At this time of year, Sonoman Steve Kyle and Tyler Lee, a former Sonoman and guide, bravely go where those of us who prefer fair-weather fishing fear to tread. They did so a couple of weeks ago, and Tyler sent me the following account:
“Last week my friend Steve and I drove deep into the Redwood Curtain of fog along Northern California’s Lost Coast in search of a mystical gray ghost. We knew things were bleak. Steelhead returns are diminishing in Humboldt County. Summer fires threaten more habit destruction.
“We arrived at our first run and our guide pointed out the likely targets. We couldn’t have asked for better conditions: Overcast skies with enough sunlight to outline the clouds, green water with four feet of visibility, light wind and warm temperatures.
“I remember every fish I have ever caught on the swing. The first one this day was no more special than the others but added to my collection of memories. This steelhead was in five feet of fast water at the head of the run. There was a moment where my fly line slid away from me, then a grab followed by a tail slap. The fight was on.
“Our second day was perfection. Kyle walked upstream to the head of the morning run. Our guide followed. I could hear the two talking, their voices carrying downstream on the water.
“When most men hook a fish on the swing they yell out. Not Steve. He cackles like a cross between a witch and 6-year-old being tickled. To me it is the laugh of a man who knows he’s got the world beat, playing with house money. He wrestled with his prey, morning cigar firmly planted between his gums, not giving ground. The tussle ends with success, cheers, and photos.
“I begin my long walk down the bank to the end of Steve’s run. As I disappear around the corner, the cackling begins anew. Steve is onto another one.
“Back on my run, the fly swings at just the right pace. A grab. Electricity. My reel sings.
“As I fight my fish, our guide informs me that men from the California Department of Fish and Game would like to tag it. They carefully inject a tracking device along the dorsal.”
“We continue fishing run after run in solitude, no other boats, no other fishermen, no cars. One run has a boulder garden hidden away near the tail-out – a place you would miss without a guide. I hook my second fish of the day in a cobbled run with currents that ask the surface water to ripple gently. I imagine this ocean-dweller tracking my fly over a long distance.
“I grow more grateful, for a lot of reasons. It was a trip to remember. “
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