Big Sky Journal: "Outside: Fish on the Brain" by Greg Thomas

I thought my brother John would like this one. He's fished the Clearwater and wants to go back.

Outside: Fish On The Brain

Twenty-four hours for steelhead

Written by Greg Thomas  
Illustrated by Fred Thomas  
February 2016

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Giving yourself just 24 hours to catch a steelhead and then setting out on the road to do so is one of angling’s worst gambles. Especially when you must drive three and a half hours along one of the windiest roads in the West, over a notorious mountain pass, just to reach these fish. Steelhead don’t exist in Montana. You have to get to Idaho or beyond to find them.

A friend and I took that bet in November. He somehow convinced me that leaving Missoula at 8 p.m., just after I coached my girls’ basketball team to an overtime loss, was a great idea. I had no voice and seemingly little sense, the latter due to my friend’s propensity to drive at the very limits of physics. On this trip I have to remind him that all that waits ahead are a couple whiskeys and a night of sleep; we won’t miss a thing if he drives a safe 60 miles an hour versus 80.

I say this each time he drives, mostly as a valid mark of concern, but also to see his reaction. “You worry about the songs on the iPod, and I’ll drive,” he says, adding, “You’re just nervous because you’re not used to the sway.”

The “sway” is a sensation brought on by the tipping of his 3,000-pound Lance camper. At each bend, as he hits the brakes and my eyes get wide, the whole truck seems to lift onto two wheels before, miraculously, finding purchase again. On this particular road, Highway 12 between Lolo, Montana, and Orofino, Idaho, we go through this process perhaps 600 times. While negotiating one particularly sharp turn he glances up at me and says, “My girlfriend has to medicate when she rides with me.” I ask the obvious question: “Does she have any of that stuff stashed in here?” By the time we park at an access site along the Clearwater River, I am worn out but glad to be here in one piece, with nothing more to do than swing flies for steelhead.

Read more.

The Wild Steelheader, September 17, 2015

September 17, 2015

Hello, At last, the most wonderful time of the year is upon us - the season of wild steelhead. After a scorching summer, we are seeing rain and cooler nights and a renewed sense of urgency among anglers. It's time to start patching waders, sorting tackle, fixing reels - time to keep one eye to the sky and one on the dam counts. It's the time we relish, but also the time to put our hard work to the test. From Alaska to California, we are using the same determination we bring to our steelhead fishing to our wild steelhead conservation work; improving habitat, restoring runs of wild fish, improving fisheries management, and educating the angling public on the most up-to-date science. We continue to make progress on a variety of issues and places-dam removal in California, wild steelhead gene banks in Washington, and legislation that would designate a wild steelhead sanctuary on the upper Rogue River in Oregon being just a few examples. Take a moment to read about our recent work and results- and how you can help. Dwayne Meadows Pacific Northwest Outreach Coordinator Trout Unlimited Four things you can do right now to help wild steelhead   Advocate for southeast Alaska's wild steelhead. The Tongass National Forest is taking comments on the Tongass Land Management Plan, which will determine management priorities and resource protections for the forest in the future. Tell the Forest Service to protect 77 key watersheds identified by scientists, fishing interests and others as the most important unprotected steelhead and salmon habitat in Southeast Alaska. http://www.americansalmonforest.org/take-action.html Protect the Oregon/California Smith River from mining. In the headwaters of the Smith River on the Oregon/California border a proposed large-scale nickel mine threatens key steelhead spawning tributaries.  The BLM has temporarily withdrawn the mining proposal pending review of the area for special designation, as proposed in recent legislation by members of Congress from Oregon and California. Take a moment to tell them to make this withdrawal permanent. Find your niche in Wild Steelheaders United Nearly 3,000 have signed the Wild Steelheaders United credo so far. That's good, but we can do better. Commit yourself to helping our cause by getting at least one of your fishing buddies to sign the WSU Credo. Of course, you can also make a donation, and there are other ways to contribute. But boosting our sheer numbers is very important.  Go to a local Trout Unlimited meeting and ask how you can help with your local river.  You can find it here. Forward this newsletter to friends and encourage them to sign the Credo.  Donate $40 or more and get a Wild Steelheaders United hat. Donate here. Help protect 14,000 miles of streams in Oregon The Oregon Board of Forestry is considering increasing buffers around riparian zones. Currently, those buffers are only 20 feet, which is inadequate for providing the shade needed to keep water cool. Studies have shown that a 120 buffer is adequate. We are asking the board to consider 110 feet. To learn more, check out our blog and contact the Board to tell them you support protecting Oregon's streams and rivers. The steelhead portfolio: Conserving diversity with diversity By John McMillan: Science director for Trout Unlimited's Wild Steelhead Initiative This summer, both drought and fire have underscored one important fact: The old way of doing things will not restore healthy, fishable wild steelhead populations. We have to be proactive, rather than reactive, if we want fishable populations of wild steelhead in the future. This is not a criticism of any manager, group or individual.  We have all walked the path together. What happened in the past is not important except for what it teaches us moving forward. One such lesson is that conservation of a species like steelhead that thrives because of its diversity will require a multitude of approaches, ranging from better fisheries management to improved stream flows and temperatures. Our goal with the Wild Steelhead Initiative is to diversify and prioritize conservation actions in the same way financial portfolios are managed.  That is, to have a collection of several assets rather than one or a few because not all assets will perform equally well as time passes.  A hedged bet if you will. The portfolio concept is applicable to all salmon, but particularly to steelhead. Each life history is analogous to a different asset. A life history is the catalogue of what a fish does to reach maturity (for example, the age at which a fish enters the ocean, or how long they spend at sea before returning to spawn).  These details can differ greatly from one fish to the next. Any given steelhead population may support upwards of 30-36 life histories, the most of any salmon, trout, or char. In short, diversity is their calling card.  Just like some products in the financial market, some life histories survive better than others.  For example, researcher Jonathan Moore and others found that while three different life histories were the most prevalent in a given year for steelhead in the Nass River, B.C., no life history ever represented more than 45% of the population. The diversity dampened variation in abundance and improved stability by more than 20%.  Given that one steelhead can be very different from the next, the health of the environment around them becomes extremely important. Life histories are affected by several factors, including the diversity of available habitat, population genetics, and fishery management.  That is why Wild Steelheaders United is pursuing  a variety of conservation approaches,(some of our recent work is discussed below).  Rebuilding wild steelhead diversity will require a strategic, coordinated set of  actions designed for individual populations and watersheds, and that is  precisely what our Wild Steelhead Initiative is all about.  Steelhead depend on a diversified portfolio of life histories for their health and resilience. .  And our opportunity to fish for them depends on our success in maintaining that  portfolio. I'll boil it down this way: More life histories = more population resilience = more consistent annual run size =  more fishing opportunity. The State of our Progress Oregon: For years, Trout Unlimited has been working with agencies and industry to improve timber harvesting practices in Oregon. In July, Dean Finnerty, Southwest Oregon Coordinator for TU, testified in support of increasing private land timber buffers along rivers and streams from 20 feet to the scientifically supported distance of 110 feet.  If the proposal passes, thousands of miles of steelhead streams will benefit from the cold water created by bigger, healthier riparian zones.  Take Action Further south, we are asking people to support mineral withdrawal on the Upper Smith River, which is threatened by proposed nickel mining. The comment period closes Sept. 28, so submit yours today! TU's Blueback Chapter conducted a highly popular volunteer snorkel survey in August, continuing the great tradition of citizen science on the Siletz River.The survey will help the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife determine the range of rare coastal summer steelhead and their interaction with hatchery fish. Finally, support continues to grow in the Deschutes Basin for Opal Springs fish passage on the Crooked River. To learn more about this project by TU's Deschutes Chapter go to their site. California: On the Carmel River, the final phase of the San Clemente Dam Removal Project was implemented,  restoring steelhead passage to some 25 miles of historic spawning and rearing habitat. TU's Central Coast Steelhead Project is working  to remove seven smaller concrete blockages that remain in the upper watershed, as well as fish passage barriers  in other steelhead rivers, including the Big Sur. California is where the next round of  Steelhead Science for Angler Workshops will happen.  Workshops  will be held in Long Beach at the Aquarium of the Pacific on Sept 26th and Davis at the Veterans Memorial Center on September 28. Space is limited, so get your spot today (RSVP for Long Beach here and Davis here)! Washington: WSU has been leading the charge to get the Washington  Department of Fish and Wildlife to designate the Skagit, Elwha, and Puyallup/White rivers as "wild steelhead gene banks," which means that they would not receive any hatchery steelhead.    We appreciate the efforts of the many steelheaders who spoke up in favor of these designations.  Here is the link to  the Seattle Times editorial submitted by TU leaders, Derek Young and Chris Taylor, on the topic.  WDFW is scheduled to make a decision on the future of gene banks in the Puget Sound region shortly, so stay tuned. On the east side, the Upper Columbia Basin has become an epicenter for salmon and steelhead recovery success stories as ranchers and farmers make voluntary changes that keep more water in steelhead rivers and allow fish passage.   This summer, TU began work on irrigation efficiency projects in the Methow, Entiat and Wenatchee Basins of North Central Washington, which will  increase flows in crucial tributaries for summer steelhead. Alaska: In August, TU met with Bill Bennett, British Columbia's Minister of Mining and Environment, to discuss concerns about impacts proposed mines might have on Southeast Alaska steelhead and salmon rivers.  We are working to ensure that, if they are built, measures are in place to protect steelhead and salmon. In the Tongass National Forest, the U.S. Forest Service is modifying the forest plan, which will guide future management. The Tongass is the largest national forest in the country (roughly the size of West Virginia)) and a mecca for wild steelhead. Currently, development is still allowed in highly important steelhead watersheds. Take a moment to support protection of these 77 key watersheds. Idaho:  On the West Fork of the Yankee Fork in the upper Salmon River basin, TU has been busy working to restore  spawning habitat in an area that was heavily dredge-mined a century  ago.  The project includes a new river channel full of large wood structures, excavated pools, constructed riffles, glides and point bars. Next July, the entire mainstem Yankee Fork River will be diverted into the new channel. The existing channel will be ideal for rearing and spawning steelhead. Events Calendar: September 18-19: We will be at Rogue on the Fly  in Galice, Oregon September 26: Steelhead Science for Anglers, Aquarium of the Pacific, Long Beach, Calif. 12-4p.m. September 28: Steelhead Science for Anglers, Davis Veterans Memorial Center, Davis, Calif.3-7p.m. October 3-4: Issaquah Salmon Days. We will be at the Trout Unlimited booth. November 17: Wild Reverence film and Steelhead Conservation talk with John McMillan at the Barn in Leavenworth, with the Wenatchee River Institute.

A River Runs Through it

Lost River, Idaho

July, 1929

(Photo from Shorpy.)

Henry's Fork Report: The Last Day

It was the seventh and last day of the trip. God rested on the seventh day. I went fishing.

It had been a cold night. There was frost everywhere when I crawled out of the tent. When I arrived at the Back Channel I was not too surprised to glimpse snow up in the high country.

Down here, though, it was pretty nice. There was no wind, and the sun soon melted the frost and warmed the air. I shed my jacket.

I had high hopes for the Back Channel. It would be a sign of cosmic favor to revisit halcyon days of yore and catch a good fish here on the holy water. I looked carefully for rises, walking along the bank to cover the water. Nothing happening--yet.

I sat down on the bank and had a cup of coffee. Soon little black caddis danced around me. Harbingers, I thought. I walked the bank, came back, sat down, and had another cup of coffee.

I waited for a long time. Then it happened as it should happen. First I noticed PMD's drifting through my reflection in the water--not a lot, but enough. Then I heard the first rise. Then I saw a rise. Then I saw several fish rising together. Finally I waded out. Time to begin.

I waded carefully and quietly. Of the rises I saw, most were erratic. Then I identified two fish who were now working steadily in place. One was to my left, and fairly close; the other was to my right and farther away, over in front of a little island.

I went right. This has been a propitious island in years past. More than once we have caught big fish here by targeting little rises.

I made my way to within ten feet of the rise, slightly behind the fish. I had the Harrop PMD on, and began to cast. I got a good drift, then another, the fish rising steadily. Then another...maybe I need to go a little bit farther... And the fish sipped in the fly.

He took off downstream to my left. It was a lovely dance we made, as he would zing line off the reel, and I would slowly regain it, all the time bringing him closer.

I forgot to tell you that I didn't have a net. The evening before, right after I had hooked the fish that shot out of the river like a rocket, the net was dangling in the current on my casting side. So I had grabbed it and tossed it around my back to the other side. Imagine my surprise when it came floating past me and headed downriver toward the Snake. I cast my line over it, and the fly ticked it but couldn't stop it. Later I checked the lanyard and nothing was broken or had come loose. A case of the river twisting and turning and picking my pocket.

So now I had some concern about landing this fish. I brought it in close for a photo in case I wouldn't be able to take another.

When I finally put my hand under him, though, he had decided to be stoic about the whole thing. Another beautiful Henry's Fork rainbow.

I released him and watched him swim away, then stood up and looked around for my next target. The river was quiet. I couldn't see a single rise, and the insects on the surface had thinned. I waded back to the bank and had another cup of coffee. By the time I screwed the cup back onto the old Stanley it was clear the morning on the Back Channel was over.

It was also clear what a perfect morning it had been.

I hiked out and drove back to the Last Chance stretch that had given me so much pleasure the afternoon before. There was nothing happening when I arrived, so I had some lunch while enjoying the un-summerlike view.

Then it was time for a stroll. I geared up and walked upstream along the bank.

I was delighted to find just what I was looking for. In the riffle behind this rock I found a steady riser. I watched him for awhile to make sure he was determined, and he was.

So I walked downstream a ways, waded in, and carefully made my way to a casting position ten feet or so to the left of and behind the fish. I showed him that lucky PMD, and on the fourth cast he took it, and I hooked him. He was a heavy fish. I can't say he was the biggest I had hooked, but he fought like it. He was determined, alright.

I still didn't have a net, so I was trying to work him into the soft water behind the rock. Still, I was nervous when I got him close enough to try to land him. Maybe that was the fatal flaw: I hesitated just long enough for him to lunge into the current and separate himself from the hook.

But what an exhilarating lunch hour.

I walked back to the van looking for more risers, but there were none. I resumed my routine of the day before, waiting and walking the bank.

A hatch began; caddis were coming off in waves. But they were in the trees and grass--they would billow out when you brushed past--and not on the water.

It was a long afternoon of waiting for the fish to show themselves. They never did.

As evening fell, I geared up again and waded out in one more effort to make something happen, or at least to be there if something happened of its own accord. I threw a variety of flies: bead head nymphs, soft hackles, and, of course caddis, dry and wet. I caught the smallest fish of the trip--of the year, I expect.

And I caught one more small fish. I felt as though I was holding the shining future in my hand.

Then I watched the day come to an end.

Back at the campground I lit the ritual Mark Memorial Campfire.

Then sat by the fire for a long time, gazing into the embers, then the moonlight, then the embers, until I finally found myself drifting off in the tent, watching as another Henry's Fork experience faded to black.

Henry's Fork Report: Sixth Day

I woke up early. The sixth day of fishing lay before me. I had remarked to John on the second day that four days was not long enough for a fishing trip. At our age it takes four days just to get warmed up. Now, six days in, I was feeling good, and I was eager to return to the Henry's.

I drove the fifty miles to the campground, reserved our site for the night, and went to the Ranch. I was back on the Back Channel, and everything looked in fine shape. It had been a cold night--there had been frost on the van when I awoke--and it was still cool and breezy. But the sun seemed to be working its way out of the clouds, and I anticipated a good morning.

I watched and waited and waded, and then did it all over again. The hatch was not happening. The water was at the perfect level again after the dam release, flowing at the perfect rate, but it was devoid of insects--and rises.

While I waited, the wind picked up, and the clouds thickened. Instead of getting warmer, it got colder. I was wearing layers, but I was getting cold. In my optimism, I had left my rain jacket back in the van. So I gave up on the Back Channel and hiked out. It was time for a change of plans.

I drove to the Last Chance stretch. I pulled up to a section upstream from the observation platform. It gave me a good view of the river from the van. Nothing happening here, either. Except for the weather. In the time I had taken to get here the clouds had socked in the valley and started spitting rain.

And then it opened up: wind, thunder and lightning, and sleet.

It stopped after awhile, but soon another squall blew through. Then more. I was snug and dry in the van. Now and then I'd get out and walk up and down the bank to see if I could detect any rises. Nothing happening.

I dozed off for awhile. When I woke up I took a long look at the river. I thought I was seeing rises. I got out of the van and took a closer look. The river was covered with PMD's. And fish were rising all over the place.

I waded out. The current on this stretch is much faster and stronger than on the Back Channel. It seemed like everything began to happen at super speed. I began to target risers with a little PMD dry. The casts were short and into the wind, and the drift was fast, with furious mending and stripping of line to get longer drifts.

Amazingly, I got a hook up. I never cease to be amazed how a fish can find your fly in the midst of so many fast-moving naturals. This was a small fish. I wondered if they were all small fish.

Then I looked again and began to see big heads coming up, and big fish porpoising. I don't think you can see them in this photo, but trust me, they're there.

I went for one of the porpoisers, and after a few drifts got another hook up. Amazing. This one took longer to get to the net, using the current expertly to avoid capture. What a beauty. I wanted to take time to admire it, but the fever was building in me. There were fish rising all around. No time to waste.

I targeted another riser, and hooked up again, This was a heavier fish. It took longer to get to the net. But before I could scoop it up the fly popped out. So it goes. No time to grieve. Get that next cast out.

It seemed that the fish were now aware of my presence. They would be rising in a pod, holding their positions, until I began to cast to one. That would put them down for a few seconds while they moved upstream, or drifted downstream. I would dutifully follow them, trying to sneak up on them before they knew I was there.

I hooked up again, another good fish, and again, after a long struggle, I got him close only to have the fly pop out. I wondered if I was rushing the play--easy to do when there are still so many fish rising all around you waiting to be caught.

I checked the fly--still good. It's a little CDC PMD pattern tied by Rene Harrop. Killer.

I kept fishing but kept my eye on the weather. Another storm was blowing in on the cold wind. Lightning flashed and thunder grumbled. I finally gave in, waded out, and sought refuge in the van. I started it up and turned the heater on high.

The storm blew over and I waded through the puddles and back into the river.

My fears were relieved when I saw the river was still covered with PMD's. I went back to work.

I found a steady riser and began to show him the fly. The light was lower now, and I couldn't see the fly as well as before. Each time I saw the fish rise I raised up on the rod. That happened two or three times. And then I raised up and hooked him. Amazing!

This was a nice fish. I took my time with him, trying not to horse him, and trying to work the angles to lessen the pull of the current. It took me two harrowing tries before I got him in the net.

I was lucky. I got him literally by the skin of his teeth. The fly fell out in my hand when I went to unhook him.

The sun came out then, to salute my good luck, or as a benediction to the afternoon.

I was feeling good, even with the cold wind blowing. That was the fish that made the whole trip. Even if I didn't catch another, I was content. But that's when I decided for sure to stay around for one more day on the Henry's.

I kept fishing. I missed some takes, and it seemed I was having to chase the fish farther. Then I thought I began seeing Callibaetis mixed in with the PMD's.

I clipped the PMD off and tied on a big, bushy Adams left over from previous years.I crept up on a pod of good fish and cast to the lead fish. I could see this fly, and it drifted past the first fish, and a second fish came up on it. I raised up and hooked him. He ran sideways for a few feet, then with a deft roll threw the fly.

I targeted another fish that I had watched porpoise in place for awhile. It took five drifts, but I finally put it over him, and he came up and grabbed the Adams. As soon as he felt the hook he came straight up out of the water. I had to look up to see him, and I can see him still, hanging there in the evening light. When he came down with a big splash the fly had come out.

Things slowed down then. I was cold and tired and happy. I went back to the van to warm up. I stayed around, and got out a couple of times to walk the bank, hoping for one more riser. But the event was over.

And what an event. It's what you hope for, and what you feel privileged to have been a part of for one brief moment of magic on the Henry's Fork.