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I have been slammed with work lately. I had a pile of quit claim deeds and patents on my desk here about 17 inches tall that I plowed through in the last week. My mind has just been aching to get out on the river but reality has kept my childish ambitions in check.

Until today.

At 1PM today I decided that I had officially spent enough being an adult. The time had come for the cathartic enjoyment that I only feel around moving water, while simultaneously mending a line. It was fishing time.

I stood in my garage looking at the rods I could use. I was really missing the 10' Rainshadow since it broke and I haven't gotten it repaired yet so my options were limited. I finally settled on my 9'6" 6wt sage TCR with a 4 inch per second sink tip on a Ross CLA4.

I loaded up and headed out while watching the minutes tick by as I hustled away from the afternoon sun up the Stilly River valley.

After reaching my destination I swaddled myself in gore tex. Seeing 4 inches of snow on the ground upon arrival I decided that It was probably in my best interested to trade my ball cap for a stocking hat, which I did. Then, mesmerized with a child like excitement I followed my bouncing rod tip through the dormant brush down to the river.

Reaching the end of the path which spills out onto a bar, and the first thing I notice is a guy below me about 100 yards without waders who is working his way upstream.

I turned and walked as far upstream as I could all the way up to the head of the riffle crossing lots of water that would be unfishable without wading.

I began pulling out line and roll cast about 10 feet of line into the current to swing tight to me and the head. My preference is to always start close. I would rather be thorough than leave fish behind. I pulled out another 3 feet and roll cast and shot it out through the guides and began another short, tight arc.

The mindless peace of stripping line off of the reel, anchoring it to the cork, the long sweep double (singlehand) spey, loading the rod, and shoot!

I was happy with the result. Sometime I can't help but smile when things work right. Like when you roll cast or spey and it tugs just a bit at the end, begging you to go deeper into your line. Lately, it is the small things about fishing that turn me on. The experience as a whole is amazing, but lately I have found that it is those small accomplishments that I have been practicing for years finally being achieved that make me feel the best about my fly fishing.

Ending the slow slow swing I begin the delicate dance. I begin sidestepping at the speed of the current as the arm motions begin. Strip, strip, anchor, doublespey, freeze, mend upstream, shadow the line with the rod tip, slowly dropping it at the apex of the swing.

And that is when it happened. Exactly when it should in the swing, and exactly where that gorgeous, blushing girl should have been. Right on the seam at the textbook transition water.

The first gentle tug, almost sponge like. My mind races! Oh no I am not ready for this. I had just started. I was still holding a couple loops of line in anticipation of stretching out my fly line for the first time today.

I glanced down at the reel. It wasn't my normal reel. In fact this was only the second time I had dueled a fish on it. My eyes snapped back up instantly as the tip of my rod dropped halfway to the water as the fish burst to startle speed. The majority of the line in my hands began disappearing faster than I could manage it. A half hitch was thrown around my pinky. The tension didn't really hurt but the line sliding by was really hot even in the upper 30 degree weather. I took a step forward and grabbed the line with my teeth just above my finger long enough to slip it out of the hitch and freeing the line.

One quick slap of the reel handle to eat up some more line and it came tight between fish and reel.

Whew! My mind instantly eased up. Once I get them to the reel the number of mistakes I can make are greatly reduced. The drag is relentless and it never makes mistakes. It always does it's job right.

The fish, finally feeling some pressure pulled tight against the drag and cut hard downstream arcing to my left. As the line slid through the water it made that gulping or slurping sound that instantly brings a grin to my face every time I see or hear it. Being led towards the sand bar on my left the fish turns and wallows for a minute. White, silver, green, white, silver, green, and amazing.

I feel the tension lessen a bit as the fish rolls around. I take a step back and reclaim a few feet of line. I see the head drop and the tail flash as the fish regained good traction in the current and headed upstream. The reel began to peel out line. The fish powered it's way straight up through the heart of the current and up onto the flats above the riffle. With the depth of the water decreasing the farther upstream it went, physics eventually dictated it would stall. Not until after throwing tens of gallons of water skyward in an attempt to maintain its freedom, this magnificent steelhead had beached itself.

Not the most satisfying fight but none the less memorable.

29.5X14.75 inch hatchery hen.

Jeremy Floyd