Introduction to Michael Gorman’s to-be-published steelhead book

It took me seven years of dogged persistence to catch my first steelhead, and another three years to land one on a fly rod.  In order to initially protect my credibility as an “expert” angler and guide, I usually don’t reveal this to my guided clients until they have actually caught a few steelhead with me.  In a good year, my guests will combine to land more than 500 steelhead.  So, I guess I’ve learned a few things over time.

My initial steelhead strategy was a losing one: learn it all by yourself through trial and error.  I chose this tact for a variety of reasons.

When I was a kid, my local library had a single book on steelhead fishing, and it was, apparently, filled with sleeping gas.  Every time I opened it, the book put me to sleep.  Videotape technology was many years into the future, and if sportsmen shows existed where knowledgeable anglers shared their fishing secrets, I did not know about them.  My local sporting goods store guy was the other side of useless.  And, unfortunately, I had no steelheading veterans in my circle of fishing companions.  We all fished trout.   Thus, it was T & E for seven long years.

If you are persistent enough, you ---like me --- will eventually discover all the flies that don’t catch fish, all the angling methods that don’t appeal to them, and all the fishing holes on the river that don’t hold willing fish.  Once all these are discovered, all that remains are enticing flies, effective methods, and worthy fishing holes. There is a silver lining until you get there.   In seven years my casting got to be excellent because no steelhead ever interfered with my casting practice.

Thomas Edison had the same strategy which I had adopted. He was searching for an appropriate filament for the incandescent light bulb.  He tried more than a thousand (!) different materials, until he stumbled onto a strand of carbonized cotton, which did an adequate job.  It took him years.  When a friend remarked that he continued to fail, Edison pointed out that, on the contrary, he had learned more than a thousand materials that didn’t work.  So, in essence, he could scratch these off his lengthy list. Lemons into lemonade.  Similarly it took me seven years to discover my “carbonized cotton”.

This book is an attempt “shortcut the system” for you.  And, at the same time, to be unique in a sea of other fly fishing writings.  Too many books and magazine articles dealing with this broad subject are boring, rambling, esoterically and ineffectively detailed, or a general, uninteresting re-hash of what has gone before. As examples, I recently I revisited two of the most hallowed tomes of steelhead fly fishing to survey for any overlooked topics I may want to incorporate into this book.  (Have some fun guessing the titles I am referencing.  I will never tell.)  Though there were beautiful pictures and many grinning fish “heroes”, there was, also, too much rambling on about minutia that added very little except more pages to the book. It was maddening.  I would read and re-read certain paragraphs about fly presentation and line manipulations trying to make sense of these, unable to do so in too many instances.  Then, there were the philosophical waxings and poetic prose that bordered on embarrassing.  Yikes!  It was like sifting through tons and tons of ore with my bare hands looking for a tiny precious nugget.  And, that’s not all.  Fawning hero worship doesn’t sit well with me.  Some readers and writers apparently need steelhead angling “gods” who command hushed reverence at the mention of their names because they are wise, soft spoken, invented a venerable or cool fly, fished with someone famous, and had an article published in Outdoor Life magazine.  I’ve met numerous good steelhead anglers, but not one could walk on water.  Nor do my knees get weak and my breathing short when I say their names. 

Here’s my promise: If my attempts in the pages that follow come off as the same drudgery I consistently encounter in other steelhead texts, make me eat your personal copy of this book at gunpoint.  Further, if you deem the complete reading of this book the equivalent of a penance given you in the confessional by the good Father O’Hurley for a mortal sin or two, then you can shoot me after I finish eating it!

I’ve had numerous “critics”, angling veterans and neophytes alike, review much of this book. Over a period of several years I’ve sought and received many written critiques on a sampling of chapters contained herein from my students at Oregon State University.  Specifically, I asked for feedback on the completeness of the chapter topic, the degree of clarity, logical progression, and the use (or misuse) of humor.  Their remarks have been very useful as I sought to fine tune my focus, my prose, and the fullness and clarity of what is written.  As expected, most remarks were encouraging, even complimentary.  Others were critical, some with justification which I took into consideration with my final revisions.  When it came to feedback on my attempts at humor, the exact same excerpt would be hilarious to some, not funny to others, and downright offensive to a small minority.  Like Ricky Nelson sang in his 1972 hit Garden Party: “. . . you can’t please everyone, so you’ve got to please yourself.”  So, I have.

Why did I write this book?  Many reasons.  I seek written creative outlets; to attempt to do a better job of explaining critical angling details than I’ve read in other books and articles; to create a book which is more entertaining and humorous (I hope) than any other book on the subject of steelheading with a fly; to get a long-time, nagging writing monkey off my back; to add more to my resume’; to make a few bucks; to seek out more heated arguments that include name calling; and, to lay down a challenge to others, daring them to make me more creative and resourceful as a teacher, fly angler and steelhead guide. 

As for my writing style, it will not always be a shining example of the proper use of English grammar, though I will never purposely violate correct spelling.  I was a college English major for exactly one term, turning instead to math and science.   Think of me as a very pale imitation of E. E. Cummings and his disregard of grammatical rules when he penned such head-scratchers as
                                                                            everyone lived in a pretty how town
                                                                            with up so pretty and bells so down
What was he thinkin’?

    I truly think I can improve on the ease of understanding essential details which are absolutely critical to locating and catching steelhead.  Think of it as a fun-to-read technical manual.  This book aims be more entertaining and humorous (I hope) than any other book on the subject of steelheading with a fly, or any other angling method for that matter.  And, I choose to take a more aggressive, opinionated writing slant toward the pursuit of the most worthy fish that inhabits freshwater.  You see.  Right here I have, no doubt, offended the legion that fish for bass, trout of all species, and salmon who would declare them “the best”.  Therefore, it seems the correct thing at this point to begin with a caveat.           

Warning: this book is not for the faint of heart, the politically correct, or those easily offended.  Save your money.   It is strictly for those wanting the “down and dirty” about catching a steelhead on a fly rod.  You may disagree with some of my aggressive strategies in a competitive steelhead environment.  And, yes, if you are a mature adult, you may be inclined to groan and roll your eyes occasionally as you course through the pages.  Irreverent and offensive attempts at humor are in the mix, too.  The text will be replete with my editorial comments, and not only about steelhead fishing.  If you decide to proceed, you have been warned!  My conscience is clear.

Steelhead are the most magnificent fish to inhabit our Pacific Northwestern rivers, and those of British Columbia, Alaska, and the Great Lakes Region of the U.S.  Most fly rod steelheaders would state this unequivocally.  The adrenalin rush and shear joy of hooking these silver denizens causes many of us steelhead junkies to endure and overcome numerous trials in order to experience such encounters over and over and over.

There’s a price to be paid for consistent success.  Having tried steelheading with a fly, many fine anglers decide not to pay the price for consistent success.  Overcrowding and rude behavior by other anglers head the list of causes for surrender on readily-accessible public rivers.  If you are new to this pursuit, or a frustrated veteran, are YOU willing to endure the boot camp tribulations I will present you with in this book?  Are you willing to adopt some strategies that will eventually encourage you to persist?  The “encouragement” I’m speaking about is catching more steelhead.  Then, let’s start by dealing with some hard facts of reality.

Here’s the ideal world: a chicken in every pot; a beautiful, loving woman for every good man who desires one (and vice versa); and, magnificent, uncrowded steelhead water filled with willing fish for all who would cast a fly.

As for the real world, I won’t --- for now --- comment further about poultry and companionship, but I do know something about steelhead reality on public waters.  It’s too often crowded, rude, and competitive, even hostile at times.  The weather and river conditions can challenge your angling efforts.  To this stew add trying to tempt a wary fish that has little or no appetite.  And, you will try to fool the fish with a fly, a fake morsel on a hook that doesn’t have the smell, the texture, or the taste of a real food item which a steelhead might actually want to eat.  So, how are you doing with handling the Truth at this point?

If you are not already a hardened veteran, some tough truths about catching fin-icky steelhead on public rivers presented herein may hit you like a bucket of cold water in the face.  However, this will aid in your mental preparation to know what it takes to be consistently successful in your pursuit of steelhead with a fly rod.

                                    The vast majority of the time your greatest obstacles to angling success are people. Besides limited access which tends to concentrate anglers in prime areas, crowding is exacerbated by the fact that it is convenient for fish and wildlife agencies to plant steelhead smolts at a single release site.  The young fish imprint not only on the particular river in which they were released, but, also, in the very near proximity of the location where they were dropped into the river.  If the release site, for instance, is at Fish Creek Bridge, the returning adults will tend to congregate in the vicinity of Fish Creek Bridge.  Some will be intercepted in the lower reaches of the river as they move upstream, but once they’ve made it to said bridge, they don’t seem to wander too far.  Experienced anglers know this, so they take up their stations at Fish Creek Bridge.

                                    The return of the great majority of migrating hatchery steelhead to a single release point, I will vehemently maintain, has altered social behavior for the worse.  Rude, aggressive conduct is now the social norm, as fishermen resort to virtually standing on top of each other.  And, then, the state Departments of Fisheries wonder why more people don’t buy fishing licenses each year!

It seems to me that too many in the fly fishing culture try to be accommodating and proper to the steelhead boors who will not hesitate to cast into your little piece of water.  Good for them.  The Meek may inherit the earth, but not prime steelhead water much of the time.  I wouldn’t want one of these milk toast characters as my steelhead guide.  So, when I check out much of the drivel that pervades fly fishing forums in internet chat rooms, it continually fuels my bad attitude.  Cliquish defenders of politically-correct fly fishing civility, the chatting participant “regulars” are, ironically, like sharks circling in search of a blood meal.  Dissent or controversy to the fly fishing norm in the chatosphere is met with group-think hostility.  Here’s an example:  I fulfilled the registration requirements to join the chat on a well-known Pacific Northwest fly fishing forum website.  Since I am known to many fly anglers in this part of the world, having owned a fly shop for many years, I preferred to be anonymous as I posed questions and offered comments.  As it is with many of life’s endeavors, not everyone is my agreeable friend.  Nor am I theirs.  The chatters I engaged were really upset that I would not post my email address nor my real name.  They totally ignored what I thought were important issues concerning fly fishing regulation changes, focused only on the fact that I would not reveal who I was.  Personalities, differences of opinions, jealousy, envy, pride and all the other major vices can color responses to comments or questions I may pose in a chat room.  Yes, I may be guilty of stirring the pot with a dirty spoon.  I threw a stone at the hornets nest, hit it squarely, and never went back.  I’ll crusade with my circle of like-minded fishing friends.  I am not, obviously, a good chat room missionary.

Though I restrict myself almost exclusively to fly fishing now, my steelhead fishing roots were potted in fishing with worms, salmon and steelhead roe, crayfish tails and sand shrimp. If I had to catch steelhead to feed my family, I would use a hook with bait on it.  I’ve experienced good success with virtually all steelhead fishing methods.  But, frankly, I am of the opinion that most fly rodders over time, me included, develop a different outlook when it comes to Personal Space.  The majority of my broad fly angling circle think that another fisherman who positions himself close enough to you to cast over your fly line --- and is willing to do so --- is too near, invading your Personal Space . . . and fishing water.  Would you cut in line without permission at the movie premier, or the lunch line?  Like any other civil interaction, wait your turn or go elsewhere.  Even though most fishermen, of ALL stripes, won’t so blatantly violate your elbow room, a significant minority will.  Again, this is exacerbated by the policy of single-site release of hatchery steelhead that tends to collect in a tight section of river. 

With this little preface, we head back to a specific cyberspace confrontation . . .

In one memorable chat room scene, I threw out a general query about support of an initiative to head off an organized attempt by a band of anglers to expand bait fishing on one of the very few sections of Oregon steelhead rivers which disallowed the use of bait for a mere few months of the entire calendar year.  I was stunned by the indifference “chatting” fly anglers to this important issue.  It seemed the only topics that mattered were “Where are the fish biting?” ”What flies should I use?”, and “Where can I get a screaming deal on a new fly rod?”   When I offered that it may be best that bait anglers might / should continue to be restricted from fishing about 30 miles of river (30 miles out of about 160 miles) for a couple more months of the year, the responses were quick and unified: be gentle with our bait-fishing brethren and maybe we can win them over from the Dark Side.   Even if inconsiderate bait anglers overrun and crowd our fishing waters, don’t confront them even when they may be inclined to cast over your fly line.  Instead, offer them your lunch and try to convert them to more genteel fishing methods.  You know, be a gentle missionary seeking converts.  Under no circumstances should you hurt their feelings as they stand on your shoulder to cast into the little piece of water you are fishing. 

When I suggested that such a strategy might produce minimal good results, and actually serve to reinforce boorish behavior, I was crucified.  The pig-piling began.  The daily regulars (Get a life!) in the chat room expressed resentment, again, for my anonymity and my failure to reveal my personal email address.  I was an outsider stirring up trouble by disagreeing.  They desperately wanted to know who I was, where I was, and who I thought I was with the audacity to be politically incorrect. At this point I lapsed into one of my fondest fantasies: I visualized a high chicken wire boxing ring with two pairs of gloves laying there, spotlighted in the ring’s center.  The gloves --- one pair is a perfect fit for me --- are beckoning.  “Please, God,” I say, “just one three-minute round with each of these cowering pacifists.”  I hear the bell sound as I put on the gloves.  Then . . . I wake up.

Nirvana forbid that anyone would dare suggest that fly anglers in general may actually have an outlook about conservation, limit restrictions, and the use of barbless hooks that stand in contrast to those who fish bait.   You’d better be prepared to take fire by thinking that an artificial fly tied on a barbless hook may actually be less lethal than a swallowed bait encased in a barbed hook.

I know many fly anglers who refuse to pursue steelhead because it can be a rude, hostile environment.  Or, if they do stay with it, they may be content --- I’m happy for them --- to cast into a single pool all day.  For the mellow roamers, they seem content to fish through runs that have been pounded by good fishermen who preceded them and removed or alarmed all the willing fish.  I admire, and strongly encourage, this very accommodating behavior.  And, I sincerely hope they hook the occasional steelhead to reinforce their good behavior.  As for me, I’m down the river and around the corner casting to every good piece of holding water they will eventually fish.  And, I’m on the move.  Stick and run, stick and run.

I view steelhead fishing --- time to roll your eyes --- very much as gentlemanly warfare.    I can be friendly and smiling as I go about my mission, but I am fully armed.  My “weapons”, if you will, are my wits, determination, experience, and resourcefulness.  This does not exclude me from being a nice guy.  It’s possible to be both amiable and aggressive.  The key to this balance is to be subtly aggressive, not overtly rude.

Finally, as hard as I may try to fly underneath the radar when I fish or guide, my trademark is, too often, “justified confrontation”. This may naturally lead to a little unwanted (I think) notoriety.  But, sometimes you have to speak up.  Mostly this has to do with other anglers and boaters invading what I determine to be my personal space, or that of my clients.  If some rude interloper parks their person or watercraft so closely that they fish the water my guests or I can comfortably reach from our position, I will usually ask them if their momma ever taught them any manners.  Though they are not encouraged to use my exact phraseology, it’s too bad that other anglers so rudely put upon on won’t do the same.  When they don’t, this rude, trespassing behavior is reinforced.  This uncivil behavior, then, sadly, becomes the acceptable norm.

So, you think a boat may be the answer to escaping the angling masses?  Well, then, I have a little story for you.  Actually, this is just one of many.   Unfortunately, it is not an unusual occurrence.

In the not-too-distance-past on Oregon’s South Santiam River I was anchored in a beautiful steelhead run.  Not another boat was in sight as got into perfect position.  However, it was only a few brief minutes before I spied another drift boat riding the currents in our direction.  As the boat containing three bait casters approached I quickly realized they had absolutely no sense of river courtesy.  They drifted in silence within a rod length of me, then, dropped their anchor barely off the bow of my boat.  I was stunned as they picked up their rods to fish. 

At this point more rational folks with a cooler head than my own might pick up and leave to find another fishing location, since I knew these three guys would immediately cast over my drifting fly line without a hint of contrition.  “What would my chat room friends do?” I wondered.  I’d wager some of my new cyber buds would probably invite these confused fellows to lunch on board their boat, wanting to insure that Larry, Moe and Curly did not have their self-esteem injured if someone dare tell them they might be thoughtless, rude and totally inconsiderate.  Can’t we all just get along?   Sorry, not my style.

Too stunned to speak in an even voice, I lifted my anchor, not to leave, but to move ever so slightly closer to the invaders to convey with my adjusted boat position that they were definitely in my personal space.  Without a word the oarsman in the pirate craft pulled his anchor and rowed above me to reposition his boat with the bow a short spit above my stern.  Immediately one of the invaders picked up his rod to cast.  Sure enough, his very first cast  sailed right over my drifting fly line.  I reeled in the tangle and undid it.  No apology from the offender, of course.  Not a single word.  Here, again, I had the opportunity to reel in my line, wish them well, and seek another fishing hole.  But, pride and anger --- two of my constant companions --- insisted I open my mouth.

So, I lifted my anchor again, and rowed my boat upstream whereby I was right beside the enemy vessel.  I dropped my anchor, then, expressed my displeasure in a controlled, steady voice, making sure not to use too much volume, and absolutely no profanity.  With mouths open and tempers rising, they listened for a few seconds.  They ranted that I did not “own the river” (this rates a failing grade for originality), and that this is what “all” the boats on the Santiam did.  When it was my turn at the podium I insisted that in 20 years on the river no one had so blatantly, so inconsiderately positioned their boat in my proximity.  The testosterone was approaching peak levels now in all parties.  It was obvious that pride and manliness would disallow any courtesy from anyone at this point, though it was unequivocally justified on my part.  These boys in men’s disguises had to stand their ground at any cost.  Right and justice were firmly on my side, but the fishing enjoyment was temporarily ruined.  My only possible satisfaction (it’s pride speaking again) would be having the last word.  As I prepared to seek another fishing spot far down the river, I strongly suggested that Larry, Moe and Curly consider the possibility that not everyone was accepting of their river etiquette. 

Incidents like these are too common.   They appear to be my life’s lot on the rivers I patrol.  You will encounter them, too.  As best you can, blunt the emotional impact with a little conversational rehearsal before the inevitable situations arise.  Just like death, taxes, and tangled lines, rude encounters on steelhead rivers are a certainty.

I expect controversy concerning what I have written here.  Feel free to vent, especially you chat room regulars.  However, if we should meet, I pray you draw the line at spitting . . . at least in public.

But, know that I am asking God to fulfill my secret fantasy for one three-minute round with any politically-correct chat room fly fishing snob and anyone who would intentionally cast over my line or that of someone of my wife or child.  I’ll relish wearing lightly-padded gloves in the center of a boxing ring rimmed with ten-foot high chicken wire . . . figuratively speaking, of course.  Now, take a deep breath with me, and lighten up just a little here.

This book will not be your Grandpa’s proper primer on fly fishing for steelhead, though it is replete with deadly methods and strategies for being a successful steelhead fly angler.  And, like Aesop wrote fables to make his points, I have sought to illustrate many of the key elements of successful steelhead tactics with numerous personal stories.  This feature alone separates my tome from others that have come before.  I’m not writing hearsay and hackneyed repetition of the obvious as written by others, but, instead, my eye witness recountings of steelhead lessons I’ve lived.  Rather than a run-of-the-mill, tame “how to”, it’s more like my personal manual for guerilla warfare with fly rods instead of guns. 

So, if I’ve put you in a bad state of mind at this point with my stated approach to chasing the West’s greatest gamefish, then it’s time to put this book back on the shelf and save your money.  Or, you can put on the spurs, “cowboy up”, and ride in pursuit of steelhead with me in the next 200 pages.

Contact Information

Telephone
541.207.4000

Postal address
Michael Gorman
330 NW Autumn Place, Corvallis OR 97330
Mckenzie River fishing guides & Rogue River fishing guides specialists

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