The Fever

My steelhead initiation back in the day was punishing. Like a punch to the gut or a kick to the – well, you know where. I showed up on Idaho’s Clearwater River with a good pal who had some friends that were into camping along the river bank and chasing these fish around. I still remember pulling into camp, wandering over to the assemblage and not knowing a single face around the campfire glow.

It was a motley bunch- humorous, sometimes boisterous-but very welcoming to any newcomer wishing to share their passion; specifically, spending entire days searching for steelhead with fly rod and fly. They took me in right away and made me a part of their scene and ponderings. The fire ring was the centerpiece, like a roundtable where fine grub, laughs, cold beer and whiskey were passed between all camp chair occupants. Not to mention the musings and theories as to why things happened or didn’t happen on the river that day.