I made it to the river early this week. I slid down the bank on a well-used deer path and waded in for a go at some steelhead.
I shared the river with a couple of muley does who were finding respite from the ongoing stress of the deer season. Me, too; all in all I'd rather be fishing the river while hunters are roaming around Trout Lake.
I worked the Bridge Run thoroughly. I caught a fish. He was the definition of "too big for your britches." You gotta love a fish like that.
There was more Chinook activity than the last time I was here. It looked much more like old times.
I backtracked under the bridge and headed upstream to the Glide.
I fished some riffles and runs on the way, but the only fish I saw were defunct salmon.
I worked the Glide over pretty good. But no fish.
Halfway back I located another well-worn deer path up the bank and clambered out over the roots and stones into an open field.
It was an easy walk back to the truck--on solid ground rather than through the dark, rocky river.
I decided that was my best move of this trip to the river. But I'll be back.