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Hi, I've been an avid fisherman all my life but have recently felt the urge to hunt. Unfortunately I know nothing about hunting and am hoping that some of you on this board will help me navigate during my journey. Because I've never hunted before I don't have a hunting story to tell. I do, however, have a fishing story that I'd like to share with you. Hopefully you will enjoy it and I look forward to meeting all of you. My story:
Last August I took my boys to the Deschutes River for a weekend of camping, archery, and fishing. The highlight of the trip came on the second evening while we were fishing the lower Island during the "hatch". The sun had gone down over the canyon and the caddis flies were just beginning to swarm. I was a little below the power lines swinging a soft-hackle and picking up an odd fish here and there. My youngest son, Max, was about 20 yards upstream of me casting a 20 foot line which was about as much line as he could handle. He was casting straight across and then swinging a #14 bead-head soft-hackle into the gravel bar just like I had told him to do. I had just released a smallish fish of about 12 inches when I heard Max say, "uhh Dad, I think..." Max's sentence was abruptly interrupted by the unmistakable scream of a large fish tearing line off a reel.
I looked upstream at Max and saw that his rod was bucking wildly as whatever he was attached to sprinted for the main current. I quickly reeled up and came to offer some assistance. By the time I slogged upstream to where Max was bracing himself against the fish, I noticed that he had only a few turns of backing on the reel. Fortunately the fish had settled down somewhere in the middle of the river and he was losing no more line. I gave Max some quick instructions on how to pump a fish back and then quickly retrieve line as the rod is lowered again. Unfortunately every time Max attempted this maneuver and regained some backing, the fish would pull more line out in stubborn protest. It was clear Max was losing ground and something had to be done, and quickly! Ever mindful of my role as the responsible father, I grabbed the rod away from Max and proceeded to try to regain as much of the precious backing as I could. I furiously cranked Max's tiny reel for what seemed like an eternity when at last I could begin to make out the line/backing junction in the distance.
As the line began to tighten on the fish I felt that unmistakable deep throb - my god, this was no ordinary Deschutes Redside. This could only be one thing and I felt myself shudder slightly as the words tumbled from my mouth: "Max, you've hooked a Steelhead". Those words had barely dissipated in the cool evening air when I felt the Steelhead straighten up and then begin a new charge. I slightly checked the line mindful of the four-pound tippet, but Max's poor little reel screamed wildly as the Steelhead careened back into the heavy main current. Then I heard it, a tiny metallic ping followed by an almost imperceptible change in the spool tension. I recognized immediately what had happened; the reel check had given away and the reel was now free spooling.
Instinctively I palmed the reel and checked the line. Luck was with us; the Steelhead, satisfied with his position, hunkered down 75 yards below us waiting for our next move. Breathing a sigh of relief over the momentary reprieve, I popped off the spool and looked inside. I knew from experience that it would be very difficult to subdue such a fish with no spool check - one minor mistake and it would be over in an instant. But the light had faded and try as I might, I could not reengage the click. The reality of our situation began to set in - I would have fight to this Steelhead with no mechanical advantage what-so-ever. Just man against fish - mano-o-pisco. I looked down at Max and said, "Max, I'd better handle this" For an instant our eyes locked and then he slowly responded, "Sure Dad".
I reeled up whatever slack was left in the line, ready to check the line the instant the Steelhead made a move. I could feel the steelhead's pulsating body as I leaned into the rod. Then the Steelhead began another run across the river and the backing hissed as it sliced through the surface. I cupped the reel with my left hand and the backing melted smoothly off the spool. I can do this, I thought, one more run and we can end this thing. Visions of a grinning Max and doting father together cradling his first steelhead as it shimmered in the last evening rays danced in my mind. Then the Steelhead stopped. Pressure built up as the current pushed the belly of the line and the exposed backing hummed like a tightly strung wire in a light breeze. What was he doing? Suddenly the Steelhead began a desperate sprint downstream. The rod bucked hard as I tried to keep enough tension on the spool to prevent it from overrunning. My instincts screamed at me to back off, the leader could not hold under this kind of pressure! I let up slightly and felt the sudden explosive thrust of the fish's broad tail.
As the rod fell limp I looked down and saw loops of line protruding from the spool at crazy angles. Then that awful realization swept over me; that a fish of a lifetime had just vanished beyond reach. No hugging and back slapping as we angled the trophy leviathan into the shallows; no glory photos; no feeling of grateful reverence as we gently released the Steelhead back into the dark currents to resume its journey. "Max", I said, "It's gone - I've lost your fish". The words hung heavily in the air for a long moment. Max gazed up at me and I thought I caught the glint of a tear in his eye, or perhaps it was just the reflection of the water. Max looked down and then back at me and said, "No problem Dad, can we do it again?"
I love kids!
MooseTurd (Gordon)
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MountainLion84
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