I made sure to have a relatively easygoing night on New Years Eve (for once, lol), which meant that it wasn't too tough convincing myself to get up to go fishing this morning.
So I treated myself to a sleep in (woke up around 8am) and then packed up my gear and hit the road in the glorious sunshine. First off I headed to the train bridge to meet up with a bunch of fellow spey anglers. At least one fish was caught by one of the spey guys, but that wasn't a huge result given how many rods were working the run all morning - it was SLAMMED with fishermen and women. So I hung around with them for a few hours and had some good BS sessions before deciding it was time to head out on my own.
Headed upriver towards a familiar run and hiked in as the sun began dropping in the sky - it was early afternoon. The run was empty - which wasn't really surprising given the late hour, cold weather, and likelihood of a bunch of my fellow anglers nursing hangovers today. lol I stripped some line off my reel and started in at the head of the run.
Eventually I'd worked enough line out there that I was covering the whole cross-distance of the run, so I began working downriver slowly one cast at a time, hoping no one would show up out of nowhere and drop in below me. No one likes being low-holed, but as we all know there are still many people out there who do it. Soon enough though I was in such a rhythm I'd ceased worrying about anything, and instead I was totally focused on the experience and the swing of my fly.
I'd worked about 2/3 of the way down the run without a tap and it suddenly struck me that I was just about at the spot in the run I'd hooked up with a steelhead last season at a similar water level. My senses went into overdrive, and my focus on the fly line was absolute. And sure enough, right at the sweet spot in the swing - and probably within 10 yards of where I'd hooked up last season - some of the loop of running line I'd been holding suddenly slipped through my fingers. Every cell in my body was screaming at me to set the hook, but I forced myself to wait what seemed like forever - though I'm sure it was only a split second - and again I was rewarded as the remainder of the loop of line was unceremoniously ripped from my fingers and I swept the rod towards the bank, setting the hook... FISH ON!
At first the fish didn't move much, just thrashing it's head back and forth mid-run. For a second I thought it was maybe just a dolly as the weight didn't seem to be there, but then it leapt from the water and took off across stream... by now I was giggling - yes, that's right - I was giggling. Totally alone, fishing a beautiful run surrounded by frost-covered trees and snow-capped mountains, with a steelhead on the end of my flyrod. How could you not laugh like a little kid?
The fight wasn't as crazy as the steelhead I'd hooked there last February, but it was enough to keep me on my toes. I found my hands shaking like crazy - I've caught a lot of fish in my life, and my hands always shake with excitement - but they NEVER shake like they do when I have a steelhead at the end of my flyrod! About 6-7 minutes into the fight, I managed to lead the big steelhead into the shallows - my first impression of a dolly was now laughable, as this appeared to be about a 13 pound wild doe. In about 18" of water, I reached down and grabbed the big fish by the tail - I was in the process of putting down my rod so I could grab the leader by the other hand, only to have the fish give a big kick and take off into the river again. I turned her and led her back to me, reaching again for the tail. This time I barely managed to wrap my fingers around the wrist of her tail before she kicked again and took off into the depths.
By now I just wanted to get my fly out of her yap and let her go, given that she was a wild fish, so I grabbed the leader and led her in to shore. She didn't like this much and zipped between my legs and with a huge splash broke the leader just above the fly and took off back into the run. I didn't care much, I wasn't keeping her anyhow.
I walked back to the shoreside, sat down on a rock, and took out the silver flask of scotch I always carry for such occasions. I sat back and took a sip while I watched the water flow past me. The sun was warm on my skin, the winter breeze was cool on my face, and I was elated.
What a perfect way to start off the new year.
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Topic: Chilliwack River, January 1st 2013 (Read 2819 times)