The day started as any other day on the Holy Water. Boggans was buzzing with their derby, and the banks were lined with egg throwers and slinky slingers.
Dropping down into the current after the launch, we were right in the firing line. 8 guys on the right, 12 on the left. War zone fishing, and thank goodness we were getting the heck out of it.
3 other boats on a 8 mile stretch of road-less water, it was going to be a good day. Our pick of where we wanted to fish, when we wanted to fish it....and we were the only boat fly fishing.
As the day melted away, there was just something missing. Drifts that should have produced fish didnt. My dad lost his wading staff he's had for 15 years. Nothing was yank, yank yanking on my new spey rod. Other than that, it was a beautiful day.
A day's redemption can come very fast for a steelheader. All the casts, all the drifts, all the cross current swings, all forgotten when the hook is set and the battle is on.
Around 2pm, and all within the span of 30 minutes, our day was made.
Three fish to hand. The pressure of the previous week was forgotten. I thank my lucky stars for the healing powers of the Grande Ronde