normally drive a truck and a horse trailer out to the field to set up the decoys. However, due to the warm and rainy weather we had been having, the field was muddy. We'd have to do this redneck style! 

 

We set up our spread of 6 dozen decoys and crawled into the pit to wait. The calm foggy morning gave me optimism. 

It wasn't long before we heard the distinctive sound of a flock of geese in the distance. They sounded close, but with the fog we still couldn't see them. Ryan and I began to call back to them, doing our best to tell them they should come hang out with us. Apparently we sounded ok, because their honks grew louder and directly from the South, 4 geese appeared with their wings already locked. They descended down from the fog towards our spread, a sight that will always excite me. Ryan and I continued to call as they made a circle around the spread, before picking their landing zone. The geese began back-peddling in front of blind. I was so excited I could hardly stand it. That's when Ryan said the best words in waterfowl hunting. "LETS TAKE 'EM!"

We all shoved the wooden cover boards back, stood up and began shooting. Two of the 4 geese fell. We let the dogs out of their crates to retrieve the birds. It's a good thing we had Gauge, Ryan's oldest yellow lab, to chase down 1 of the birds. Gauge is a seasoned goose hunting dog and rarely lets a knocked down bird get away.  

Gauge and Grace (Ryan's other lab) brought us the geese just in time for the next group of birds. The dogs crawled back into their crates and we shut the doors. We could hear another flock of geese coming from the lake. We began calling and it wasn't long before they appeared out of the fog.

"Here they come, Rick. Get ready." I said, in between calling.

The 8 geese circled around the decoys before back-peddling right in front of the blind.

"TAKE 'EM!" Ryan shouted.

We jumped up and began shooting. This time, 5 of the geese fell. We hopped out of blind to help the dogs retrieve the birds.

We dropped back into the pit and readied ourselves for another group of geese.

"Dang Rick, you must be good luck. Things are going great today." Ryan said from the far end of the pit.

"And it's only 9 o'clock. The bulk of geese haven't even left the lake yet." I added.

A few minutes later we heard another flock. Ryan and I started calling. Once again, another flock of geese appeared out of the fog with interest in our decoys. The 5 geese circled several times before deciding it was safe to land. On their last pass, they swung over the top of the pit.

"Let's TAKE 'EM!" Ryan shouted.

We jumped up and started shooting. Our aim must have been off because only 1 fell from the sky.

"Dang. They were a little higher than I thought." I said in frustration, trying to justify my poor shooting.

"Yeah, should have waited for a better shot." Ryan said as he reloaded his gun. 

Gauge held up his end of the bargain by retrieving the single goose.

We could now hear multiple groups of geese around us. Ryan and I made our best attempts to call and persuade them, but none were falling for it. A couple groups of geese circled high to investigate but kept going.

"This is a little more like how it usually is, Rick." I said, as another group ignored us.

"You mean like that one day you took me last year?" Rick replied.

"Ha, yeah." I chuckled.

Another flock of geese appeared from the South. We slid our covers over our blind openings and Ryan and I started calling. The 4 geese locked their wings and began descending. 



As perfect as it gets, the 4 geese dropped right into the opening in front of the blind. Ryan called the shot and we dropped 3 of them. In Idaho, you can shoot 4 geese per person, per day. We only needed 1 more goose and it was only 10 AM.
"Alright Rick, the last one is yours. We'll back you up." Ryan said.
"O-kay. If you insist." Rick said with a smile.

The morning flight of geese had now started. Flock after flock left Lake Lowell and made their way in our direction. Many groups ignored us, while some circled once for a look before continuing to the North. This went on for a half hour or so. I began to wonder if we'd convince any more birds to land.

Four geese magically appeared from the South and we began calling. With locked wings and scanning eyes, the 4 geese approached the decoys. They made one circle before back-peddling into the decoys.
"Ok Rick, GET HIM!"
We all stood up and Rick made his shot. BOOM! The last goose to his limit fell.
"WOOOO! And we're done. Good job Rick." I said giving him a high five.
"Thanks. What a goose hunt." Rick replied, still surprised at how the morning had turned out.
"I had a good feeling about this morning." Ryan chimed in.
 We gathered the birds and arranged them for a picture.

Gauge and Grace looked proudly over their birds.

We packed up all the decoys and our gear and headed back to Ryan's house. As a fly tyer, I have an extra interest in geese. They have the absolute best CDC feathers of all the waterfowl. The CDC feathers are the small feathers located around a birds preen or oil gland. There are about 20 good feathers there and they are easy to pluck. If you're a goose hunter and aren't taking 20 seconds of your time to grab these little feathers, you're breaking my heart! Wondering what to do with these feathers even if you aren't a fly tyer? Please bring them into Anglers Fly Shop in Boise! You will make our day! We might even disclose some of our secret fishing spots to you...

CDC feathers pictured above.

Another premium feather you can't get anywhere else are the primary wing feathers. They have the best biots for tying small dry flies. 

We loaded our 8 geese and gear into my truck and headed back to Boise. It had been an amazing hunt. The conditions had been just right and we really lucked out. All I could think about was the next wild goose chase!

Steelhead on the Boise

It had been several years since I had fished for steelhead on the Boise River. It was a tradition for my good buddy Camron and I to target them Thanksgiving morning. However, Camron now lives in Rexburg and doesn't make it to Boise very often anymore. When I found out he was coming to town for Thanksgiving, I knew we would have to keep the tradition going. Only this year, we would fish for them the day before, and, Thanksgiving day.

I had to work at the fly shop on Wednesday, so I only had a few hours in the morning. We pulled into the empty parking lot and began to rig our fly rods. Only a faint glow from the rising sun could be seen. We were especially lucky this year with the weather; 45 degrees and sunny. One year, it snowed the entire morning.

With headlamps, we made our way down to the river and began to fish. I was using an olive bead-head leech trailed with a large prince nymph. Camron was using an egg sucking leech trailed by an egg. Both of these setups have been Boise River producers. 

I crossed the river and began swinging my flies through an underwater trench that might hold a steelhead. I heard that they planted the last batch of steelhead the day before. There just had to be some underneath this bubble line, I thought, as I swung my flies through with intense focus.

Movement caught my eye and I looked up to see a beaver swimming towards me. He swam within 10 yards of me before slapping his tail and disappearing into the murky water. The beaver was clearly telling us to leave his home.

The morning progressed like any other steelhead trip and I started to wonder if there were any fish in here. There were now about 10 people fishing and nobody had even hooked a fish. I continued to fish with blind faith that the elusive steelhead was indeed in there.

A few gear guys packed up and left for another spot, giving us the entire gravel bar. I crossed back over to the side Camron was fishing. I began to visit with Camron as he fished. It was nearing my time to leave for work so I considered just clipping my flies off and packing it up. That's when I saw it; in the bubble line where I had just been fishing all morning, a steelhead porpoised. 

"Cam, did you see that? Right where I was fishing. Stupid thing."

"Let's go get him! Put on one of those crystal meth flies you like so much." He replied.

"Oh, I suppose I have time." I said as I tied on an orange crystal meth egg pattern.

We waded back into position as another steelhead porpoised. We both looked at each other with big smiles. I could probably only squeeze another 10 minutes in. Could we make it happen? We both began casting to the opposite shore with intense focus. I could feel every sunken decomposing leaf that brushed my line. My line went tight and I set the hook. The rod bent back and I could feel the heavy weight of a steelhead. 

"Yes! I've got one." I said in excitement to Cam as he reeled in his line. 

The fish pulled hard and made a big run downstream. 

The fish thrashed about near the surface and took off for another run. Most of the steelhead I've caught on the Boise river haven't put up much of a fight. This one was impressing me! I didn't think she was very large until I brought her head near the surface. I realized our trout nets were a tad small for a fish this large. Camron waded out with his "dinky" net and scooped up the pig. 

"Dang dude! She's a beast!" Camron said, laughing, as half the fish hung over the edge of the net.

 

 

Sure enough, the fish took the crystal meth. I've probably caught 90% of my steelhead on that fly. Whether the fish really love it, or I just fish it more than any other pattern, I catch a lot of steelhead on the crystal meth.

 

I set the hen back into the river and she gave a powerful kick. The 29 inch fish disappeared into the stained water.

It was time for me to get to work, so I reeled up and left Camron to catch some more fish. I arrived at work a few minutes late. But when I showed them the photo, all was forgiven.

 

A couple hours later I received a photo from Camron...

 

He told me the fish measured 32 inches! His fish may not be the prettiest, but it was a beast! He also told me he hooked another but needed his buddy to net it; Trust me, I would have been there if I could!

 

Thanksgiving morning we found ourselves in the same place. This time I invited my good buddy, Pat Kilroy to join Camron and I. Pat pulled up, jumped out of his truck already wadered up and rod rigged. Within one minute we were walking down to the river. Now that's a serious steelhead angler!

 

We began to pound the water with optimism. Quite a few others must have had the same idea as us because there were probably 15 people fishing the spot this morning.

 

The morning progressed like the one before with not so much as a sign of a steelhead. I switched out a few flies thinking they might want something different than yesterday. We fished into the morning, and before we knew it, it was nearly 10 AM. I put a crystal meth back on and moved into the exact place where I caught the one the day before. A steelhead porpoised in front of me, then another downstream, and another upstream! Are they communicating? I chuckled in my head. It's amazing what seeing a steelhead can do to your focus. My optimism sky rocketed and I readied myself for a steelhead. I placed my cast and it landed a foot from the opposite bank directly across from me. I pointed my rod tip at the fly and waited for the soft strike of a large steelhead. Like magic, my line went tight and I set the hook. I felt the weight and pull of a very lost, sea run rainbow trout. The 9 and a half foot rod flexed deep into the cork. 

"YEP, there's one." I said quietly.

I'm not usually one to make a big scene out of hooking a fish. Partly because by doing so, I will surely jinx myself and the fish will shake free. Then I just look like an idiot who had snagged the bottom and confused it with a fish.

 

The steelhead made several attempts at long runs but failed to win against the 6 weight Helios 2. It pulled with all it's tired might and in a few minutes we had another steelhead crammed into a tiny trout net. I had considered bringing an actual steelhead net but once again superstition got the best of me and for fear of jinxing ourselves, we stuck with the trout nets.

 

This fish decided to eat the bead-head leech. We taped the fish out at 27 inches. I decided to take this one home and smoke it.   

 

Both Camron and Pat had family obligations to get to, and I didn't want to fish alone, so the 3 of us packed up and left. We may have gotten a few strange looks being the only ones to catch a fish and then just leave. We didn't care. The weather had been great the last couple of mornings and we connected with a few fish. Besides, how do you beat fly fishing for steelhead right here in town with such a beautiful setting; trees dressed in orange and yellow, ducks in full winter plumage, and the sound of geese echoing through the trees. What a wonderful place we live in!