Winter had passed, and the Blazers had upset me again. An
entertaining season, but not the one I was hoping for. On a brighter note, I
graduated college…early of all things. Not really sure how or why I did that.
Anyways. After that I started working full time and anticipating the end of the
rainy season.
Spring rolled on by and the rivers were receding to a point
that I could actually fish them from the bank without having to worry about
being swept away for good. Not to say I didn’t try. I figured I’d be better off
watching youtube videos on how to perfect the blood knot rather than risk my
life fishing in spots where there probably weren’t any fish holding anyways.
And then, June arrived.
My graduation ceremony ended, and I remember having this
feeling that nothing could stop me. The world was mine. Unfortunately with a
terrible economy and not really wanting to leave Eugene and the Mckenzie, I
remained where I was. The night ended with something special though. It reaffirmed
my passion for fly-fishing. It was also nice to know that my parents recognized
this passion.
I opened the box that my Dad had made, and in it was a
beautiful reel. It was a dark green Bauer reel, that when fitted with my yellow
fly line only reminds me of all those years as a Duck. I was very moved. And
not just by the gift, but also with all the other emotions that night
offered. The box had a note in it
as well with a quote (among other quotes and encouraging words my parents came up
with) from Charles F. Orvis;
“Unless one can enjoy himself fishing with the fly, even
when his efforts are unrewarded, he loses much real pleasure. More than half
the intense enjoyment of fly-fishing is derived from the beautiful
surroundings, the satisfaction felt from being in the open air, the new lease
of life secured thereby, and the many, many pleasant recollections of all one
has seen, heard, and done.”
Summer was in full force…finally. The steelhead were on
their way up the Mckenzie, so I decided to go try my luck. Me and Ginger (my
maroon 97’ 4-Runner) headed out one early morning eager to find some new spots
and hopefully get into some fish. The day was Sunday, June 20th,. I
had just turned 22. So after stopping for some WacArnold’s (McDonalds) for a
sausage biscuit and a hash-brown, it was fish on.
Plenty of trout succumbed to my tactics early that morning
off of Hwy 126. When I got to my final spot though, I wanted to try something
different. I tied on a Green Butt Skunk, and figured what the heck. At that
time, my double haul was terrible, and I wasn’t even sure I was swinging the
fly the way it should in order to hook a steelhead. As I worked my way down
river towards the start of the tail out just above the rapids it happened. TUG.
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. HOLY CRAP! I was in shock. I suddenly realized that I
had hooked into a steelhead! After gaining my composure and getting the giant
fish back on to my fly line it was game on. Forty minutes later, I gave out a
victorious yell. I landed the 28” prize and afterwards, I was hooked.
There’s something about these magnificent fish that just
draw you to what some people call a waste of time. But there is no other feeling
in the world than the one when you have a steelhead on the end of your fly line.
I will continue to “waste time” swinging flies for hours on end without a
single tug. Because, when that initial grab occurs…I know it will have been
worth it.
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