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Steelhead Dogs

It wasn’t a good summer. When you make your living as a steelhead flyfishing guide, your success or failure is simple. “Get your client into a fish, or not.” I swear that statement sounds to me more like steering a car, than fishing steelhead. Says nothing or the parameters of the day, let alone the anglers ability to fish. To even bring up the anglers own fishing capability can bring on a blank stare like, “What would my fishing ability have anything to do with my success, I mean, you are the guide. Why do you think I hired you?”

So as it happened, it was a really poor return of Stillaguamish summer steelhead. Couple this with summer dog days of low clear water, and the few steelhead around on the Stilly, were more skittish than a cat in a dog kennel.

My clients and I were up on the upper North Fork. We had tried a few spots that morning but as yet we were getting no love. The now afternoon sun left every rock in every pool exposed in the gin clear water. We stopped off at the hatchery pool. I thought my luck had tweaked slightly, when I snuck to the water edge. There in the pool, I could see five steelhead lazily suspended in the currents. Downstream, the river was so flat; it looked more like a millpond, than a river. No wonder the few respecting steelhead were up in this pool, it was the only water that had any current at all. We swam a nice steelhead in here the other day. Maybe today we could get as lucky.

While I was tying up an ultra long leader on John’s rig, Peter had strolled over to the bank to my streamside lookout.

Hey Dennis” He yelled back to us. “You weren’t kidding, there looks to be a half dozen steelhead in here ”, while pointing at the fish.

Before I could even say a word, Mr. A.D.D was down off the high bank, with rod in hand. I knew he was heading for the water. He was ready. Why waste time?

I ran over to the stream’s steep bank after him, but it was too late. By the time I covered the distance, Peter was already crawling back to the top.

“No matter, he said, “They saw me and took off”.

I was crushed. More than likely, our only real chance of the day had disappeared along with the frightened steelhead. I was pissed more at myself than the angler. I should have said something. I hiked off downstream, not so much to find the spooked steelhead, but more to give myself a time out before I said something to Peter, that wouldn’t help our situation.

I ended up downstream at an old swimming hole out in front of the Jones summer cabin. This limpet pool was better suited for suckers and Sea-runs, than a self-respecting steelhead. There I found the little pod of steelhead daisy chaining in the placid waters. I didn’t even try to hide. In this frog water pool, I simply knew we had no chance. Experience told me, the displaced steelhead might move back up into their streamy flows later evening. Right now and in the middle of the day? No way.

More out of frustration than anything, I picked up a stick I was standing next to, and threw it at the steelhead. What I wasn’t counting on was a canine audience. Apparently, the Jones spaniel was watching me from the porch. When the stick hit the water, right out of Rin-tin-tin, this dog runs off the porch, leaps off the bank and splashes head long into the water. He is swimming after the stick.

I think to myself in disgust, “Great, just great.”

Now the interesting thing was the reaction of the steelhead. I would have figured they would have shot off in all directions. Maybe they knew the dog; maybe they already had their exercise for the day. I don’t know. What I do know is, as the dog closed in on the splash of the stick, the nearby school of steelhead just moseyed their way upstream and away from the dog. No panic no nothing.

More out of curiosity than anything, I found myself looking for something else to throw. By now the pooch has found the stick and swimming back towards shore and me. I found another stick. As my luck would have it, the Jones manicured lawn was all but bare, a stick from their flower bushes was the best I could do. Where is a friggin rock when you need one? I grabbed the piece of wood, yelled at the dog to get his attention, and chucked the stick in the direction of the newly resting steelhead. I purposely threw it short and well downstream of the fish. By now, I noticed both John & Peter standing upstream, bank side. I am sure they had no idea what was going on, When I threw this second stick, the dog promptly dropped the wood that he was carrying and began swimming to upstream to the new splash. Again, the steelhead just swam upstream far enough ahead to avoid the spaniel. An idea is born.

I frantically went to rummaging through the bushes, looking for anything I could throw. I had to get something out on the water before the dog got back to shore. Gosh, I hope the neighbors weren’t watching! It was bad enough, my clients had to wondering, “This poor guide doesn’t even have both oars in the water”, as I go tearing through the bushes, looking for anything to throw on the water. I didn’t care. I found and threw another stick, another, and then another. Each time I did the dog and the steelhead worked their way a little further upstream. When the pod of steelhead finally circled back into their original pool, I simply let the dog bring back with the last stick. I told Rusty to go home. The dog looked a little disappointed but went right over and nestled down on the porch. Swimming session was over.

I motioned my clients to stay back from the bank, as the steelhead simply swam back into their home pool positions near the head. We all crouched in commando position, and snuck up again, to the waters edge. I showed the boys the newly arrived steelhead. I swear neither guy said a word. They must have thought I was magic (or something). I shrugged it off like; “ we pull this stunt off, every day.”

I won’t bore you with the details but suffice it to say. After we splayed out on a lawn and took a little nap, the afternoon shadows filled the pool. The steelhead forgot all about us.

No, we didn’t catch one of the those steelhead that day. We caught two.

Some guys can throw rock at their fish, but have you ever swum a dog? Dang, I am good.

Best of fishing,

Dennis