There are few things more captivating than watching a steelhead surge to a fly, says British Columbia’s Alan Penner
Part 3: Summer steelhead
ON ONE of my local rivers there is a small wooden bridge that I am particularly fond of. It spans a deep pool where steelhead rest and offers a bird’s-eye view of the water. There is something magnetic about this spot. I can feel its pull from a distance. The moment the short climb up the dusty road ends and I can lean on the waist-high railing, peering into the depths, I always hope my looking will end in seeing. It has done before.
Once, a friend and I stood in this spot and saw a pair of summer steelhead suspended mid-current, hovering like hawks on a thermal. That day, it was his turn to fish first, and after he scrambled down the bank into position, I watched his fly swing across the pool where it was taken and spat out before he could react to my shout from above. He didn’t feel a thing.
Immediately, my world became small, confined to the bridge, the pool, and the fish
Another day, on the same bridge, I stood alone. The sun was high, shining through a gap in the mountains, hot on my neck. Dry, mid-summer conditions laid the river’s secrets bare and through five meters of green-tinted water, I could see the pool’s contours and concealed rocks. I scrutinized every shadow, movement, and streamlined shape until I saw a subtle shift in the shadow of some deeply sunken boulders.
A summer river, with the casualties of high water laid bare.
Immediately, my world became small, confined to the bridge, the pool, and the fish. My eyes locked onto the steelhead — mesmerized by the presence of an fish in an intimate space — but eventually my gaze shifted to the currents directly above it. They swirled in random directions before succumbing to their inevitable, descending trajectory, and were sure to frustrate a swung fly.
I assessed my options and decided to try a dead-drifted dry-fly. A free-floating presentation would follow the current’s irregular pathways, but with careful mending I hoped to achieve a drag-free drift. It was a good plan, crafted by careful observation and previous experience. But it didn’t work.
Perhaps I had a chance if I could catch the attention of the steelhead and play with its instincts?
I moved to plan B: a swung wet-fly. But, as I suspected, this immediately experienced trouble. A downstream cast with an upstream mend didn’t work, and the same cast with no mend did little better. Whatever I tried, the conflicted currents jostled the fly or stalled its movements entirely.
The prize — a huge, mint-conditioned summer steelhead.
I was intent on catching this fish on a swung fly or a dry-fly, so I moved to plan C: my last-ditch effort. I recast, made a big downstream mend and left the line to the fate of the current. A parabola slowly formed, expanding to make direct contact with the fly and pull it downstream. Drawn from beneath the turbulence it began to “swim”, moving with a vitality and charisma incongruous with previous attempts; this was the presentation I was looking for.
An ember of hope flared; perhaps I had a chance if I could catch the attention of the steelhead and play with its instincts? The barrier to this reality was distance — approximately 15 meters of it — and that’s a long way for a fish to move for a fly. And yet, on one of the casts, it rose from the heart of the pool and followed my fly downstream. The steelhead’s predispositions for shade, shelter, turbulence, and depth were overridden by the instinct to pursue, and it was happening in plain sight.
I wanted to shout and cheer like a spectator at a game as I watched, but instead I stood like a statue. The fish caught up to the fly in the tail out and took it as it moved downstream. Impulse whispered to me, anxious to set the hook, but I knew I had to wait. When the fish turned and headed back from where it came, my rod bowed and I applied pressure. I managed my urges, timed it right, and battle began.
This experience took place a few short weeks after the summer solstice: the time of year when our revolving planet interacts most directly with the sun’s radiation in the northern hemisphere. Strictly speaking, summer steelhead begin their freshwater journey at some point between these sun-kissed days and the autumn equinox. However, nature is hard to box up and define.
The life history of rainbow trout is complex and mysterious. There are many unanswered questions: What causes fry from resident parents to choose a migratory life over a stationary one, and why are the progeny of steelhead faced with the same choice? Why do steelhead return to rivers at different times of the year, some sexually immature to hold in freshwater for months — waiting for spring — while others arrive mature; just in time to spawn?
Immune to our itineraries, they arrive when they arrive and do so with reserved intent
The designations of “summer steelhead” and “winter steelhead” are misleading. In truth, there is not a single month of the year when steelhead migration of some magnitude does not occur in a river that flows into the Pacific Ocean. The arbitrary boundaries we set blur at the transitions between seasons.
Summer-run fish can enter freshwater as early as April and as late as November. Immune to our itineraries, they arrive when they arrive and do so with reserved intent. Sexually immature and more patient than their winter cousins, these fish are willing to wait for the arrival of spring: the season of kyped-jaws, crimson flanks, and black bellies. Anglers “in the know” arrive at rivers in the months in-between: August, September, and October, to meet these fish at the peak of their health and migration.
If in winter, anglers approach waters with muted hopes, knowing they will endure frozen fingers, numb toes, inclement weather, and few fish, then during summer’s bounty they can approach with keen anticipation. If fish are present, confidence should be high.
Floating lines and surface patterns elicit the summer surface activity most of us crave.
ANDREW FLITCROFT
Winter isn’t the only season when rivers run turbid and high
River temperatures are optimal, stream flows consistent, and the steelhead are “trouty” in their behavior. There is the opportunity to experience visual fishing on all rivers that welcome steelhead in summer, with floating lines — Scandi and long belly — becoming a viable option, and fishing flies on or near the surface is effective.
At its best, summer fishing elicits images of silver flanks flashing beneath swung flies, slow, deliberate rises to dead-drifted dries, and explosive boils behind skated patterns in tail outs. Summer steelhead do not, however, need to be approached in this manner.
Sink tips and large winter flies can also be productive, even necessary, as winter isn’t the only season when rivers run turbid and high. It pays to have a Skagit head, sink tips, and a few large flies tucked away for insurance on a long summer trip. If numbers of fish caught are the primary concern, it might even be the most productive strategy over the course of a season. However, such tackle is not essential for summer, and this fundamentally separates the approach at this time of year.
JAMES CARTER & ALAN PENNER
A river’s character, shaped by local geography, is the ultimate factor in determining how its fish are approached. Water volume, water clarity, and river-bed gradient, combined with weather patterns, dictate tactics.
Seasoned veterans are known to pick a tactic — often fishing skaters — and persevere with it for the duration of the season
When fishing my local rivers — the intimate, high-gradient, and gin-clear waters of British Columbia’s coast — in summer you will find my reel filled with floating line and a 12ft leader tapered to 8lb tippet. In my fly-box, there will be a minimalist collection: few wets to swing (some bright and some dark), a Bomber-style fly to dead drift, and a Muddler to skate.
A perfect pool to cool off: Easy casting, even flows and room for consistent and accurate coverage.
No matter a river’s size, personality, or location, the approach to meeting these summer fish can be simple. Many anglers keep it that way. Seasoned veterans are known to pick a tactic — often fishing skaters — and persevere with it for the duration of the season. So intoxicating is watching a large fish rise to a dry-fly that they forgo more productive strategies.
I hope that all anglers who love anadromous fish are given an opportunity and a choice in summer: the opportunity to stand knee-deep in a cool river on a hot day watching a steelhead resting in the flow, and the choice of how to entice it.
James’ steelhead tricks
Pause, take a moment
The anticipation to fish a run as soon as you come to it can be intoxicating. However, I have learned to pause and take a moment to watch; the secrets of the river might just show themselves. You may spot the subtle flash of a steelhead holding behind a boulder, or a seam that's perfect for a natural swing.
Even if you don't see a fish, in observing, you're learning how the water moves and how your fly is likely to behave. That knowledge can help you make a better first cast and choose the right presentation.
PHOTOGRAPHY: JOE EVANS & BRADLEY FUNKHOUSER
IN THIS SERIES
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Pacific Rivers Outfitting Company
Pacific Rivers Outfitting Company manager Willie Holmes (left) and sales associate and guide James Carter (middle) are based at the store in Chilliwack (British Columbia), while Alan Penner, a local science and PE teacher — and equally fanatical steelhead fisher — runs a series of evening fly-tying courses at the shop.
