TR- Elk River

Thank God for wedding showers. My wife threw a shower for my future
sister-in-law this Saturday. After doing what heavy lifting was required
from me, I was given a pass for the day; not as a reward for my hard work,
of course, but rather to allow the ladies uninterrupted time to enjoy their
mimosas and conversation. As I am not one to ever have enough, I cajoled my
way into a two day pass. My truck departed Columbus for the Elk laden with
gear and me at about noon on Sat.

After stopping at the local fly shop to get a map and a clue, I was off and
with a specific destination in mind. The drive was not as long as I had
guessed (a bit under 4 hours) and it was a beautiful day for a road trip.
After stopping at a fly shop to pick up the required PA license and fish the
originally planned waters, I was redirected to another section of the water
that might not be too high. I arrived to see a good number of vehicles in
the lot. Luckily for me, it seemed that most of owners of those vehicles
had decided it was quitting time and were gathered at the fly shop located
at this section. After a few brief conversations to find out how the
fishing was (not so good, but the water was better than expected) I found my
way to the stream.

I moved downstream a ways and began soaking some flies. I didn't expect
much, but shortly saw a group of guys leaving the river carrying two full
stringers of sizeable fish. I was impressed at the size of these steelhead.
It had been years since I last fished for steelhead, and the looks of these
fish were impressive. The fellas tell me that the fish are holed up just a
little further downstream. No need to say more - I moved on directly.

Obviously, I was a little amped up at this point. The rocks on the bottom
never struck so hard. Who knows, maybe one or two of them were actually
fish, but the closest I came to one that day was when a monstrous steelhead
leapt from the water. He was maybe 20 feet from me - when he came down, he
made a majestic crash land back into the water. At this point, it was
getting a bit dark, but that display of valiant acrobatics kept me on the
water for another half hour. Finally I gave up and went on my way to
prepare for the next day. I was pretty content - no fish, but I had
expected that. I was happy to have been on the water as long as I was. The
weather was pleasant and the scenery fantastic.

The next morning brought the meaning of lake effect snow. There was about 6
inches on the ground. This was the good snow - the thick stuff that clings
to everything in sight. The trees looked coated in a deep bed of vanilla
frosting. I was curious as to the effect on the fishing, but otherwise
undeterred. It appears that others had decided that the snow and the
significantly colder weather and strong winds were enough to keep them in
bed. There were some vehicles in the lot, but not nearly as many as
yesterday. Spoiled locals.

I fished a bit of the hole that I had seen the fish jump the day before.
While doing so, a group of three passed through rather determinedly. After
a while, I decided to see what they might know. I found a well worn path
that went down river quite a distance and that ended with the river nestled
between forest on one side and a steep rock face on the other. A few fellas
were fishing this hole so I kept on trail. I kept going past to where the
trail ended with the three I had seen earlier rather efficiently lined up
and working the water. Although I was wasting fishing time, the exercise
was good and the thrill of exploration was intriguing. One of the many
rewards was a very high waterfall that brought to mind thoughts of Indians
camped along the river with kids playing in the water. I didn't second
guess the image but pondered the simpler and presumed sweetness of the
times.

I fished for several hours. I caught numerous smolts that were maybe 6 to 8
inches in length. What they lacked in strength, they made up for in spirit.
But eventually, I connected with an adult. There's something rather
exhilarating about the ponderous and steady tugs punctuated by furious runs
that make steelhead such an incredible fish to catch. I brought this
female, measuring approximately 28 inches, to hand, admiring the bulked
proportions, the silver, pink and gold that glistened when the sun hits just
right, and the marks upon her sides that indicate the struggle she and her
ilk went through to continue their species. She was released to proceed on
her journey with as little delay as could be managed.

I connected with two more large steelhead. One resulted in a broken line at
the approximate location of where my split shot had been. That was
disappointing, but not nearly as much as the next one. This one pulled hard
and ran fast. I stripped in line when I could but became worried that he
might pull too hard and snap the line. I wanted to reel in the line to
allow the drag on my reel to help lessen that potential, but in the attempt,
put a little slack in the line for a brief second. That was all he needed
and he was off the hook. Heartbreaking. That was the last connection with
the steelhead for me that day. I arrived at home some time later exhausted,
content, and dreaming of the next one that won't get away.