After only fly fishing for just a hair over a year, and fishing here in the Pacific North-West for just a couple months more than that, I’ve become no stranger to the “big fish”. This past winter season, saw me drag in roughly 25 steelhead to hand (most of which were released). Before that, late last fall, I “accidentally” hooked into 4 steelhead while fishing for trout on a 5/6 wt. Broke 2 off, 1 pulled loose, and landed 1. So, I would consider myself A) fortunate to have hooked and landed so many fish within a year’s time B) very fortunate to have caught that many steelhead on a fly rod C) extremely fortunate to have done it all in my first year of fly fishing.
I’ve heard tales of anglers going for years before catching their first steelhead (summer and winter). I didn’t go a whole season, to which I attribute as nothing more than extreme luck. How much more luck could it be to hang 2 steelhead in one day while fishing for trout on two very different places. Especially not knowing the first thing about steelhead, at the time. Growing up in the South East, we didn’t have steelhead, salmon, or anything of that like. Now, we did have (and still do) trout. Brook, browns, and rainbow, which are all relatively heavily stocked in several rivers around where I grew up. So, these big fish that are relatively common here are somewhat alien to me, or they were. The biggest trout I’d seen (and caught) was @ 22″ until I came here.
This summer has been one of fun and one of disappointment. At least as far as fishing is concerned. But overall it’s been good. 
Early on was better, or so it seemed. Bigger fish and more plentiful. As the summer waned on, things seemed to slow way down, and fishing became much more technical. I adapted and still managed to hook into my share. Trout fishing has been the theme of about 99% of my summer fishing. So, the pursuit of the silver ghost was left to those with spey rods and those that didn’t want to catch fish. 
I pretty well stuck to the trout fishing. Here are a few samples of some of what was caught earlier this summer.
If you are somewhat of a loyal reader (not that I have many) Then you know, that recently I made my journey to the “darkside”. Against the advice of one Unaccomplished Angler I decided that picking up a Spey rod was the right thing to do. As well, I picked up a casting lesson (which I would suggest to anyone new to spey/skagit/scandi) with one of our local spey gurus. It was the best money I ever spent. If you read my post Steeldiddlyumptious, that recants the first steelhead taken on my new Spey rod. At this point, I’d like to recant a similar but slightly more recent tale.
Sunday 9/12/10: Mrs. Monster woke me up early this morning so that I could go do some fishing for the day. Normal morning routine, and out the door to get breakfast and some gas for the ride out to Middle Fork Willamette down below Dexter Dam. I arrived before the sun was all the way in the sky. 
This day started out like so many others in rece
nt times. Bad cast, blown anchors, and the like. Nothing very dangerous to me, but frustrating enough. I fished down through the run, with out any grabs, takes or even bumps. Normally it takes me an hour and a half or so to fish the whole run. So, after many botched casts, and recasts it ended up taking more like 2 or so hours to complete the run. Slightly sore shoulders and frustration called for a break in
the action, to which I f
ound a nice large rock and parked upon it for a while. A several minutes to regroup and recover from the massive frustrations, I decided it was time to change flies and start fishing again.
This time I began a little lower in the run, a little closer to the “sweet spot” of the run where the current slows up a bit and the water gets a bit deeper. I happened to be talking to my best friend on the phone when all of a sudden…. WHAM! I was shaken to my inner core. All at once line started peeling from my Ross CLA-6 as if I had hooked into a volkswagen doing about 45 down the road.
Hatchery Hen
I peered down at the reel and there were only 2 or 3 turns of running line left on the reel. She stopped and turned. This began the dance. Reel, walk, reel, walk, making my way towards the shore. She became aerial a couple times before I finally landed her.
18, 27, 32
I measured her off @ roughly 32″ using my hand which is 1/16″ shy of 9″ and guesstimated her @ 12 lbs.
What a blast. I wrapped my knuckles a couple of times on the handle as line was being peeled from the reel. Now the real fun part of the story.
People notice me as I walk from the car to the run and back, and many days I’m asked, “do you catch anything on that fly pole?” ” Why do you use a fly pole?” ”There aren’t many fish that eat flies are there?” so on and so forth. To which, my usual answer is,”well, sometimes”, and ”I enjoy it”. Which seems to suffice most of the questions asked. As if throwing giant wads of poisoned eggs out under a bobber is the only way to fish. Or because I choose not to floss the fish into “biting”, using a 15ft leader 2oz of lead and a corky or piece of yarn on a hook to “catch” fish. Not that I’m saying it’s wrong, or that everybody should be out with a fly rod in hand, it’s just that this is the way I choose to pursue the fish I wish to catch. Nothing more, nothing less, I attempt not to thumb my nose in anyone’s direction, unless they’re poaching, or breaking the rules. To which I’ll quickly take a stand against.
Get out there, and have some fun!
Dave
