| McKenzie River fishing guide and Rogue River steelhead fishing guides specialist, fly fishing Oregon McKenzie River trout and Rogue River steelhead |
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Typical Summer Steelhead Fishing Day |
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A Typical Summer Steelhead Fly Fishing Day: Start to FinishThe main differences we find in “summer” season steelhead fishing and “winter” season is that summer water temperatures are, overall, higher, and the stream flows stay constant longer through summer and early fall. Many of our best summer steelhead rivers in the Pacific Northwest have their flows regulated by dams. Other than the occasional influence of a large rainstorm which swells tributaries and the main river, dammed summer rivers tend to rise and drop slowly making for more predictable boating and fishing. In late spring and early summer --- May and June --- water temperatures are often in the 50’s, optimal for steelhead comfort and activity. Some aggressive fish may track a fly for a considerable distance to intercept it. Arbitrarily, this may be ten to fifteen feet, whereas the same steelhead may not move six inches at 40 degrees. It is this willingness, driven by water temperature, which makes it more likely for a fly angler to catch a summer steelhead than a winter-run fish. Warmer water expands the variety of fly fishing technique opportunities. Whereas I’ve been plying the river bottom most of November through April, now I can use a floating line in the right situations to fish a shallow-running wet fly or a surface-skating dry fly. Now, I can employ all three fly fishing methods in a single day. And, if I have the right guests with me, we will use all three for the pleasures of variety and experience. The wet fly offers the thrill of a hard tug as the steelhead takes. The dry fly presents the opportunity for a near heart attack as an oversize rainbow explodes to the surface to inhale the hook. At high sun it’s time to fish nymphs. What a thrill for any angler who can attain The Trifecta: landing a steelhead on a wet fly, a dry fly, and a nymph in a single day. This is the most elite of the elitist steelhead clubs. Very few members. Even if you are not a “joiner”, this IS a club you want to belong to! So, let’s go through three simulated “summer” steelhead fishing days, differentiated primarily by water levels. Summer, High WaterLate spring rain and snow melt may swell steelhead rivers, even though controlled by dams. Additionally, flows in late spring are purposely kept high to keep rivers cool for the successful downstream migration of salmon and steelhead smolts who are journeying downriver toward the sea. There is a water temperature threshold above which the young migrating fish in the Pacific Northwest are more easily victimized by Ceratomyxa Shasta, a parasite which will kill many of them, especially hatchery-reared salmonids. So increased water releases from dams in spring keep water temperatures lower in an attempt to minimize mortality by Ceratomyxa. By early June, in a typical water flow year, the smolts have departed the rivers and entered their new salty domain. Then, many dam-controlled rivers will experience reduced flows and a subsequent water temperature increase. This will be the advent of “normal” water flows, followed by the low water of mid summer and early fall. The high water of the early “summer” season on many steelhead rivers, limits bank and wading access. High flows, also, spreads out the steelhead so even skilled anglers in boats can’t find them all. Boating anglers who don’t put in much fishing time in high water will usually have trouble consistently locating fish because they are not laying in “normal” water places. Anchoring or holding the boat stationary with the oars can be a problem as the force of the current pushes the boat downriver. Many areas of fishing interest can only be quickly fished before the boat is swept downstream. Anchoring a boat where the anchor will hold so that the passengers are placed in the best position from which to cover the likely water is an art. It’s not as easy as it might appear. Think of parking a car on an icy street, headed down a steep hill. If the boatman parks too far left or right, he will have to lift the anchor to reposition the boat. With four hands this is more easily done: two to row, and two to simultaneously pull the anchor rope. During the lag time between committing both hands to pull the anchor rope and, then, getting back on the oars, the boat can slip downstream. Even a strong oarsman may not be able to pull back upstream against the current. If the boat was initially anchored too far downstream to begin with, it may be too late to attempt repositioning for the same reason. It’s best to get your anchored boat position right on the first attempt. If I start the
fishing day early enough there’s a good possibility my guests and I will start
by fishing wet flies. If I have two anglers, both will be in the front of the
boat, one casting left, the other casting right. We will seek water that is
shaded, no direct sunlight where the flies will be
If my next stop is located in direct sunlight, we’re fishing nymphs deep. Flies are determined by what has worked well for me in years past, same time of year, same water conditions. If this is my first day with today’s clients, time is dedicated to practice at the immediate periphery of the target-rich environment. I don’t want my guys or gals practicing where they might actually get a strike, and, then, blow it by not responding to the strike, or not responding properly. Done that. Don’t like the outcomes. Too many memories of lost opportunities. Once I’m convinced my guests can follow a few simple directions, then I will take a chance, putting them in position to cast to a steelhead. Nymph fishing is a mass of details, as I’ve said before. It is impossible for a beginner, or --- heaven help me --- a “veteran” whom I must deprogram, to get all the details right on every drift and hook set. I scrutinize every cast and drift. I’m coaching and encouraging and monitoring the tone of my voice. I don’t want to put someone in tears early in the day with information overload and a drill instructor’s demeanor. My clients will shed enough tears during the day on the opportunities missed and the Big Ones who escape. There may be some tears of joy, too. So, let’s save those tears. I must mention at this point, a strange statistically impossible event that I see at least once every fishing day. When my guests are finally instilled with the cast / drift / hook setting basics, they settle into a nice rhythm. Everything is peachy. Now it’s just a matter of time until someone hooks a fish. The final tests are persistence and focus. I can rarely predict when a strike will come. Upon entering the highest probability, target-rich environments, I offer friendly reminders about rod position, casting angle, good drift of the fly, and smooth hook set. Inevitably --- EVERY day --- an angler will look at something other than their line or indicator when a steelhead intercepts their fly. In a beautiful river environment there are many intriguing sights to behold: birds, animals, spacious riverfront homes, waterfalls, and river scenery. The timing of the sightseeing is critical though. If the flies are in the heart of fish-holding country you dare not look away, even for a second. That’s right, not even for a second. When you do, at least once during the day you WILL miss a fish-hooking opportunity. By the time I “enthusiastically suggest” setting the hook, it’s usually too late. There’s too long a lag time from the moment my words are uttered, it goes through the angler’s ears to the brain and is, then, translated into swinging the rod tip in a tardy attempt to set the hook. Most anglers, I think, don’t fully appreciate how hard a good fishing guide has worked for hours to bring them to this moment. Outwitting other anglers, rowing hard with precision, holding the boat against the current in exactly the perfect casting position, and constantly offering reminders and encouragement have not been enough. Still, the emotionally healthy guide has to temper his disappointment and frustration, knowing the same thing will happen at least once on his next trip, too. It will happen at least once every day. Guaranteed. If you are a devious client, and would take delight in watching your guide go into a seizure, merely say five little words about the missed strike: “It was probably a rock.” At this point I look away for a moment so they don’t see me roll my eyes. After regaining my composure, I, often, respectfully ask my client to “hit the rock again”. It’s very rare that they do, BECAUSE IT WASN’T A DAMN ROCK! After most realize they lost a fish-hooking opportunity, I say something like “Hmmmm . . . . How about that . . .” Then, I pull anchor to move on. If I’m very careful, my muttering is usually undetectable. Steelhead strikes are valuable. Many days I’ve reflected to myself, “We were one or two strikes away from getting skunked. Amazing.” Two anglers can easily make a thousand casts a day between them. Maybe only one or two evoked a steelhead to bite the fly. If the strike is missed it could be the entire ball game. A single fish landed compared to zero landed can be the difference between a lousy day and a great day for the angler. I’ve had many one-fish-landed days where the angler caught the best fish of his lifetime. It just takes one steelhead, especially for a novice, to make our trip together the most memorable fishing day he may ever have. It also greatly enhances the chance I will have subsequent guided fishing trips with this fisherman. As I write this paragraph I am recalling a guided trip I had two days ago on which an angler --- a nice man and attentive student --- landed his first steelhead ever on a rainy, high-water winter day. He had missed several other opportunities, but finally put all the pieces in place to slide a beautiful steelhead into my landing net. Like him, I was greatly thrilled by his accomplishment. I feel a sense of karmic justice when good things happen to good guys. He sent me an email early the next morning thanking me for my efforts, and recounting his enjoyment. On top of these he was looking forward to our next fishing trip together. A happy client who wanted to fish with me again. Now let’s contrast that with two anglers I had just three days before I penned this section. I worked just as hard for them against heavy currents of high water to put them in position --- after several missed strikes --- to each solidly hook a steelhead . One man landed a super 9 lb. hatchery hen which he kept for the BBQ. It was an exciting battle, including having the fish run under the boat on three occasions. Enjoyably memorable, from my standpoint. His angling companion wasn’t as lucky. He lost his steelhead after a brief battle, but at least he had fooled the fish into taking the fly, he detected the strike and set the hook well. The fish just made a clean escape. So it goes. At day’s end, the angler who lost his fish expressed his gratefulness for my efforts. The angler who landed his first steelhead ever never even had the courtesy to say good-bye. He climbed into his car, closed the door, and waited for his companion to drive him home. I’m at a loss to figure out some people’s behavior. Reminder to self: the only behavior I can control is my own . . . . most of the time. The exception is when I hear, “It was probably just a rock.” Because there are fewer fish-holding locations at high water, I am forced to look hard for fishable areas. I literally try to examine the entire river from bank to bank, seeking out any little nook where a fish might be resting. These spots can be quite visually subtle. They don’t appear to be much until I put my boat almost on top of it. Then I notice how the swift current has slowed a tiny bit creating a quiet pocket just big enough to rest a traveling fish. If the water level is six inches higher or lower when I fish it next, new holding areas appear while others disappear as the currents have changed. Yesterday’s good holding water may be to slow or too fast today, or not quite deep enough for a fish to feel safe. Water clarity can change too. If the water rose a few inches on a heavy rain or dam release, the water may become slightly muddied. If it has dropped, clarity can increase greatly, requiring longer casts to stay away from the fish, lighter tippets and smaller flies. Little detailed adjustments in tactics and tackle will be the difference between success and failure. Summer, Normal Water Normal water flows often present me with the greatest challenge to a successful fishing day. At these times the greatest number of anglers will be on the river. Bank anglers will have good access in certain areas, sometimes lining up shoulder to shoulder. When I float my boat through such locations I have my anglers reel in their lines so we can pass the horde quickly. It’s like running a gauntlet. Many of the bankies (Yes, I’m one at times myself, so don’t get too excited if you sense I’ve used the term disparagingly.) keep casting even as we drift by, landing their baits and lures within inches of my boat. Kind of like trying to hit a moving target. Some, no doubt, resent boaters floating near or over their fishing water. Often, I just smile and nod as the casts continue to land nearby. “You bastards . . . “ At normal water flows of late spring through mid summer, most of my steelhead rivers are comfortably negotiable by experienced boatmen. Known routes through tricky rapids are followed without incident. And, because of the combination of fishable, negotiable river flows and vacation time, steelhead rivers get crowded. Additionally, late spring through summer, the weather in the Pacific Northwest is usually quite pleasant. More people want to spend time outdoors, including fishermen. No dealing with winter temperatures and the rain and snow of the winter season. So, the fishing masses ask around in internet chat rooms and call telephone hotlines to discover where I’m fishing, then plan their river activities to harass me. At least, it seems that’s what they do.
Let the Games Begin
Some of my guests are willing to risk a heart attack. If one or both of the anglers for the day has the skill and desire, I’ll set them up to skate a dry fly. I’m much more inclined to do this at normal and low water flows than at high water. Higher water usually means lower water temperatures and more current and depth. I have fewer locations to fish and greater difficulty holding or anchoring the boat to remain stationary. Locations with smooth surface currents, as opposed to choppy, riffly water, are my preferences. Choppy surface currents tend to sink the fly. The right cast in flat water --- like a tailout above a rapid --- will wake the fly nicely in a sweeping arc. There will be no doubt when the strike comes. I remind my guys not to react to the strike until line is pulled from the reel. At this point the fish has turned right, left or down, drawing the hook point more securely into the mouth or corner of the jaw. Though it’s
possible to fish a wet fly on a sinking fly line, once the sun is on the
water to stay, it’s nymph time for me and mine. Not having eyelids so as to be
able to squint, the steelhead much prefer to retreat to the depths and stay low
in the water I prefer to fish, which you might recall is seven feet deep or
less. The nymphs or egg patterns are presented upstream, allowed to sink, then,
drifted naturally with the current. My job is to coach my anglers to make
necessary adjustments during the drift, such as mending the line, and lifting
and lowering the rod tip, to insure the drift of the In deeper water, say deeper than 6 feet, or water with a choppy surface, the fish may be suspended off the bottom. It is possible to fish too deep for suspended fish. The weighted nymph can actually drift too far beneath them to create any interest. There are times I will shorten the distance between my flies and a very buoyant strike indicator, suspending the flies two to three feet off the river bottom. Jig fisherman do exactly the same thing in the summer time: suspend a feathered jig underneath a float, so the jig drifts several feet off the bottom. Even a fish lying near the bottom will often rise several feet to intercept a jig or fly when water temperatures are in the fifty to low sixties Fahrenheit range.
Strategic Maneuvers Because “normal” flows seem to bring out the maximum number of fishermen, especially on the weekends, I am constantly confronted with the question which is the same as an old tune by The Clash: “Should I Stay or Should I Go?” Coincidentally, the album that contained this early 80’s hit was entitled Combat Rock. It could just as well been called Combat Fishing. That’s what it feels like some days when fishermen are everywhere standing or anchored in my favored areas. Should I go or should I stay now? . . . If I go there will be trouble . . . If I stay it will be double . . . Many anglers are hackers with few clues, so I may decide to wait for them to leave. Human psychology, however, often comes into play as they observe me waiting for them to clear out. Some fishermen will stubbornly stay put just to insure that I can’t slide into position to fish the waters they’ve just pounded to no avail for two hours. So you gotta let me know . . . Should I stay or should I go? It is very common for stubborn anglers to hold their positions, even though they are ready to leave, until I drift downstream below them. Then they will reel in their lines and depart. However, the game may not be over. If it is doable, I will move to the river’s edge, jump from the boat, and pull it back upstream to access the water we were temporarily forced to bypass. If I’ve correctly assessed that the departed anglers were unskilled, used a less effective fishing method, or took the wrong approach to fishing this particular piece of water, we will, more often than not, hook a steelhead. Sometimes, two or three. Oh, that feels good! My guests think so, too. If I approach a good location about lunch time that has other anglers where I want to be, I pull into the shade to eat lunch. I wait and we watch while making pleasant conversation with my clients. Where exactly are the anglers positioned in relation to where I know the steelhead to be holding? Are they covering the likely water effectively? Are they using effective methods and fishing well? All these will determine how much time we spend fishing this same water after lunch. Maybe we do a “drive by”, spending little time as we fish it on the run. Or, if I’ve determined the water was relatively untouched, we may linger. During lunch I am also looking upstream for approaching boats which could affect my decisions. While my guys are dining, I may announce I am pulling anchor to slide down the river a bit. The idea, if the anglers below have moved down, is to station the boat in the near proximity of our first after-lunch fishing location. If the boat behind us continues down past us they should, out of courtesy, I hope, not fish the water in our immediate vicinity. If I suspect they may cast to our intended target, I will pick up a fly rod and make some ineffective casts into the area that my dining guests will soon fish. I’ve been known to cast extra far in an attempt to push the approaching boat very wide of our water. It takes a boatman willing to risk chastisement if he allows his boat to drift through the water I’m “fishing”. All during this my guests are continuing to dine, converse, and enjoy the scenery. It’s not always important for me to trouble them about the game of chess that is being played to enable them to hook a steelhead or two after lunch. There are days when I cannot escape the river traffic. At such times the best strategy can be to fish every piece of open steelhead water thoroughly, as if no one had touched it. My hope is that we will fish better flies with better technique than those who fished before us. And, there’s always the chance that a fish previously not in the mood to bite a fly has changed its mind by the time we arrive. On such busy days on the river I am constantly reminding myself that I am doing my best in light of circumstances beyond my control. This needs to be reflected in how I interact with my guests. I cannot afford to indulge in discouragement, though this would be my preference at times. My attitude and conversation must be upbeat and encouraging, always offering the hope that a steelhead can be hooked on the very next cast. Such a cheery disposition is certainly much easier to maintain if we’ve already hooked three, four, or six fish already that day. To hook more will be pure gravy. But, as I tell my clients, one of my goals is that each angler in my boat would hook a steelhead on every cast. An impossibility, of course, but it expresses my level of effort throughout the entire fishing day, whatever the circumstances. My guys need to know that I’ve used every trick, every clever strategic move all day on the river to maximize their chances of hooking a steelhead on every cast they make. I want them to know no other guide could have given them a better effort than me. I want to know at day’s end in my own heart that no guide gave a better effort today than me. While “normal” water flows can, in many ways, present the greatest challenges, they present the greatest learning opportunities. When the competition for good fishing water is fierce, a determined angler or guide will experiment and make discoveries. I try new, previously overlooked fishing spots. I try new flies, or maybe fish time-tested patterns in subtly different ways. Familiar steelhead holes are fished from new or “odd” casting positions. In the process a few new bits of treasured information are revealed. Most experiments bear no new revelations. Kind of like panning for gold. But sooner or later, if you persist, a few nuggets are found. There’s a well known steelhead hole --- let’s call it Fish Camp --- on one of my favorite rivers that can produce five hook ups in a given day. This is a good number for the entire fishing day, let alone a single fishing spot. And, there are days this same spot will produce zero strikes, even when the water flow and temperature are perfect. I cannot predict day to day if my clients will hook five or zero or something in between. More than any other single steelhead hole I fish, this one baffles me most. I have fished it at every conceivable water level, angle, time of day, light conditions, and all fly fishing methods. I think I know it well, fishing it perhaps fifty times every summer steelhead season for the last ten years. Fish Camp seems to get less and less dependable as a regular steelhead producer. I can’t know for sure, but I suspect that this particular holding area changes in subtle but significant ways from season to season. While there are expanses of bedrock and large boulders in this spot, there is, also, a substantial portion of the stream bottom covered with smaller stones, fist size down to fine gravel. It’s easy to envision high water shifting the smaller rock changing the contours and preferred holding stations for the steelhead. However, the pool has always remained deep enough throughout its majority that it should still hold fish on a very regular basis. The current velocity and structure are good in many portions of the run, along with good, fly-fishable depths. I have seen preferred fish-holding areas relocate from year to year as the bottom shifts a bit, and even day to day as the river level fluctuates. But, until recently, I was able to find the correct casting position and flies to regularly hook fish here. This past fishing season (2006), Fish Camp was my nemesis. It looked good and “fished” well. I had some very good anglers who had consistently caught steelhead here in seasons past who got taken to the woodshed. If there were fish in this hole they absolutely refused to bite proven flies presented in an effective manner. And, the problem was not the fish counts. The number of steelhead in the river was good, so we couldn’t use the “no fish in the river” excuse. Hmmmmmm . . . Though we caught the occasional steelhead there, Fish Camp became my Problem Child for the 2006 season. I pondered it at night before falling asleep. The one little detail that kept circling back to me was that most of the fish we hooked were by accident. That is, my guys were hooking fish at the end of their drifts as they readied to cast again. What few fish we were getting were taking the fly as it was ascending on a tight line at the end of the drift, or as the fly was hanging tight against the current. Because the fish were taking unexpectedly outside the heart of the “most likely zone”, I often missed locating the exact location of where the steelhead struck. So, I needed to pay closer attention to discover if there was a very well defined, consistent sweet spot. And, there was. On subsequent days in Fish Camp, when maybe we got a fish, or maybe we didn’t, from the upper end and middle portion of the hole, I found a tiny location off the end of an exposed piece of bedrock at the lowest end of the hole that always seemed to hold a fish. It was very difficult to get a natural drift of the fly from where it was necessary to anchor the boat. If I got the boat into optimal position, the clients had only a single opportunity to make the right cast before the boat got swept down the river by powerful currents. So I had to resign to fish to the sweet spot long enough until somebody finally got the right drift. It was, then, just a matter of persistence and faith. As long as the daily water levels did not fluctuate significantly, we had a guaranteed strike every time we anchored at the lower end of Fish Camp. The moral here, then, is that even if you think you know a pool intimately, subtle changes can occur in the physical environment that will reposition holding fish. Last year’s sweet spot can move, or even disappear completely.
River Fluctuations Within the “Normal Flows” Range A few inches of change in a river’s level can cause fish to relocate in certain favored fishing holes. A few inches may not be significant to move fish into or from most good fishing locations in a river, but it will affect some. Whereas most anglers will not perceive that two or three inches of river flow up or down can be significant, an astute and experienced angler knows it. These affected locations are those that have flows and depths that are right on the cusp of water depth being too low or too high; the current velocity being too fast, or too slow. At spot I call High Banks, the current velocity is barely adequate to get a good drift of the fly early in the summer season. It’s at the lower limit of current velocity. Any slower, the leader and fly barely move. The fish seem to have too long to examine the fly, or the delay between the interception of the fly and the angler perceiving the strike is too long. The strike is missed. A few inches of flow drop changes this hole completely. At a tiny spot I call Runaway, I need to exit the boat to actually hold it in position with my feet wedged into the rocky stream bottom in order for my guests to fish. My anchor won’t hold here at normal water flows. Most days I am barely able to hold the boat steady without losing my footing as I stand in swift water more than waist high. A couple of extra inches of water is usually too much for me to restrain the boat as my studded felt soles, even with my heels dug in, slide and slip until I finally have to jump back in the boat, forced to bypass this productive little pocket. In summary, normal summer conditions can be both the most challenging and most pleasant days of the entire fishing year. The water flows are at their best, the weather is optimal, the flowers are in bloom, and the birds are singing. If we can put our flies in enough productive water during the day we will most likely catch some steelhead to add to this halcyon mix.
Summer & Fall Low Water I love low water. Whitewater steelhead rivers become much more challenging to negotiate safely in a drift boat late summer and fall. Average (or prudent?) boaters will not run certain sections of these rivers because of dangerous whitewater rapids. Of course, these are the sections I will seek out. If I am confident I can get through these hazardous waters without putting my clients at unreasonable risk, I want to run parts of the river where others will not go to cut down on the angling competition. Decreasing the fishing competition when the water is skinny is particularly critical because the fish-holding areas are well defined and easier to find. The fish are concentrated in the fewer prime locations where the water depth, current speed and structure provide comfort and cover. Also, these fish are more prone to be disturbed since the only way to travel through a certain piece of water may be to run a drift boat or raft right through the small areas where the fish are holding. At higher flows, many fishing holes can be skirted. The boating angler can refrain from getting too close to the water he wants to fish. Low water presents fewer such choices. Part of my low water game plan, too, is to avoid popular bank access areas. Bold and or foolish waders can mess up a lot of fishing water. River portions which I fished at high or normal river flows may now be eliminated as fishable possibilities because decreased flow has significantly altered the depth and/or current velocity. I will linger longer in other prime locations, knowing we often now have less water to fish. Because many of our Pacific Northwest steelhead rivers also have fall Chinook salmon runs, dead-drifted egg flies can be particularly effective come September, October, and November. Even though they don’t have to eat on their upstream journey, steelhead can get a little giddy about salmon eggs bobbing along the stream bottom, set adrift during salmon mating activity. In the low, clear water of early fall, a 3X fluorocarbon tippet may be necessary to fool wary steelhead who’ve survived months of fishing onslaught by anglers who’d kill them if of hatchery origin. Native fish which have been caught a released a few times will be cautious, too. For wet fly and dry fly action, the famous October Caddis (Dicosmoecus atripes) is hatching late September through October. This is a large, active insect which can excite trout and steelhead alike. Fishing three stages of this insect’s lifecycle can be effective. In the dim light of morning and evening a skating dry fly or damp wet fly can trigger some explosive strikes from aggressive steelhead who can’t deal passively with the thought of a fast swimming pupa or dancing, darting gyrations of the female egg-laying adult. These active movements of this insect are, apparently, an irresistible invitation for certain steelhead to attack. Fishing an imitation of the October Caddis larva or pupa dead-drift under an indicator can be deadly. Pair the caddis with an egg pattern, and you have a temptig fall season duo. I can almost visualize a willing steelhead being confused by the choice. Egg, or caddis? Caddis, or egg? Hmmmm . . . Can I get both at once? Though I’ve touted the October Caddis and salmon egg patterns big time, don’t ignore the other flies in your box. Know that savvy anglers (like those reading this book) are fishing these flies, too. Sometimes an excellent choice of flies is to present the fish with something that they haven’t seen today. Steelhead may have tiny brains but you are dealing with the Best of the Best when it comes to survival if they have made this far in life, eluding predators and hazards that would end their lives early. Though I have a former guide friend who insists these fish are “stupid”, I choose to show them more intellectual respect, especially on those days when I am able to fool very few . . . or none. On a day I get outwitted by “stupid” fish, where does that put me on the IQ scale? Ouch! Just like the low flows of winter, there are times I must extricate myself from the boat to plow it through the shallows. There’s also the occasional high impact kiss from a big rock that fails to move when it sees me coming. Every couple of years I take my boat to a shop that does metal work to have them give my aluminum workhorse a facelift. With rubber hammers and tools from The Inquisition the dents and serious dings are smoothed out a bit until the next inevitable collisions. High speed shallow water can be a seriously underestimated hazard. It seems every whitewater steelheading boatman has to learn some rowing lessons the hard, dangerous way. One time I had three clients in my boat in the low water of October on the Rogue River. My dear friends for this particular day are not small men. As they read this they will know for sure it is about them that I write. They know I love them dearly, so they won’t be offended when I tell you that two of them would have been a good load in my boat at low water. Having made it down miles of river without incident, I was rowing us down a long, very fast, shallow riffle. I was tracking the boat toward the left bank in preparation for fishing a fast-approaching hole in the middle of the river. If I don’t pull left with enthusiasm my boat will go dead center over the spot to be fished. I had performed this maneuver in this particular spot literally hundreds of times, but never with this much weight in the boat. In this moment just sitting a couple of inches deeper in the water made a dangerously significant difference on my approach toward the left side of the river. With my boat mostly sideways to the swift current I clipped a rock smaller than my head nestled I among fist-fist size stones and gravel only a few inches from the surface. Hitting the rock knocked everyone off balance, and all our combined weights shifted hard left. The left chine (the lower edge of a drift boat where the side meets the bottom of the boat) dug into the bed of smaller rocks in the shallows tipping the boat onto its side. In a split second panic moment you never know how someone, including yourself, will react. As the boat rolled onto its left side, in a heartbeat I was able to step left out of the tipping craft, catch and hold the right gunnel (the top edge of the boat running from the bow back to the stern) as a weightlifter would position to do an overhead press. I prevented the boat from completely turning over upside down. As my guest in the rear of the boat exited unharmed, I found plenty of adrenalin-driven strength to push the boat back over to its upright position with the two men still in the front. We were extremely lucky. No one was injured. No rods broken. And the only piece of gear lost was a single fishing glove that floated away into the depths far below us. A maneuver and a rock I had dealt with flawlessly for years all of a sudden combined to become a serious hazard which I failed to anticipate. In subsequent years I think of this incident every single time I make my move left to fish the Big Eddy on the Rogue. Like all water conditions, fishing and boating the low water of late summer and fall has advantages to be found and competition and river hazards to be negotiated. Because some will smartly avoid the crowds and river hazards, I will welcome the opportunities that result, and find a way to deal with the downside challenges. In so doing, I will become a better angler and smarter fly fishing guide.
In Review As always, the cornerstone strategy is to keep the flies in the water. Potentially productive water, that is. If there is adequate depth with reasonable water speed and structure, I have my guests casting as I drift down the river from one anchorable location to the next. Occasionally we pick up a steelhead “on the run”. If we can find a bonus fish once or twice every fishing day, that’s significant. On the other side of the coin, I warn my anglers not to be casting into unproductive or snag-dangerous water we must traverse. I hate losing fishing time by breaking off flies in water that has absolutely no chance of holding a biting steelhead. So my typical advice chatter through marginal expanses of water goes something like this: “Cast left . . . Now, turn and cast right . . . Back to the left . . . . Okay, reel in the flies for a moment while we drop through this slot . . . . Strip out line. Cast left . . . Lift your rod tip to get your flies off that snaggy ledge . . . Good. Cast right. A little farther on the next cast . . . Mend your line and hold the rod tip high . . . Here comes a boat. Reel in the flies and let’s blow down the river a ways . . . Blah, blah, steelhead, blah, blah blah . . . Did you hear the one about the guy and his monkey who walked into a bar? The guy orders a beer, and the monkey decides to . . .blah, blah . . .” How long to stay in any one location is always a pivotal decision. Sometimes the large number of bank anglers and boaters force me to cover every open piece of fishable water as we are the first anglers of the day to do so. We take our time, fish thoroughly and fish with focus. Maybe we change flies; maybe we don’t. If it is an exceptionally good run we may fish it a second time. Maybe from the other side of the river; maybe with nymphs instead of wet flies, or vice versa. Delays will happen, and I must cope. Tippets will break and flies will be lost. To save and make sure it’s done right, I prefer to tie on the new tippet and flies. Bathroom breaks are necessary. And, my competitive sense of urgency as we push down a crowded river is usually not a healthy thing to spread to my guests. Yes, fishing is our chief focus, but civility, good cheer, and a little tranquility are necessary ingredients to a pleasantly memorable summer steelhead day.
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swimming.
Depending on the particular section of river I’ve chosen, this could be the
smooth, even flow of a tailout, or a choppy, narrow run. If the piece of water
is not too choppy, and I think we are the first anglers to fish this particular
spot, I may give one or both anglers the option of skating a dry fly. I prefer
to only fish the dry fly where the fish have not been recently harassed. If we
work the water with dry flies, I may --- if the current allows me --- row back
upstream to fish the area again with wet flies. If the boating traffic is
heavy, I may decide it best to push down the river, especially if there is an
excellent fishing hole I am determined to fish. Should this is be my decision,
I am also thinking ahead of what I will do if another angler is fishing my
intended target when I get there. One must always be thinking two or three
chess moves ahead, with Plan B and Plan C already formulated.
If
we launch my boat early enough, before the sun is directly on the water, or in
shaded areas, we will normally start the day by casting or trolling wet flies.
Either method --- casting or trolling --- can be effective and fun when the
angler can experience the thrill of a hard strike when a steelhead grabs. If we
troll the flies, letting them hang tight in the current downstream of the boat,
I control where the flies swim or hold. When using this method it is the guide
who is doing the fishing in large part. If I have good casters in the boat, I
usually suggest they cast while I backferry the boat against the current holding
it stationary, or drop the anchor. We start by casting short --- within twenty
feet --- then lengthen subsequent casts until I sense that my guests have
reached their comfortable maximum casting distance. The boat is then moved and
stopped at the next casting position where the routine starts again. Each cast
is angled across and downstream at about a 45 degree angle. The wet fly swings
until it ends up directly downstream of the angler, where it is held for a count
of five. After the five-count, two feet of line is stripped off the reel and
the next cast is made. The path of the fly has been moved two feet farther from
the angler on each successive cast. It has been my experience that a steelhead
will strike a well-presented wet fly the first time it comes into their
proximity. A second identical cast of the same length rarely, if ever, solicits
a strike. 
fly is slow and “natural”. Additionally, I try to keep my guests focused on
what they are doing, to concentrate on what they are doing, so a precious strike
is not missed.
