North 40 Fly Shop eMagazine February 2016 | Page 11

The late winter grab
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was savage. It was pure power, bucking, thrashing
and running away at a breakneck pace. The
cheering section was having a heyday dropping
pearls of wisdom as the massive buck jumped not
once, twice, or even three times, but five times
before it cleared the water.
In the rush of the moment, I was brought back to
the picture hanging above my fly tying desk: It’s a
picture I will be eternally grateful to have.

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Father and son on their first steelhead trip together,
holding success in their hands with grins as wide
as they could possibly make.
The cold crisp morning was classic and my dad
hooked up right away in the first run. It was the first
time that I had seen in person what a steelhead
can do.

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I knew there was a solid possibility that my time
wouldn’t come on this trip. Our guide worked his
tail off to make it happen, and on the last drift
before the take out, the fish grabbed the bug and
off to the races it went.
Holy crap, so this is what it’s all about. The power
of that little buck was striking, resonating back to
me in a tune that, I know now, I can’t get enough.
Everyone has their jumping off point: that
galvanizing moment which sets you forth on
whatever is your life’s passion. That picture shows
the first steps of the rabbit hole I was descending
into, rapidly.
And I’ve never looked back.