Where: Cowlitz River
When: Saturday
Conditions: Sunny, hot
Flies used: General Practitioner-style flies
Species pursued: Steelhead

Song of the day: "The Metal," Tenacious D

5:30AM, Saturday morning.

Expected high of the day, 98 degrees.

For the moment, things were cool. Steve Buckner, our guide for the day, pointed out our respective runs and described his approach to fishing them.

Wisps of vapor rose from the river's surface like curtains pulling back, revealing the slices of fishy water I had daydreamed about for the past week.

"Go through this with a fine-toothed comb--there's no need to rush here."

Steve's words eased my racing mind. Rushing is all I seemed to be doing this season--rushing to get there, covering the run quickly so I could dash to the next piece of water.

"I almost never see anyone fishing here."

For the first half hour, I held my breath, expecting to see the parade of boats I'd grown accustomed to.

Nada.

We had the river to ourselves.

And down the run we went.

Each of us picked our sections apart as best we could and were lucky enough to find some willing cutties, but no steelhead.

In lieu of our quarry, we received instruction in identifying a variety of holding water and, as Steve put it, letting our flies "hunt" through every run.

We were living out the proverbial "teach a man to fish" scenario. :)

From that point on, every swing became a study in presentation: casting angle, current speed, proactive line management--these elements as well as more subtle ones became points of intense focus. Too much focus, probably, since it was suddenly lunch time.

Nothing like a great homemade burger to clear your thoughts! :)

After our mid-day break we headed into the home stretch.

Steve continued to relate more information to us, explaining more about water speed and presenting the fly to the fish.

Once again, I slipped into student mode, applying things as I stepped down each run.

Ironically, I was so engrossed by how the fly fished through the current that the thought of actually hooking a steelhead ceased to be a concern.

And of course, that's when it happened.

Right at the bottom of the swing, not more than 5 feet off the bank, a fish pulled the slack loop from my hand.

This was no cutthroat--he move out into the current and rod it 10 yards downstream before the 7 weight turned him back upstream.

Foot by foot I pulled him closer until he lay within a rod length.

Then he did something I didn't (but should have) expect: he burst upstream of me.

By the time I could figure it out, the long-shanked hook worked its way free.

And so did the fish.

I didn't scream.

I didn't run after it.

I wasn't even upset.

Instead, I thought, "That was cool," and turned to Don, who had walked down to observe, and shrugged.

After the initial rush, processing crept into my brain...having been in learning phase all day, it was all too easy to analyze what just happened.

"Should I have swept the rod downstream?"

"Was the 8lb Maxima strong enough to handle me horsing the fish if I did?"

"Did I baby the fish too much?"

Thankfully, Steve walked down and we discussed things.

In short the answers are, "Yes," "Yes" and "Maybe." :)

We had just gone from a good day to a great as we headed into the last run before heading back upstream.

I figured I'd fish through it quickly, again concentrating on the fundamentals we'd been studying throughout the day and doubting the chance that I'd hook another steelhead.

"You're just getting into the cream of it," Steve said, made its way downstream.

I can't remember what we were discussing but in the middle of my sentence, my line jerked.

"No way," I thought, setting the rod.

"Yup, that's a steelhead--you saw your line move, right."

I nodded.

This fish was bigger, about 7 to 8 pounds by the guide's estimation, and this time, I leaned on the Maxima, attempting to swing it into the shallows.

After a short but spirited fight and with both Steve's watching...

...I lost the fish, again! Like the previous fight, this fish shook his head and worked the hook free.

This time, a bit of frustration came through as well as a few more questions--all of which Steve handled diplomatically without so much as even hinting to the fact that, quite frankly, I suck at fighting steelies. :)

In essence, I could have fought it even harder and that I should get over my fear of 8 pound tippet.

"Don't beat yourself up, though. Just take a breather--when was the last time you hooked two steelhead, after all?"

He had a very good point.

Minutes later, we dashed upstream, racing the setting sun.

Only to fall prey to the temptation of that very first run.

Steve slowed the boat down and looked at the three of us for a consensus.

Three nods came back and we hopped out.

"It's all yours, man."

And against the backdrop of a day reminiscent of one I had on the Deschutes, we fought back the sunset.