No Guarantees

The stoke had certainly diminished a bit as the north state was being pummeled with unseasonably huge storms. The week had been spent constantly checking flow charts, scrutinizing weather reports, formulating plans B, C, and D. And a whole lot of finger crossing. No fishing trip is ever guaranteed, especially when it comes to steelhead. The migratory nature of the fish makes it hard to plan a trip in advance, however this trip to this river during this week of the year was as close to a guarantee as you'll find. After days of internal deliberation, you eventually get the sense that worrying is useless and you'll find out when you get there. A "you don't know unless you go" sort of a thing.

The excitement was back in full force driving the windy road through Bigfoot country as we approached the Klamath River.

Feeling reinvigorated I pickup where I left off in the middle of the run, hoping to connect with his older brother or perhaps one of the many salmon boiling around us. I send another cast out across the river, just as I'd done a hundred times that day, a thousand times that trip and a million times in my life. But this cast is different. My line surges forward as the rod is nearly ripped from my hands. This is THE grab. Line is peeling off my reel loudly, the rod is doubled over before my brain has a chance to overthink it. Some ten minutes later I finally regain my fly line and we finally lay eyes on the fish. A big, bright chinook salmon comes to the surface. The king of the river. Or should I say the queen of the river? She's a beautiful hen of about 25 pounds, the one from my daydreams.. We slide her into the shallows and admire this amazing creature for a brief moment before releasing her back into the wild. It’s amazing how one cast can change things.

If I showed you I'd have to kill ya…