Over the summer of 2014 I was just east of Portland, Oregon in the Columbia River Gorge. I was with my mother and sister, and the amount of beautiful salmon and trout filled water we would drive by every day would kill me a little bit inside. Since we were on a family vacation (my dad would join us in a couple days) I tried not to be too selfish about the time I spent fishing. My mom and sister were very patient with the amount I fished all summer and I figured I would go along with what they wanted to do for a change. After about 12 days of passing this one pool at the bottom of a huge waterfall, I realized I could take it not take it any longer. The next day on the way to lunch we were driving past the pool, and I was at the point of salivating. All of a sudden in the middle of the quiet car ride I cried out, “STOP THE CAR! I CAN’T TAKE IT ANY LONGER!”. My mom stepped on the brake and we started to stop. I was out of the car before the wheels had stopped turning, running around back to grab my brand new four weight fly rod that I had yet to even cast.
I already had set it up with a size 12 yellow humpy and the fly glistened in the afternoon because of the fly floatant that I had applied earlier that day. I hopped the guardrail and sprinted down to the waters edge. I had no shoes on and as soon as I waded up to my ankles in the crystal clear pool I felt my breath get taken away. I quickly jumped out and caught my breath, stunned at the fact that my toes were nearly numb already. I looked back at the car and saw my sister smiling at the fact that I had just jumped out of the water, as she hates to wait for me while I fish and hoped that the cold would speed my return. I gritted my teeth and waded up to my thighs in the liquid ice and took my first cast, landing the fly about a foot away from the roaring waterfall that was sending spray all the way over to me, wetting the parts of my body that the calm water of the pool was not able to reach. One second passed, then another and another. I was about to take another step into the pool when I heard something break the surface with such animosity that I flinched. Out of instinct, I set the hook and the battle began.
I began to reel up all of my slack but quickly realized that it was simply unnecessary because the fish had taken all of that slack in a lightning fast run. It had made it almost all the way across the pool, and into the deepest part of it. I was still standing in the water, my backing being ripped off of the reel. The shock finally wore off and I sprang into action, putting my palm to the bottom of the reel so that the fish would be slowed down. It did just that, and I was amazed at how easily it swam right over to me. I saw only a flash of bent silver under the surface before the fish tore off on another screaming run. For fifteen minutes we played his game, he would swim nearly ten feet from me, give me a glimpse of him only to tear line off like no freshwater fish had ever done to me before. The last run he had, he began to swim over to a small stream that led away from the pool and into the Columbia River. It couldn’t have been more than three feet wide and three inches deep, but the fish, realizing he was close to defeat, swam over with his last bit of energy. He tried to pull himself over the small rise in the sand just before it, and struggled to get over it. Sitting upright on the sand he began to thrash about, splashing water everywhere and creating a rainbow as the light hit the spray just right. Awestruck, I watched him sit for a second. I mouthed the words, “I think that’s a steelhead…”. The cry of an osprey circling above me snapped me out of my trance and I sprinted over the rocky bank to the fish now fifteen yards away. I dropped my rod onto a pebble ridden part of the bank and grabbed the fish as he did his best to flop out of my hands. I crawled back over to the pebbly shore my rod was laying on and sat down with the fishes body in the water so that he could breath. I looked up and saw the osprey now only twenty feet above my head, his beady eyes staring at my prized catch. I lifted him up so that my mom could snap a quick photo, and then let him swim away while watching him drift back into the shimmering depths of the pool.
Cast and Blast with Tucker 