Metalhead, Steelhead, that oh so elusive quarry…

How many hours have I spent in pursuit of a moment?

How many casts searching, searching for that fate filled event?

That moment of thrill and elation, as that huge and powerful fish takes the fly…

Savages the fly, and takes off in a blistering run,

head shaking, twisting and turning,  struggling,  to be free of the bite of the hook.

Every move, every nuance of the struggle is felt through that long supple rod into my very soul.

The very power and wonder of nature is at my fingertips.

 I feel the throb of tail strokes as the fish turns and rushes towards me.

I crank and strip line desperately, trying to maintain contact with the ghost of the Pacific Northwest.

The fish rushes past, heading upstream, hell bent on escape… and freedom

But not quite yet, I lay that long rod sideways, cranking madly to get her back on the reel…

That big fish burrows her way upstream, fighting, struggling against the drag of the reel,

 the flex of the rod, and the current. She tires quickly, and then in a blind rage she twists and turns

in a blind fury…” The ball” I call it. You can feel it through the rod. 

Blind Rage, Fury, Violent Savagery transmitted from fish to human

 through that long, slender, yet powerful tool called a fly rod.

Soon after I lead her gently into calmer water, see the beauty and wonder of her bright chrome flanks,

shading into that glorious iridescent blue green dorsal coloration that marks the steelhead.

She’s a wild fish born & bred in this wide stretch of river.

 I must release her back to the river… So ever so gently I remove the big fly, and hold her quivering flanks as I swish her back and forth, as I revive her.

Then, in a flash she scoots to freedom, tail strokes blurring as she races away to her destiny.

But not from my memory. I will hold this moment through all my days. That bright fish, under leaden skies, and bone numbing cold…

That’s Winter Steelhead