This morning as the fly swung through the run and I took in the sights and sounds of the desert coming to life, I couldn’t help but think about the hours and intent that had been poured into this chase. The thought swung through my mind as the outlaw did simultaneously through the run below my feet that I had structured my life around these fish, ones I had never even caught. I had moved my young family across the country of course to experience this place that we have loved dearly for some time, but in my mind at least it was also in part to pursue this magical fish. The fish that has taken my heart from Canada to the Pacific NW to New York and Michigan. The fish that haunted my dreams literally, and kept me coming back for more punishment. The fish that made me go insane.
The bump was so slight that I almost wasn’t cognizant enough to recognize it. The monotony of swinging and stripping and casting had done its work on my concentration and that is typically when opportunities are lost. Thankfully the over injection of diesel coffee had me on my toes and the cold morning sting raised the senses to a heightened awareness. With a floating line and a hair wing I shouldn’t be touching anything I thought to myself. A half step down seemed to be the best approach. With the next nice long off shoulder snap T, my life changed. Those that are steelheaders know what I am talking about. Those that aren’t I apologize to. The running line crept from between my grip and the weight of 10,000 casts transferred from my soul to my rod. A slow lift as to not be overly excited in the moment and the world became silent as I danced with my soul fish for the first time. Cradling her there in the shallows my heart screamed for joy and my hands shook with child like exuberance. After we exchanged glances and a few images already frozen in my mind I sent her back away to do what she had come for.