So long summer, come winter's hope.
If you start summer steelheading earlier than October, does it get less bittersweet?
Five o'clock in the morning. Barista duty on the tailgate, waiting for the coffee water to boil.
Partner's already down at the run. Aggressive with the headlamp, so everyone knows: Seat's taken.
Other anglers are on the road already, choosing their places.
One group left a truck just above the run last night. Joke's on them. Whistling diesel woke us up, running their group up from basecamp. Partner made it from his bag to his waders in two minutes. They won't sneak in above us today.
The full moon's still burning, completing its transit. Too bright? Not bright enough? No time for second-guessing. They're either here or they ain't.
Why? Why take the hardest way to catch a steelhead, itself the hardest fish to catch on a fly, and make it even harder?
Because maybe.
Maybe we'll swing into the one thing better than a grab from a summer steelhead: a surface grab.
An electric arc between all the power and promise of the sea, when the years of forage and deep ranging in the Pacific meet the natal base, current leaping through the shallow water to the angler, grounded near home.
Skate or die.
I'm not much of a summer steelhead angler. I like to run out trout season first. To postpone the inevitable troublesome truths of steelhead season.
I'm more confident fishing for trout, for a million reasons. I know their who, what, where, when, and why.
When they're frustrating in one spot, I know I can go to old faithful for a slump buster.
Not so with steelhead. They are a fish of mystery and joy and secrets rare in this world.
First, you become convinced you'll never catch one. The fish of ten thousand casts. Striking out and never knowing why. Was it your casting? Your fly? Its depth? All of the above? Were the fish not there? Has the last one gone?
Then, you do catch one. And it's so amazing, you know you'll never catch another.
You're scared about who you might become, if you become the kind of person habituated to that sort of sheer pleasure. You hope you never do. But are scared you might. That it's in motion, irreversible.
You think of those who only fish for steelhead. Those who do it with antique tackle, click-and-pawl reels without drag. In the old ways. And their motivations. Their code.
The transition into steelheading becomes a transition into seeking rather than finding, a gnawing, an ever-present discomfort. The nastiest winter elements become a strange alchemical precursor to the magic.
Winter's Hope is a steelhead fly. But backing up into summer, while trout are still available, and your fingers aren't frozen, makes it more cruel.
Before you can have winter's hope you need to say, So long, summer.
Members-only articles
I've gotten a couple of questions about where members-only articles live.
Anything in the Learn to Fly Fish section is premium, and built around a simple series of Pillars:
Pillar 1: Mindset
Pillar 2: Environment
Pillar 3: Tools
Pillar 4: Technique
Pillar 5: Conservation
Pillar 6: Connection
This is material that originated from our Intro to Fly Fishing classes, and adapted and optimized for reading through at home.
Go at your own pace, move around, and ask questions whenever you want.
The latest members-only stories on Current Flow State:
I'll give updates as more Pillar articles arrive.
We're producing gear stories now, in Pillar 3, Tools, so expect those in the next couple of weeks.
But here are some members-only articles what we've added lately:
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