The salmon are in. They're set up all along what you like to call "your" stretch of the river. But today you know it's their river. In years past they've been on two gravel bars along here, but the low water has raised three more gravel bars just right for redds and spawning.
You work The Glide, drifting egg flies through and behind the swirling salmon. You're hoping there are steelhead who have followed the salmon for their eggs. You catch a big whitefish and a small smallmouth. You release them without a photo and get back to the fishing.
You head back down river and catch a trout right along the shoreline. You would have taken a photo of him, but he jumps clean out of the river onto the stones along the bank, throws the hook, and thrashes his way back into the current.
You work another gravel bar and get a strong take. The fish runs and lunges and you work it in to the bank, not trusting yourself to handle it in mid-river. It's not big. It may be a trout, but it doesn't look like the trout you just caught. It looks like a steelhead, and it fought like a steelhead. You think it might be a small steelhead.
You swing a black and pink streamer through The Bridge Run but cut the last few swings short and hurry on down to the next gravel bar. The salmon are putting on a show. You fish and watch and marvel.
You're drifting another egg fly. A few years ago you caught a salmon doing that. But you have an evening meeting and know that if you hook a salmon now you'll be late. So you reel in and wade out.
Before you climb the bank you ask the salmon if it's OK for you to come back to their river. They swirl and splash. You take that as a "yes."