Gorge Fly Shop Blog: Steelhead Adventures

Wild Steel

Leaving Haines Alaska on the ferry brought on a strong sense of excitement for unknown waters ahead. On the ferry’s solarium heading south along the inside passage, we had a clear evening with some northern lights on the distant horizon. A few years back I was tipped off by a guide friend to check out SE Alaska’s Prince of Wales Island for remote steelhead fishing. Growing up fishing, I’ve always been drawn to cold trout water and now as a PNW transplant, steelhead have become my passion.

Part of what I enjoy about fly fishing is the ability to play “pretend” scientist- that is, attempting to learn and understand a bioform from an amateurs viewpoint. Researching maps and seasons, spending hours at home by the vise tying flies, countless hours on the road, and early mornings sipping coffee all to potentially shake hands with the one. It’s an appreciation and respect for the fish. Consequentially, as fly fisherman we are also stewards and advocates for sustainable fisheries. In fact, I often see my friends picking up others trash on the river such as plastic bottles, monofilament, etc. Unfortunately though it’s becoming harder and harder to find untouched lands still wild and pure. Coincidentally, my friends Ian and Niel Provo had also heard of the Island and planned a similar trip after the winter ski season in Haines, so it only made sense for us to link up and make some memories together.

Prince of Wales Island is not an unknown fishing destination. It’s the fourth largest U.S. Island and is still home to the worlds largest logging camp (so much for un-pillaged lands.) But, it’s still off the beaten path and therefore less trafficked. Due to the islands history, the logging roads carved across the island allow for relatively easy access to all corners of the island. It’s no longer logged as extensively as it was in the past and now much of the island is reserved for the Tongass National Forest. The Tongass is the U.S.’s largest national forest at 17 million acres. The temperate rain forest spans islands, peaks, glaciers, fjords, and more. While at large the Tongass is fairly difficult to access, it’s host to a variety of species including a special strain of spring-run steelhead that migrate up the coastal creeks and rivers for a short 4 week period each spring. Many pieces of water hold the potential for fisherman to be the only one to walk it that season, or ever.

Right out of the gate we began walking up coastal watersheds and immediately began sighting steelhead making their migratory journey up stream after having spent their adult lives getting big and strong out in the ocean. They’re a mysterious fish and frustratingly difficult at times. Just holding one may be a fly fisherman’s fairytale equivalent of a unicorn, but I can’t speak for everyone on that. Large debate has sparked over their future in regards to dams, tainted hatchery programs, the logging industry, regulations, etc., but that’s another topic. To truly find a wild one nowadays means lots of effort must be put forth. Anyways, the small clear tannin waters of the Tongass meant we had to sneak through the woods and banks, crawling over logs and rocks as to avoid spooking them. Unlike much of the storied steelhead waters of Oregon, Washington and B.C. where long two-handed spey rods are the norm, here we used single-handed rods and had to change and adapt our tactics.

Neil softly tossed a purple leach-like fly across a pool and let it drop down into the water column where a dozen bright fish laid. As his fly began to swing through the juice a nice fish began to chase it before changing its mind. Steelhead don’t exactly eat while traveling upstream, but rather attack flies out of aggression or for reasons only guessed. Neil cast back across stream to the pod of fish and soon a large buck smashed the fly the fight was on! Rod bent to the cork with a hot steelie going berserk on the other end. After releasing the fish back into the cold water we all looked at each other with big smiles, knowing it was game on for the island!

Over the next week we stared at maps and explored potential water while meandering backcountry roads. Due to a low snow year on the island, water was fairly low and made conditions slightly more adverse. While on average years we would have been right on time for the peak of the run, we’d arrived on the back end of it. Therefore finding fresh and aggressive fish was a challenge. We were surprised how dry it was for springtime and while being in a temperate rainforest, we didn’t experience any rain whatsoever. Nevertheless, we found fish and all landed beautiful wild steelhead along with lots of gorgeous spotted cutthroat trout too. Having friends around was nice to share the laughter and joy with, especially when also trying to land big steelhead safely and quickly.

Overall, the island was everything I’d hoped for- remote, beautiful, plenty of road access and very fishy. In a perfect world we would have been slightly earlier for the quick spring-run and flows would have provided better swing water, but it’s not an adventure until you’re thrown a couple curveballs. Fly fishing has taught me lots over the years and taken me to inspiring places. Indeed I’d say the biggest gift it has given me is that of bonding, whether it’s with my old man, friends, or in nature. The connectivity it brings is powerful. Fortunately, I can probably slip comfortable into an old age knowing that the passion will still be bright and strong. Sharing it even brings more joy… Tight lines!

Recently, John and I did some serious bushwhacking/exploration. We had been looking for a new way to get down to the river, and after a failed attempt or two, we found it.

Steelhead!

I should say that we found a place where you can park within a certain distance to a river, with public land from the road to the river. Unfortunately, there is no “trail” to speak of, just a poorly used game trail that meanders about 2000’ down a cliff side. It’s not a straight down type of cliff, but a definitely steep slope. I would surely ski it if it was covered in snow.

After an hour of scrambling down this slope, we managed to get to the river right where we thought we would end up (according to our calculations via Google). However, it quickly became apparent that we would not be able to leave the river in the same manner that we went down. Getting up the same way that we descended would not only have been extremely difficult, we would have spent hours climbing up the loose brush and rock. Climbing down had not been that bad, but the thought of going up was pretty much out of the question.

So we fished this run that I had been eyeing for a while. Unfortunately, it was much faster than and not as deep as we had hoped. Bummer dude… Luckily, I am Swiftwater Rescue Certified, and one of the things I learned how to do is cross a river that is moving fast by linking arms and walking in step with a partner while leaning on each other to keep steady. This was really the only way to get across the river as it is fast and forbidding. So we slowly crossed the river and walked downstream along the bank for a while until we found a decent looking piece of water.

So this is where the fish story comes in!

I started swinging this run and quickly got my fly into a really nice looking bucket. A fish grabbed my pink bunny leech in mid-swing. It then dropped the fly, and then hit it again even harder on the hang-down at the end of the swing. One head shake and it dropped the fly again. By this point, I was yelling and swearing at this fish. Jon had stopped and was watching the action.

After the second grab (and drop), I quickly stripped the fly twice as it was hanging down at the end of the swing. As if I was trout fishing, this steelhead boiled on my fly and slammed it as hard as possible. I saw all of this as the fly and the fish were in less than two feet of water and less than fifty feet from me. The fish then screamed about fifteen feet of line off my reel and popped off. That fish was hooked and lost. I had never had a steelhead take a fly three times like that in one swing, and never had a winter fish eat a fly on the strip.

So instead of standing there staring at the water in disbelief, I fired a cast ten feet off where that fish popped off towards the deeper side. I mended the line and stripped the fly once. Less that a second later, this fish took the fly again, even harder that the other three times, and proceeded to put me in my backing while going airborne several times.

When I finally landed him, the hook was up in the roof of his mouth, right where it should be. I thought that maybe, just maybe, there were two fish out there that were involved in this incident. When we took a closer look, we could see the fresh hole, still bleeding, in the corner of his mouth from where I had just put a hook in him on the previous cast.

I have been fishing for a long time, and I never had a steelhead ever act that aggressively towards my fly,

especially a winter steelhead. Winter fish are not exactly known for moving a long ways for a fly. Grabbing the fly four times total and getting pinned at least twice in two casts is unheard of. The adventure of getting to the river was totally worth the sweat and soreness, but the fish was a bonus that gave us both a glow and a smile for the rest of the day.

We ended up having to walk down the river for quite a while before climbing up the other bank. We then had to figure out how to get to our car on the other side of the river several miles upstream, but that is a completely different story.